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Chapter Text

                                                                                       Book I - The Beginning 

The Land of Fire:

In the beginning, Sakura never did ponder about her future or what would become of her.

Children hardly did, and certainly not to any great depth.

Perhaps if Sakura were to think of the future maybe she would have worked in a small shop, mending clothes and cutting fabric. Or perhaps she would have married young and have a handful of children. None of that mattered though, it was all so different to what had awaited her.

Life isn’t shaped by one moment alone but by a collection of small and great events—some that build a life full of honor, others that drag it into despair.

For Sakura, the best day and the worst day of her life came at once.

A rather unusual set of circumstances had shaped her life. As she laid in her bed, she couldn’t help but think about the start of her journey, before her rebirth in Konoha.

In the heart of the Uchiha compound, she was surrounded by hues of rich navy and red. A stark contrast against the pink haired woman, the picture of comfort and elegance. Ornate decorations lined the walls and fresh tatami mats covered the floor. Her navy blue nightdress matched the thick wool quilt that laid on top of the bed, a small Uchiha crest hand embroidered onto the breast.

So much had happened over the years, in her older age it was becoming more difficult to remember all the finer details. Sakura furrowed her brows in concentration, her mind going back all those years to before she was Sakura Senju of the Konoha District, the Blossom of the Land of Fire.

Back when she was nothing more than a poverty-stricken child in the Land of Waves and still had her birth name- Sen Haruno.

The Land of Waves- 

The Land of Waves was a small and impoverished country, not known for anything spectacular, most of its revenue came from its assortment of coastal fishing villages. One such village, Nishimoya, was Sen’s birthplace and early home. Though now the village wasn’t nothing more than a foggy memory for her, it was grey and drab, full of weathered old fisherman and dejected youth who had no other prospects other than the Tazuna Coastal Company.

The coast of The Land of Waves was littered with such villages all the same as Nishimoya. Dark and damp, battered by the fierce weather year round and filled with wrinkled and hardened faces that all seemed to blur into one collective mass. Her father was one of these fisherman, an older man with a face worn by time and eyes filled with a hardness only those at the bottom of the barrel seemed to possess. The older man was a full of wood, dedicated to working and cold and when not working was always sat hunched over fishing nets, repairing holes for the next day.

Day in, day out.

All the people knew was work and sleep, the cycle was endless, it hardened the hearts of the villagers.

Unlike her father, full of wood and earth, Sen was blessed-or maybe cursed- with the eyes of pure green water, her being was full of water and spring just as her mother was. In another world her mother may have been  considered a beautiful woman but sickness had been cruel and where a healthy woman once stood, a skeletal woman with murky green eyes laid. Sen’s mother had never not been sick, for as long as she could remember the cloud of illness had hung over her mother. Setsu, Sen’s older sister, a pudgy older girl with simple features and naive eyes had some recollection of their mother before the sickness took her. But Setsu had a peculiar way about her, she couldn’t escape the clumsiness that followed her and her mind seemed stuck in thick honey, there was a slowness about her. Setsu would potter about the family kitchen making soup and pour it into bowls in such a way it seemed she spilled the cooking pot and happened to catch the food in the dishes.

Their family home was a small, humble set of four walls. Sen called it their ‘Squished House’ referencing where the ceiling had started to dip in parts of the building. The Squished House was no different to the others surrounded it from the outside. Inside was a different story, her mother’s illness filled their four walls with the taste of impending death, though her mother made no more than a groan every so often the Squished House felt full of the sounds of ill health. 

‘Now Haruno-san, you really must go into the village soon and have the women make her black robes, you can’t let her die in these rags.’ The village doctor Mr. Okajima said while wiping his glasses on his sleeve, he would visit their village on a weekly basis, he made an appearance in the neighbouring villages too, in Sen’s mind Mr. Okajima was a powerful and important man.

‘We haven’t the money doctor, a new robe…We’ve all grown poorer.’

She hid behind the wall, Setsu next to her with a cloudiness in her eyes. The men were discussing the girls mother. As the girls listened into their conversation Sen couldn’t help but think of her mother, the woman all but slept these days with no strength to do much else, the illness had ravaged her body and she grew thin like a child.

Sometimes Sen would open the curtain covering the window of her mother’s room but the sunlight falling over her mother’s weak form had frightened her so much she couldn’t bare to do it regularly.

’The illness has run its course Haruno-san, even though you’re an older man her body has grown too weak, she won’t outlive you. Perhaps she will have a month more if she is lucky but the end is nearing, preparations are to be made.’ Mr. Okajima said with finality, Sen’s father sat there, his face devoid of emotion but a heaviness lingered over his shoulders. Her father stood up and walked to the front door where Mr. Okajima stood waiting, the two nodded to one another before the doctor left.

The weary fisherman slumped down on the seat in the room, silent. What Sen and Setsu couldn’t see were the small tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

’Sen-chan!’ Her father called from his seat, for it would be a great many years before the pink-haired girl would be known as Sakura, she stumbled out from behind the wall.

’Yes father,’ she whispered.

’You must do something very important for me Sen-chan, fetch more incense sticks for the alter.’

His shoulder still looked tense, Sen peeked at her father and began to notice the trace of tears. Her own heart was pounding with fear, what was Mr. Okajima saying he had to be mistaken. Death is a concept difficult for adults to grasp but for two girls only 9 and 13 years old the idea was too painful.

To get from the Squished House to the village you would have to follow the coastal paths near the cliffs edge, sharp rain and icy winds battered the coastal walls with no mercy, the ground was slick with water and as Sen in her haste to reach the heart of Nishimoya, placed her weight on a loose piece of earth and fell with such force that her head hit the ground with a sickening crunch, the world went dark.

The first thing Sen noticed was the stench of rotting fish and the sharp smell of salt, she was being carried by a pair of fisherman who had come across the unconscious child. Judging by the smell they had taken her to the Tazuna Seafood Company, she could hear the bustle of working men hauling their days catch into the building and the sound of footsteps surrounding her. While in her daze Sen was unaware of the fact this would be the moment to change the course of her entire life.

When she awoke she was face to face with Mr. Tazuna himself. 

Sen, like most of the village, had seen Mr. Tazuna in passing, the wealthy man was the head of the Tazuna Seafood Company and his family lived in a more prosperous village nearby. Unlike Sen’s own father and the villagers Mr. Tazuna didn’t wear their cheap and dirty clothes, he wore a clean and presentable men’s kimono and to the young 9 year old he was as grand as the emperor himself. Sen stared at him as he began to wipe off some the dirt from her face and attempted to help straighten out her vibrant pink hair that was dulled with grime when all of a sudden the man froze and saw Sen’s beautiful emerald eyes.

No other person in the village, not even her own parents, had such peculiar looking eyes. As he peered at the child she became self-conscious and could feel her cheeks begin to heat up.

’Now child you’re Haruno’s youngest aren’t you?’ Mr. Tazuna said though he already knew the answer, he made a gesture to one of his assistants to go find Mr. Okajima and bring him to check on Sen.

’But sir none of us know where he could be, he might not even be in the village ?’ The assistant said.

Sen rather gingerly tugged at the sleeve of Mr. Tazuna’ a kimono to get his attention.

’Mr. Okajima was at the Squished House just a while ago sir,’ Sen said with a youthful innocence.

’The Squished House. . . What?’ Said Mr. Tazuna with an almost intrigued look on his face, Sen basked in it.

’The house with the collapsing ceiling sir, it looks all squished.’ Mr. Tazuna looked very amused by her explanation  and signalled to his assistant to be on his way in search of the doctor.

’What I really am interested in knowing young one is why you’re eyes are so extraordinary, you look nothing like your father do you,’ he said as he bent down to stare at Sen’s eyes with closer detail.

Sen had no difficulty explaining how she looked more like her mother and didn’t bear much resemblance to her wrinkled and aged father when Mr. Okajima walked in quite quietly to tend to her head. After doing all he could for the little girl Sen made her way out of the building to finally go get the incense she had originally set off for.

On her walk back up to the Squished House she couldn’t help but play over images of Mr. Tazuna in her mind, his kind manner and his beautiful clothing. As she trekked up the path to the house she wondered if she would ever get to wear something as beautiful as the clothes he wore. Even as she went about her chores at home she couldn’t help but let her mind wander, drifting into thoughts of a better life.

The Land of Waves:

Ever since Mr. Okajima came to visit her mother Sen had been consumed by worry, on one particularly warm day she and Setsu made their way to the pond near their home, tucked away behind a grove of trees. They came to the pond sometimes when the weather was pleasant, as did the other children nearby. Setsu was wearing a scratchy makeshift bathing suit she fashioned from scraps of their fathers old work clothes, the clothes fitted her poorly and clung to the sides of her and when she bent over revealed far too much. Sen sat upon a rock and watched the children in the pond splashing and screaming with delight. Setsu was there too though she was far too occupied with a boy, the son of one of Mr. Tazuna’s assistants, the boy was older than Setsu and she trailed after him like a lamb would. The rock had grown warm in the rare sun and Sen laid back basking in the heat, her startling eyes twinkling. Sen, just a girl of 9 with no shape or curve to her plodded around the pond with only a large undershirt, as she pushed herself off the rock and made her path to the path to go home she stumbles into none other than Mr. Tazuna and felt incredibly embarrassed at her nakedness. 

‘Hello Sen, enjoying the sunshine I see.’ He said as he peered through the gap in the trees and spied Setsu and the boy in the corner of the pond.

‘Walking here I passed by your Squished House and over there with my assistants son who is that girl? They certainly look occupied don’t they.’ He said while squinting in the glare of the sun.

’oh that’s my older sister Setsu sir,’,she explained.

’Well Sen when your sister is home you give her these herbs and tell her to make tea with them to give to your mother. Mr. Okajima told me your mother was very sick. These herbs are important make sure she takes care.’ Sen started to frown and with a sigh she began.

’In that case maybe I should make the tea sir, Setsu isn’t - I’m better at making tea.’ If Sen had told Mr. Tazuna about Setsu’s clumsiness and her difficulties with basic chores maybe he would think she was clumsy too and Sen couldn’t bare to disappoint Mr. Tazuna with his formal clothing and refined manners.

’oh my Sen-chan, you’re poor mother is sick, your father old in his years and now you tell me your sister cannot prepare tea. Whatever shall become of you Sen-chan, who will take care of you and provide for you?’ He said exclaimed, now patting her on the head.

’Well Mr. Tazuna I’ll take care of myself,’ she said, a small yet sad smile on her face. 

‘I know of an old man Sen who when he was your age his father died and shortly after his mother went too and he was left all alone in the world. Doesn’t that sound similar to you Sen- chan?’ He said though there was a coldness to his tone that left Sen with no room to argue.

‘Well that man is me young one, yes, I was orphaned at such a young age and then I was taken in by the Tazuna family and married their daughter and adopted and now I help run the company. I managed to make it out all right in the end and maybe you too will be lucky as I was Sen-chan.’ Mr. Tazuna’s grey hair seemed to shine like silver in the sunlight and Sen couldn’t pull her eyes away, for once she was filled with an inkling of hope, that maybe when her parents died that Mr. Tazuna would adopt her and Setsu and they could live in his home in the more prosperous village and be raised as proper women of the Tazuna family.

’Do you really think someone would want to adopt me?’ She began with a small voice, now a slight worry had entered her, what if Mr. Tazuna didn’t want to adopt her?

’Sen-chan you’re a clever girl, anyone would be lucky to have you.’ And after that the seed had been planted. 

Despite the comfort that her fantasising about adoption gave her, Sen became racked with plaguing worry, she felt she was betraying her mother and father, especially her father. Even though the man was old in his years he was a healthy and active man and Sen couldn’t imagine leaving him once her mother died, even if it was to go live in the big house Mr. Tazuna lived in, this worry ate at her for days until she came to the conclusion that Mr. Tazuna would adopt her father too. Of course he would! He would never let the girls father waste away alone in the Squished House. Once she had convinced herself of this it eased her worries and she began to feel lighter. 

Almost a week after her run in with Mr. Tazuna Sen’s childhood fantasies of adoption has begun to spiral and one afternoon as she made her way to the Squished House she saw Mr. Tazuna and her father in such deep conversation they didn’t notice her presence in the doorway.

’I trust you’ve given thought to my proposal Haruno-san?’ Mr. Tazuna in his formal clothing looked so out of place sat opposite the weathered fisherman with his tattered peasant clothes and unkempt hair.

’I don’t know sir. I can’t imagine the girls living anywhere else with anyone else.’ He said finally after much hesitation.

’I understand. They’ll be so much better off with a whole new life ahead of them and so would you Haruno-san. Make sure they come down to the village tomorrow.’ Mr. Tazuna said, his voice was steady and cold, as though the decision had already been made.

As the two men stood up, no doubt as Mr. Tazuna was making preparations to go home, Sen stumbled back out through the door to avoid being seen and caught eavesdropping. She then walked through the door, her face the picture of innocence and ignorance as she walked through the front door to see the two men.

’Sen-chan!’ He started with incredible enthusiasm, ‘I was just speaking to your father about you, I don’t live here in Nishimoya, no I live in the neighbourhood town of Ike, my house is there it’s much larger than this one and my wife and daughter are there, my daughter is only a bit younger than you. Oh Sen-chan wouldn’t you like to come visit, maybe even sleep over. Just for one night of course, then I’d bring you home. How would that be?’ Sen did her best to bite down her happiness, this was finally happening, everything she had dreamed of! Mr. Tazuna would take care of her family. She nodded and smiled innocently though inside she couldn’t have been happier for this was the beginning of her adoption. Suddenly that same pant of guilt washed over her, she felt an incredible sadness at the thought of leaving her squished house, and for rejoicing in her mother’s sickness as it resulted in Mr. Tazuna’s interest in her family.

She moved into their dingy kitchen to try and busy herself, free her mind if thought's but she felt rather like Setsu, stumbling everywhere with hardly any control over herself, though she couldn’t miss the unmistakable sound of her fathers tears. Forcing herself to look away from the pans and look at her father, she found him mending another fishing net in front of her mothers bedroom. The door was open and the darkness of the bedroom surrounded her mothers body like an omen of doom.

The next day the two girls woke up earlier than normal, they bathed and scrubbed every inch of their body raw before getting into the findest clothes they own which were nothing more than simple brown robes made of a rough fabric. Setsu wasn’t as keen as Sen was, she had no desire to leave to go to Mr. Tazuna’s house even after Sen tried to reason with her the older girl, Setsu still was sceptical though she wouldn’t disobey instruction. The two girls made their way down to the Tazuna Coastal Company with extra care to not get themselves dirty. Outside the building was Mr. Tazuna in another men’s kimono of rich green, who was stood next to a wagon that he ushered the girls into and sat by them while the driver began their journey. Sen was sat so close to him she could feel the soft and smooth fabric of his kimono and not for the first time imagined herself wearing something fine.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the dresses and kimonos her and Setsu would have in their new life in the Tazuna household, maybe they would even be able to wear matching kimonos!

The journey to Ike wasn’t a particularly long one but Mr. Tazuna’s kept the girl entertained, he pointed out the names of the other villages they passed and once they were a distance away from Nishimoya he pointed at the blob on the horizon and the girls craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their home village, one which they would never step foot in again, not that they knew of course.

After a short while the prosperous town of Ike came into view, it wasn’t that much different to Nishimoya, if anything Sen thought it was worse. The sky was grey here and the water was a foul colour, the stench of rotting fish coated the coast and her dreams of Ike were beginning to shatter. Setsu fiddled with the hem of her robes while staring off into the distance, her eyes not focused on anything in particular. They were waiting outside the Tazuna Coastal Company building in Ike, Mr. Tazuna’s had gone in first and told them to wait for him, before the sky grew dark he called the girls in and led them to what Sen presumed to be an office. It was the most beautiful room her young eyes had ever seen, the dark glossy wooden floor panels, the scent of pine and matcha and the hand stitched leather furniture was breathtaking. Now looking back on it all she would laugh as it had been nothing more than a regional company managers office but to her untrained eyes it was more than she could ever wish for.

Inside the room though was an old woman with a peculiar habit of tapping her foot, Sen resorted to calling her the Tapping Woman for how regularly she did it in the short span of being in the office. Her kimono was far more lavish that anything the women of her village wore, it was a blend of brilliant orange and gold and sat crease free. The Tapping Woman wore a kind smile but it was unlike any sort of smile the girls had ever seen before, it was an awkward lopsided sort of smile that left Setsu uneasy and shuffling while Sen tried to put on a brave face but even she was growing worried. This wasn’t Mr. Tazuna’s house.

’Now these girls here are Setsu-chan and Sen-chan, her younger sister.’ He introduced, ushering the girls closer to the Tapping Woman so she could properly inspect them. The old woman’s eyes never once left Sen, even as her bony old hand grabbed Setsu and started to quiz her.

’Ne Setsu, what year were you born?’ The Tapping Woman snapped, her foot dragging along the floor. It was confusing, she was addressing Setsu yet she was transfixed on Sen. When Setsu didn’t answer the younger girl came to her aid.

’Setsu-chan is the year of the cow,’ the Tapping Woman released her grip on Setsu and then her hand came for Sen.

’What a pretty one this is, and those eyes and the hair, I’ve never quite seen anything like it. Are you sure they’re sisters?’ She cackled to Mr. Tazuna who had begun to look slightly uncomfortable.

’This one is the year of the monkey, I can tell just by looking at her. And what a great amount of water she has, clearly a girl of spring.’ She said to nobody in particular while poking and prodding various parts of Sen’s face. With a sharp turn of her neck she gestured for Mr. Tazuna to leave the room and suddenly the two girls were all alone with the old woman, the Tapping Woman wasted no time in disrobing Setsu and Sen and inspecting their bodies like one might inspect a piece of meat at the butchers. She lifted their arms to check for blemishes and scarring and once she was satisfied both girls hurried to clothe themselves. Neither girl could understand what had just happened, Setsu was sobbing away but Sen steeled herself, she would not cry infront of Mr. Tazuna and have him think lesser of her. While they were dressing the old woman made her way out of the office to the hallways where Mr. Tazuna stood.

’That younger one, she is rather beautiful, her sister looks like a peasant next to year. Both are healthy and suitable, the younger has so much water in her too.’ she chimed, feeling rather pleased with herself.

’Saying unkind things about children is unbecoming of you.’ He said, not pleased with her words. The old woman regarded him cooly before making her exit. 

Setsu was still in a flood of tears and showed no sign of stopping.

’What an awful woman, oh why would she do such a thing Sen-chan,’ she wailed.

’Setsu-Chan can’t you see, she must be a fortune teller or something, Mr. Tazuna just wants to make sure we will be ok. He wants to take care of us!’ Sen began, this seemed to calm Setsu as her tears dried up and a hopeful glimmer shone in her eyes.

The Tazuna family house was a rather large one, nestled on the end of a street with similarly sized houses. Immediately Sen and Setsu were enthralled by it, from the large garden with well manicured plants and flowers to the charming interior. They even had electricity in the house, it was a nibbelt y to the girls who had never had the luxury of it before. The warm golden light left glossy shadows on the wooden floor, tatami mats covered some rooms and where the Squished House smelled of death and sickness, Mr. Tazuna’s home smelt of freshly prepared food, pine and incense.

Their dinner was far grander than Sen could ever imagine. After a short break for the girls to freshen and change into spare robes they were led to a charming dining room where Mrs. Tazuna and her daughter sat. Mrs. Tazuna was a plain looking woman, plump and red though she had the warmest brown eyes Sen had ever seen and a calming manner, their daughter tsunami had a beaming smile and tightly hugged Sen as she entered, clearly happy to have a play buddy her own age. Dishes of steaming rice, grilled fish, picked, miso soup and vegetables started to come to the table as the maids began to serve dinner. Both the Haruno girls couldn’t imagine the sight before them, for their dinners at home were nothing more than soup or rice and pickles.

Once everyone had eaten their fill Mr. Tazuna sat back drinking a beer watching Setsu and Mrs. Tazuna play a card game. Tsunami and Sen put their shoes on and began to make their way out to the garden where they ran around the gras chasing each other for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been much longer than one. At some stage during the evening Mr. Tazuna had donned his coat and shoes and made his way out of the house and onto the street. Tsunami led Sen by the hand to an opening in the wall of trees surrounding their home and peered through the gap.

‘’I always follow my father when he goes on an evening, it’s a secret, are you coming too?’ She asked, Sen could do nothing but nod, fully engaged in following the older man as sneakily as she could. The girls didn’t have to go too far for there was a tea house a few minutes walk from the Tazuna home. They perched themselves on a grassy hill just behind the main reception room of the tea house who had left their sliding doors open to let the cool fresh summer air enter. A group of men sat around a low table, drinks and cards sprawled upon it, Mr. Tazuna was sat next to the most stunning woman Sen had ever seen though she looked unlike any woman she had seen before, the woman had glossy black hair in an elaborate style, her face was painted with a ghostly white pain that complemented the cherry rouge on her lips. Her kimono, oh her kimono Sen had never seen something so elaborate, not even the Tapping Woman could compare to the sheer detail in the kimono. 

‘That’s a geisha Sen-chan, my father comes here every evening, or most evenings. They go to teahouses where they entertain, I don’t know why he like sit so much, they sing and drink and dance and everyone gets so drunk!’ 
The woman, the geisha, poured a drink into his empty cup as she laughed at something he had said. When Sen looked closer she realised the face of the geisha truly wasn’t all that pretty but she had been too caught up in the glamour of the kimono and her makeup to even notice the protruding teeth and too-narrow eyes.

After some time had passed Tsunami started to fidget and the girls made the shirt walk back home, they sat in the bath together after in silence, Tsunami had the look of exhaustion all over her face, the hot water usually had a similar effect but Sen was buzzing, she couldn’t wait for her new life to truly begin. When they made their way to the bedroom Setsu was already fast asleep, resting deeply, the moment Tsunami got into her futon she too drifted away but Sen couldn’t help but turn to her.

 ’Did you know we’re going to be sisters Tsunami? Im coming to live with you.’ She asked, but the other girl had already fallen asleep, blissfully unaware. Sen too was unaware, for she had been feeding herself delusions and reality was about to come down on her with an iron fist.

Chapter Text

The Land of Waves:

Back in Nishimoya, mother seemed to have become much sicker in the day they had been gone. Perhaps it was just Sen who had managed to forget just how truly ill her mother was. The Squished House smelled of disease and decay, a sharp contrast from the bubbling smells of life and pine at Mr. Tazuna’s house.

Mr. Okajima was due for a visit later in the day and Setsu and Sen struggled to manoeuvre their mother out of her bed and into the tub, her body was no more than a hollow shell with bone sticking out at sharp angles through her papery skin.

It was difficult for the girls to see their mother in such condition, both realising that there truly was no hope of recovery. As they poured warm water over her and scrubbed her down with a wash cloth the realisation began to set in, an air of sadness filled the room. 

The next morning Sen found herself running an errand, fetching a sachet of medicinal herbs Mr. Okajima had left for her at a tea stall. It was a rather warm day, the sun had peeked out from behind the near constant cloud cover the Land of Waves seemed stuck with.

Making her way up the coastal path she heard heavy footsteps behind her and turned to see one of Mr. Tazuna’s assistants trying to flag her down, red in the face and extremely out of breath he took a moment to compose himself.

’Mr. Tazuna needs you and your sister. . .to head down to the village. . .as fast as you can.’ He said with very laboured breaths, bending over to rest his hands on his knees.

Sen found it odd he was in such a hurry, was Mr. Tazuna adopting them now? But her mother was still alive, surely he wouldn’t take them away while they could still care for the ailing woman?

In any case Sen felt uneasy but made her way back home with some speed. Strangely her father never went fishing today, instead he sat and mended his torn nets and worked with his head down.

’Father, Mr. Tazuna has sent for Setsu and I to go to the village,’ she spoke out loud, Setsu who had been pottering in the kitchen preparing vegetables froze and turned to look to their father.

The old man didn’t utter a single word, his gaze kept firmly on the floor. With a stiff nod of his head the two girls set off out the house, this would be the last time Sen would ever step foot in the Squished House and be with her parents.

Strangely it was Setsu who had sped off into town, it took great effort for Sen to catch up with her. Her pink hair had grown long now and had started to block her vision, Sen pushed her hair out of her eyes and scanned the crowd until she finally spotted her older sister just steps away from the Tazuna Coastal Company building.

Mr. Tazuna seemed to be in a foul mood and stared coldly at the girls when they greeted him, no sign of the once kindly man they knew. This should have been the first warning sign to the girls that things were about to take an unexpected turn.

As he led them to his horse drawn wagon he made his way to sit with the driver at the front instead of the girls as he did the last time.

’I will be sat in the front with the driver, so you and Sato-san better sit in the back and behave yourselves.’ Sen bristled at this, how could he have gotten Setsu-chain’s name wrong and so uncaringly too?

The girls sat silently in the wagon, the journey to Ike felt far longer than it did previously until Setsu gazed out and noticed something different: a train.

Dark smoke bellowed out from the chimney of the train and left a trail behind it, Sen thought it looked a bit like a snake in shape and turned to Setsu to tell her but Setsu wasn’t interested in hearing it. The older girl nervously fidgeted with her scratchy robes, eyes jumping from one thing to the next, she was scared.

Sen hadn’t noticed any of this of course, for she had realised that they weren’t at Ike, they were nowhere near it in fact they were going in the opposite direction. The wagon drew to a stop infront of a bustling train station with flocks of fishermen and store vendors making their way through the congested streets.

Sen immediately noticed the old Tapping Woman and next to her stood a man much younger than her who has a wooden toothpick in his mouth. He was later introduced as Mr. Shiranui, he stood out like a sore thumb in his stiff men’s kimono and well groomed hair surrounded by fisherman in their working clothes. He said something to Mr. Tazuna as the old Tapping Woman led the girls away with a kind smile that quickly vanished the second they turned the corner. 

With the sharp swing of her fan the old woman smacked the girls on the top of their head and sneered at them. ‘You two little girls have been very naughty now you listen to me now,’ she exclaimed while waving her fan around. ‘If you embarrass me infront of Mr, shiranui it won’t end well for either of you and you must follow every instruction he gives, no matter what.’

Both girls were crying from the shock of being smacked so unexpectedly, not that she had even hit them with much force, it was just far too much going on and with a deep melancholy Sen began to regret ever wanting to be adopted by Mr. Tazuna. She would much rather be with her father in the squished house away from this terrible woman. Just as Setsu began to wipe away Sen’s tears Mr. Tazuna came storming around the corner with a fury directed to the old woman.

’There is no reason for you to be treating the girls this way, I won’t have you be cruel to them. They’re good children now if you have anything more to say to them you’ll say it while I am present.’ The old woman didn’t even look bothered by his presence in the slightest, she rattled off some nonchalant comments about it all being some big misunderstanding but Sen knew at that moment that something very wrong was happening.

They were supposed to be in Ike with Mrs. Tazuna and Tsunami not at a train station in a town in the opposite direction.

She stood there numb, not really sure what to do or if there truly was anything she could do. In the background she became aware that Mr. Tazuna and the Tapping Woman were still talking as she caught the tail end of their conversation.

’-we can discuss that later but the train is arriving soon, they need to be ready on the platform.’ She said to him, at that moment Mr. Shuranui came to join the group and started to lead Sen and Setsu to the platform, Setsu began to struggle until she remembered the warning, and the smack, from the old lady and then became limp in Mr. Shuranui’s grasp.

He lead them with a firm grip on the girl’s shoulders as they stood on the platform surrounded by farmers, fishermen and stacks of produce being ready for transport. The old woman stood with Mr. Tazuna behind the girls, watching them closely.

In the distance Sen could see the train approaching and as it came to a stop she stood in awe, she had never seen a train before snd never so close as this, with a shove Mr. Shiranui ushered the girls onto the train and sat in between them, separating them from one another.

As Sen looked through the window she saw Mr. Tazuna turn and walk away back to his wagon and the old woman was still stood in the platform but also turned away as though she was preparing to leave.

’Sen-chan, where are we going?’ Setsu asked nervously, her voice no louder than a whisper. Everything was happening all at once, Sen rested her head against the window as she braved the barrage of thoughts, first came her mother with her sickness and their father who clearly conspired with Mr. Tazuna to get them out of `Nishimoya. Then there was Mr. Tazuna himself, just what was going on? Mr. Shiranui looked at Setsu with a poorly hidden face full of disgust, his nose wrinkled.

’Disgusting. Both of you, that stench of rotting fish.’ He snapped.

Setsu’s dirty brown hair was a tangled mess, he reached for a wooden comb and began to roughly run it through her knitted hair. He was causing her a lot of pain but Setsu sat there with teary eyes and tight lips.

At this point Sen began to cry silently for this seemed to all be her fault, if she had never bumped into Mr. Tazuna that day when she hit her head them maybe this would’ve never happened and they would still be at home with their family, Setsu wouldn’t be so upset and they would still have their lives-and their freedom. She missed her home dearly, in this loud, smelly and strange new world she had entered she couldn’t help but feel like prey.

After a while of brushing once Mr. Shiranui was satisfied he said a single word, Konoha. 

The three of them were in the train for hours, neither girl had eaten anything that day and when Mr. Shiranui pulled out a bento they looked hopeful, but he paid them no attention and ate his food without regard for the children in his care. Sen thought about Konoha, all she knew about it was what people said in passing, Mr. Okajima mentioned it once, but truthfully it seemed as exotic and far away as the Land of Honey or the Land of Tea, neither of which she had ever been too.

People in the land of waves hardly ever left, hardly any of its citizens could afford to put food on the table let alone emigrate. The train began to pull into a town, much larger than any Sen had seen before and she took this to be Konoha. It wasn’t, they had reached the train station in one of the cities in the outskirts of the land of fire, just on the border to the Land of Waves, where they soon boarded a second train, this one did take them to Konoha . 

The second train was incredibly busy with bodies pressed together like grains of rice in an onigiri, there was no room for the, to sit even , they made the final leg of the journey stood up snd by the time evening began to come Sen was stiff and exhausted, soon after sunset the train reached Konoha Station, even thought it had begun to darken outside Sen could see little pieces of the city and gasped as the buildings seemed to stretch on for miles and miles as far as the eye could see.

The rooftops were made of fine glossy tile and the front faces of some of the buildings were so bright and decorated she couldn’t take it all in. Kyoto was a bustling hub of life and people milled about in the early evening, food vendors lined the streets serving delicacies, each row of streets was illuminated by lamps as though electricity was as commonplace as pickles and steamed rice.

Even to this day when she would remember this fateful day she first reached Konoha, the sight of trains and buildings were closely tied with the fear and despair she felt.

Mr. Shiranui led the girls by their shoulders again, his grip even firmer than before. They made their  way to a rickshaw, one of many that lined the streets for it was a popular mode of transportation, there were so many all around them that Sen figured everyone must travel by rickshaw and nobody walked anywhere in Konoha . The trio climbed into the rickshaw, this too was a novelty for the girls.

’Senju okiya in Konoha,’ Mr. Shiranui told the driver. After a moment it two Sen nervously looked towards the man and asked where they were going.

’To your new home Sen,’ he said, not even bothering to explain what that meant, Setsu began to cry again when Mr. Shiranui brought a firm hand down onto her arm and angrily told her to stop making trouble. Setsu sniffled and Sen had to Steele herself so she didn’t start crying too, she was not keen on being smacked as well.

Sen couldn’t understand where it had all gone wrong, this wasn’t what she had been hoping for. She bit her lip to try take her mind off of it but before long the rickshaw was turning the corner and coming to a stop, they had passed through large red wooden gates which Sen would later find out was the entrance to the Geisha district of Konoha in the Land of Fire.

The Land of Fire:

The street where the rickshaw stopped seemed as wide as the entire village of Nishimoya, buildings of great size lined the street and each looked similar to the next. Deep red pain covered the exterior walls and heavy well made wooden doors littered the block of buildings.

The street was glowing in warm yellow light from the stacks of street lamps stretching down the road, it was an incredibly long road but with the lights Sen could make out the shape of people stood even at the very bottom of it. Women in kimono hurried about their business, Sen thought they all looked so elegant and formal, though these women were nothing but maids as she would come to discover later.

The rickshaw pulled infront of one of these buildings and Mr. Shiranui gave her a light shove to get her out of the rickshaw, Sen clambered out and stood on the street gazing in wonder as Mr. Shiranui with his toothpick followed behind her but then as though this day hadn’t been painful enough, when Setsu made her way to exit the rickshaw he pushed her back in with a forceful shove.

’You’re going somewhere else, now get back inside.’ He said, his eyes narrowed. Setsu looked at her little sister with wide eyes, the two sisters had never truly understood one another but in this moment, maybe for the first time in their lives, they understood perfectly how one another was feeling.

Sen finally let the tears fall as Mr. Shiranui dragged her towards one of these heavy wooden doors and pushed her inside. There was a lot of commotion on the street and Sen could faintly hear her older sister crying and screaming but her voice soon grew fainter, inside Sen was in a regal looking hallway filled with bonsai and other such plants, decorative calligraphy hung on the wall and as Sen slowly took it all in she noticed a woman.

Truly this woman was beautiful, so incredibly beautiful that Sen was certain this was a spirit infront of her and not a human, and she was wearing a kimono so lovely it looked like a rare gem. If Sen had been impressed by the basic geisha in Mr. Tazuna’s local tea house then she was truly stunned to see a true geisha of high class and considerable importance, one of the notable figures of the Konoha world, stood right in front of her.

Deep purple flowers sprouting at the hem of her kimono surrounded by hand stitched rivers and gold rimmed salmon covered the entire length of her kimono. Sen was certain it was made of pure silk, the geisha’s clothing wasn’t the only extraordinary thing for the woman had the most vibrant red hair, high set cheekbones and sharp eyes, her hair fashioned into a shiny and elegant up-do with jewellery pins hanging from it caught the light of the golden lamps, she was the picture of beauty.

This was Sen’s first ever sight of Karin who was one of Konoha’s most famous and sought-after geisha, she was a slim woman and not too tall as she barely reached Mr. Shiranui’s shoulders. Sen was so taken aback by her appearance that she had neglected her manners, not that she really had any to begin with, peasant girls in fishing villages had little need for them.

Sen stared directly at Karin’s face and the older woman smiled at her, the same way a lion would smile as it eyed up its next meal.

’Mr. Shiranui do take out the rubbish from the hallway, I need to be on my way.’ She hissed, she so reminded Sen of a cruel serpent when she opened her mouth for there was no rubbish in the entryway, Karin had been referring to her.

’You men might not care where you stand but when I pass dirt on one side of the treat I cross to the other side.’ She finished, her beautiful but cruel smile targeted directly at Sen as she peered down at the child.

Karin’s outburst had roused an older woman who came to stand in the entryway, she looked older than Karin but certainly younger than her father, she had short black hair that reached just above her shoulders.

’Honestly Karin how anyone can stand you is behind me,’ the older woman huffed.

She signalled to Mr. Shiranui to bring Sen to the side of the hallway to make room for Karin and the old woman to make their way to the front door where the older woman shuffled to a cabinet mounted on the wall, she walked with a limp.

Inside the cabinet the woman reached for a flint and stone and struck the flint as sparks bounced off Karin’s back before she opened the door to leave. It was all so strange to Sen but over the years she would come to realise that geisha were superstitious, far more superstitious that fishermen were or housewives or any other such class of people.

Their whole existence was such a tenuous experience they clung to superstition and ritual like a lifeline. A geisha will never go out on an evening unless someone sparked a flint on her back for good luck. Karin walked with such small and delicate steps she could have been floating, she glided down the street like a cloud rolling over the grassy hills, full of ease.

Once Karin had left Mr. Shiranui followed her lead amd Sen glimpsed the empty street, Setsu was gone. For a long time Sen cried in the entryway, the older woman has taken pity on the young girl for once she stopped crying, the strange woman dried Sen’s face with the sleeve of her plain grey kimono and smiled gently.

’Now child there’s no need to cry, nobody here is going to cook you.’ She laughed as she started into Sen’s bewildered greens eyes.

’Oh my, what beautiful eyes you have, such a lovely face you have too. Tsunade-Sama will be pleased when she sees you.’ The woman said, gazing keenly at Sen’s eyes. The little girl was so grimey and dirty that the woman failed to notice her unusual pink hair too, for it was caked in layers dirt and looked a dull brown.

Everyone here in Kyoto spoke with a strange accent that bothered `Sen, people in her village spoke differently and she struggled to understand the words the woman said to her. In any case the woman was the kindest anyone had been to her in the last few days so she tried hard to understand what she was saying, the woman told Sen to call her Aunty Shizune and explained Tsunade-sama was the ‘mother’ of the okiya.

Aunty Shizune led Sen down a maze of identical looking hallways, passing by the maids quarters, toilets, the courtyard before finally reaching the main building where family members and Karin lived, though Sen would find out later that Karin wasn’t a family member at all. The main house was a far grander building than Mr. Tazuna’s, here the wooden floors gleamed and shined brightly in the light, sophisticated decor was tastefully placed in main passageways and each hallway had a plant of some kind that complemented the glossy wooden panels.

Aunty had disappeared somewhere in the kitchen and was talking to someone in a hushed voice, out from the kitchen came another girl with a round face and dark shirt hair who looked a similar age to Sen, when the other girl saw Sen she gasped and moved closer.

’Where did you come from?’ She quizzed though not unkindly.

Sen stayed quiet for she was certain this girl who spoke with the same funny accent wouldn’t know where the Land of Waves was let alone Nishimoya. After a moment she told the other girl that she had only just a driver and that aunty had led her here. The dark haired girl seemed to understand before she turned back and went into the kitchen before coming out with Aunty a few minutes later, both holding steaming buckets of warm water.

Sen was lead to a bath where they filled it with the warm water from the kitchen and Aunty Shizune wiped her down with a rag and poured buckets if warm water over her hair, finally removing all the dirt and grime. Shizune could hardly keep her eyes from widening, this little girl was the most spectacular creature with her big green eyes and light pink hair, the woman had never seen anything quite like it.

Even Karin with her bold red hair couldn’t compete with the uniqueness and charm that the little girls unique features gave her. After Sen’s bath she was roughly dried off and put into a plain blue robe, even though this was nothing special it was far more luxurious than anything she owned back in Nishimoya. Aunty began to lead Sen back to the main house and pulled her to the side outside of a room that had the light on inside.

’Girl, you listen to me good, I don’t even want to know your name until Granny and Mother have decided they’re going to keep you. The last girl who came they decided they didn’t like and she only stayed a month, I can’t keep going on remembering all these names in my old age child.’

’what, what even is this place?’ Sen asked though she was afraid of what the answer may be.

’An okiya, this is an okiya child. It’s where geisha live, if you are lucky and work very hard then you too will become a geisha one day but you won’t get anywhere if Granny and Mother don’t like you. They’re making there way here as we speak now girl, you listen good, you’re only job is to bow low, low as you can and don’t look them in the eye.’

’But, aunty. What if they don’t want to keep me?’

’For your sake let’s hope they do want to.’ And with that Shizune pushed Sen inside the lit room.

Senju Okiya - Land of Fire

Sen stood in the middle of the room, Shizune next to her tugging at her robe to straighten out some of the rumples and creasing, she could hear shuffling outside and as the door opened she dropped her gaze and Aunty shoved her slightly, signalling her to bow low as Granny and Mother came in. She was bowing so low if she went any lower she might fuse with the ground, around her an elderly voice was complaining.

’No I don’t want any tea, at this hour?’ 
‘Now Granny, Shizune only wants you to feel comfortable,’ Sen guessed this must be Mother speaking, she had the same strange accent as the rest of them but her voice was buttery smooth like liquid gold.

’I can’t see from this distance. Come closer! The hair on this one, I’ve not seen pink before.’ Granny barked, as Sen stood up from her low bow she remembered not to look directly at them, even thought it was late into the evening both women wore rather colourful robes, Granny’s was much thicker and had a cotton lining inside, Sen would soon come to discover that in her old age Granny felt the cold more dearly than most and took to wearing especially thick robes even in the peak of summer.

Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Mother pouring herself a small cup of sake, Granny’s bony but firm hand gripped Sen’s shoulder as the elderly woman began her visual inspection. Granny was a hideous woman and age had not been kind to her, her face was sagging and her skin was blistered and scaly in places, her hair was a tangled nest of grey.

Sen turner her head slightly to the other woman but didn’t dare try look at Mother’s face directly though she saw her honey blonde hair tied in a low ponytail, instead she admired her kimono, a vibrant green obi was wrapped around her two-tones grey kimono decorated with a humble striped stitch pattern around the hem and cuffs. Mother seemed to be older than Aunty Shizune but her body was in good shape. It turned out that none of the three women were blood related which explained how that looked so different.

With so many thoughts running through her head Sen did the very thing Aunty had warned her not to do and stared at mother directly, Mother choked on her sake as she noticed Sen’s eyes immediately. Mother’s face was beautiful unlike Granny’s, she had smooth skin but a stern face pointed straight at Sen who turned to look down once she realised what had happened.

”What are you looking at girl,’ Mother spat, pouring herself more sake.

’I’m sorry ma’am i was just admiring your kimono, I’ve never seen anything like it before.’ This must have been the right thing to say because Mother started laughing, nearly spilling her sake out the cup.

’So you like it do you? Any guess how much it costs,’

’No, ma’am.’

’It cost far more than you did that’s for sure,’ Granny chimed in, her crooked teeth on display. There was a knock at the door and Aunty with her limp made her way to open it, maid stood with a pot of tea for Granny who was the most senior member of the Okiya. The maid began fussing over the teapot and cups and poured the women a glass, much to the annoyance of Granny.

’Didn’t I say I didn’t want any tea.’ She grumbled at nobody in particular, she then turned back to Sen. ‘What year were you born girl?’

’She’s the year of the monkey,’ Aunty answered for the girl, Granny’s eyes narrowed.

’This maid here is a monkey.’ She hissed, nearly knocking over the teapot in attempt to swat at the maid.

’Nine years old, what do you think of her Shizune?’ Asked mother.

’She has lovely eyes and such delicate pink hair, have you seen her eyes Granny?’ Aunty said.

‘She is rather pretty, there’s so much water in her she’ll be able to sense a fire before it even begins,’ mother muttered, Granny was terrified of fire more than anything else.

’We need a smart girl not a pretty one, that Karin is as pretty as they come and what a fool she is!’ Granny said, making her way up with the help of Aunty, it was clear she was finished with the meeting. The two older women made way to the door, Aunty held it open for Granny. Then it was just three of them, Sen, Mother and Aunty. Mother was still drinking sake, other than drinking, gambling was also one of Mother’s vices - though she hardly did it, she was too obsessed with the Okiya’s finances, constantly calculating sums in her office. Since gambling was out of the question she took to sake, never going a day without.

‘Shizune, check the girl for lice and give her hair a cut just in case.’ Said mother, finally turning her gaze away from her drink and towards the little girl.

‘’If you behave and work hard in a few months time you’ll begin your training to become a geisha, I didn’t bring you here to be a maid and I’ll throw you out if it comes to that. Listen to instructions and don’t be too much trouble, Granny gives the beatings around here and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never step out of line.’ Mother’s tone was cold as ice, Sen shuddered inwardly, she did not want to have a beating.

Once the small speech was finished Sen was ushered out into the courtyard, Aunty called out for one of the maids to bring a pair of shears as she began to trim off bits of her hair. In the darkness of the night Sen wondered if Setsu was also stood in front of cruel women in another house in this awful city.

Pangs of sadness hit Sen as she began to think about her mother, her weak dying mother looking around their Squished House to try find her children, taken from all they ever knew. Sen didn’t want to cry in front of Aunty again, if she started crying she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop.

Senju Okiya - Konoha

The next few days in the Okiya were difficult, Sen didn’t think she could feel any worse even if all her limbs went missing. She wondered when she would next see Setsu and where she even was, she thought about her mother and her father and how she never said goodbye to them before she left that fateful day to go see Mr. Tazuna, all she could think about was her confusion and sadness, it seemed to pool into every aspect of her days at the Okiya.

Yet somehow the thing that bothered Sen the most was how after a week or so of being in Konoha how she had survived. She had been in the kitchen one day helping dry bowls when she had to pause for a minute and remember where she was and what she was doing, Sen had started falling into a rhythm at the Okiya and in a few months she would begin her training alongside the other girl she met on her first day, Hatsu.

As she found from Hatsu, training involved going to the school in another section of Konoha to take lessons in dance, music and tea ceremony amongst others. All of the young trainees took classes together and Sen was sure she would find her sister at the school doing classes of her own, with new motivation she kept her head down even more like an obedient dog and tried to keep in mothers graces because she wasn’t about to pass on the chance to find her sister. Most of the daily chores she had to do were fairly simple and she threw herself into her sweeping, shopping and general errand running.

The maids did the bulk of the work in the Okiya but as the least senior member of the house she was still expected to help but her biggest problem was Granny.

Looking after Granny wasn’t one of Sen’s chores, Aunty was her primary caretaker, but Granny’s room was close to the maids quarters and she kept her door open and when Granny summoned you to do something for her, refusing was not an option, Granny held more seniority than Mother and Karin.

Truthfully Sen thought the elderly woman just hated being alone, even when she went to the toilet Aunty had to escort her. She wouldn’t have minded spending time with granny if she just wasn’t so unpleasant to be around.

Sen had been in the main house on her way to deliver tea to Mother’s room when Granny called out.

’Where’s that girl, someone send her here!’

Sen had to put the tray down on the side and hurry to attend to Granny who happened to be eating her breakfast.

’Can’t you see this room is far too hot?’ The elderly woman sneered after Sen had bowed low to her. ‘You ought to come in here and open the window, let some air into the room,’

’I’m sorry Granny I didn’t know you were feeling hot,’ Sen apologised as she made her way to the window, struggling to open it due to the stuffiness of the handle.

’Don’t I look hot?’ Granny snapped, she had been eating an onigiri and grains of rice had clung to her mouth like dirt on a shoe, Sen thought Granny looked like a wax candle that had melted and solidified over and over. With a final tug she managed to open the window when a fly flew in and started buzzing near Granny’s food.

’Why have you let a fly in, the other maids can open the window without letting anything in!’

’I’ll go fetch the fly swatted right away!’ Sen said, worried Granny would reach for her fan and launch it at her head.

’And have the fly fall in my food? No, you’ll stand here and keep it away from me while I eat.’ And so Sen stood there as Granny ate her meal, waving her arms around to shoo off the fly, while Granny rattled on about different experiences she had as a younger women when she herself was a geisha.

Eventually Granny dismissed her but it had taken so long that Mother’s tea grew too cold to be served, both her and the cook had been angry at Sen.

The only other thing worse than Granny interfering with her chores was when the old woman requested Sen to massage her aching shoulders. If Sen thought the skin on Granny’s face was damaged her body was an unpleasant surprise.

In the days of geisha when Granny was one, white makeup with lead in it was commonly used, lead had been discovered to be poisonous which probably didn’t help Granny’s constant foul mood but as a younger woman Granny had frequented bath houses and the chemicals they put in the water had reacted with the lead-based poison and left Granny’s -and other geisha of the same era- skin damaged and dyed.

Even during the early years of the Great Nation War there were elderly woman with the same blotchy, bumpy yellowed skin just like Granny’s.

One day after Sen had been in the Okiya for around a month or two, she made her way up to straighten out Karin’s room much later than usual. Sen and the rest of the maids in the Okiya were terrified of Karin who took great pleasure in making the daily existence of everyone around her miserable, only Granny and Mother seemed spared from her hatefulness, Karin would not dare cross them.

Even as the Okiya’s principle earner if she damaged her relationship with Mother and Granny she would damage her relationship with House Senju and be thrown  out of the Okiya. Due to the high status and wealth of House Senju, very few other Okiya would be willing to take Karin in for fear of damaging their relationship with the Senju, so it was in her best interest to pick battles wisely. 

Despite the terror she caused, Karin spent a lot of time outside of the Okiya, her diary was ridiculous. Normally Sen would clean the geisha’s room the moment she left for a dance class to avoid being alone with her but today Granny had kept her back all morning. Sen had never been up to Karin’s room this late in the day, the red head had the largest room in the Okiya, it was far larger than the Squished House, one of the maids had told her that even though Karin was the only geisha in the Okiya before they had as many as three or four, all sharing the same large room.

Even though she had the room to herself she certainly made enough mess for four people. As Sen made her way into the room she noticed the usual mess, magazines, food waste, empty alcohol bottles. While reaching down to pick all of the rubbish of the floor she spied movement in the corner of the room, Karin was standing right there. Sen froze, all the blood in her body stood still and she felt like the floor had been ripped from under her, Karin gazed upon her with a sinister smile, devoid of any kindness.

’And what do you think you’re doing here?’ She said as she started walking towards Sen.

’Just tidying up ma’am’

’Oh,’ Karin said as she stopped infront of her vanity, an assortment of cosmetics strewn about the table top.’ So you’re the one who’s been messing with my makeup?’ 

‘I’m very sorry ma’am. I move them to dust underneath.’

’But if you touch them then it’s going to start to smell like you. Then all the men will say to me ” Karin-san, why do you stink like a no-good ignorant girl from a fishing village” I’m sir Etui understand why I don’t want you anywhere near my things but let’s have you repeat it just to make sure.’ That evil glint had found its way back to Karin’s eye. Sen could hardly bring herself to say such vile words but at last with a quiet voice she repeated the insult back, Sen could feel hot tears beginning to form but she knew it would only give Karin more ammunition.

’That hideous sister of yours was here the other day looking for you, her stench was far worse than yours!’ Karin cackled, Sen froze in her place in shock and looked Karin straight in the face to see if she was lying or not.

‘You look so surprised, oh didn’t I mention it before? She wanted me to give you a little message about where she’s living. She probably wanted to find you so you too can run away together!’ Karin’s laugh was cruel and full of mockery.

’Karin-san-‘

’You want to know where she is don’t you? Well ignorant fishing girls like you need to earn the privilege of such information, when I figure out how I’ll tell you, now get out.”

Sen didn’t dare disobey her but before leaving her room perhaps Karin could be persuaded.

’Karin-san, i know you don’t like me but if you tell me where my sister is then I can leave and never be a bother to you again,’ Sen hoped she didn’t sound too desperate. Oddly Karin walked to her with a gentleness, a soft smile on her lips, perhaps Sen had done it and managed to receive a small mercy.

Karin with her demure and feminine smile began to make Sen hopeful. It was often said that men in the streets would stop and watch Karin as she walked along to her functions, astonished by her beauty. As she came to a stop infront of Sen she drew her hand back and slapped Sen hard across the cheek.

’I told you to get out, filth.’ She spat, the beautiful illusion had been shattered.

The force from the slap was so great that Sen stumbled out from Karin’s room, tears streaming down her face and her pink hair a mess, the force of her blow had caused the young girls hair tie to come loose.

She slumped on the floor of the hallway, the dark wooden floor panels blurry from her tears, Sen clutched her red cheek with one hand and tried to wipe her eyes with the other. Within an instant Mother had come out into the hallway from her own room and stood with a dark fury, taking in the scene infront of her.

’Karin!’ Mother shouted. ‘What have you done to Sen?’ The blonde woman helped the child to her feet and pulled her to the side.

’She was talking about running away, Mother. So I slapped her, I assumed you would be too busy so I did it for you.’

Mother dismissed Karin and called for a maid to fetch ice and a cloth before steering Sen into her office and seating her at the table. While mother was finishing a telephone call the maid brought the items and gasped at the red mark on Sen’s otherwise clear porcelain skin. The only telephone in the Okiya was in Mother’s office and only herself and those she permitted could use it. The telephone was a connection to the outside district and Mother took calls at all hours of the day and night. Sensing the maid staring at Sen, Mother muffled the receiver into her shoulder and looked at the maid.

’Karin has been slapping the maids around again,’ Mother muttered towards the elder maid, with a wave of her hand she gestured between the ice and Sen’s cheek and the maid began to wrap the ice in the cloth and pressed it to the girls cheek.

What once was a sharp sting had turned into nothing more than a dull ache, Sen knew she was lucky it was just a slap and nothing worse. Still, as the maid tended to her face all she could think about was Setsu, that her sister had found her and come for her. Mother’s call ended which roused Sen out of her thoughts, Sen felt a strange affection for Mother.

The older woman wasn’t kind like Aunty Shizune but she had a certain warmth around her and she kept Karin in her place, Sen supposed she felt Mother was a protector in a strange way. In truth Sen never truly spent much time with Mother, only a few minutes or so each day when delivering tea or collecting dishes to be washed, the more senior maids and Aunty herself tended to Mother’s room and office. Despite the lack of time spent with the blonde woman, seeing her at the phone always surrounded by account books, a bottle of sake and scraps of paper, Sen took comfort in the stability Mother brought to the Okiya.

Honey coloured eyes met emerald green ones.

‘Now Sen you listen here carefully, you might’ve heard Karin lying and just because she can get away with it doesn’t mean you can, so tell me, why did she slap you?’ Mother was reaching for her sake bottle again, it seemed she was never more than an arm away from it.

’She wanted me to leave her room, I’m so sorry Mother’ Sen cried out, fearing another punishment for disobeying Karin’s instructions. Instead Mother huffed and made her say it again in the proper Konoha accent that they all spoke with, over the weeks Sen’s own Land of Waves accent was slowly fading but the Konoha dialect was tricky for her. When Sen finally said it right Mother continued:

’You only have one job here in the Okiya and I don’t think you understand that fully. Everyone here has one goal, to help Karin be as successful as a geisha as she can, her success is our success and even Granny, the most senior member of our Okiya works hard to help Karin. You’d think if Granny was trying to help Karin you should too? The other little girls don’t upset Karin, learn to stay out of her way Sen.’
Mother meant well in her own way, Sen knew this was as close to friendly advice as she would get.

You see the Senju Okiya while as popular and prosperous as it was, only had one geisha. Karin. In the last there were as many as four or five but now there was only one. The red head was one of the top geisha in the land of fire and the earnings she solely generated supported the entire Okiya. Mother and everyone else in the Okiya knew Karin was the only one bringing to bring the wealth and this meant that even though Karin hadn’t been adopted by the okiya, she was still in a level of her own and was virtually untouchable.

‘If I may ask Mother, Karin-san mentioned my sister came here, do you know where she is? I’d like to send her a message,’ realistically Sen knew that asking would just get her into trouble but the thought of walking out of the office without trying was too much.

Mother stared at her with a blank expression, not amused or willing to entertain the question, her silent and unmoving eyes stared at Sen until the young girl left the room, embarrassed and upset.

Chapter Text

House Senju

Sen woke up bright and early, far earlier than she ever had before. An excitement bubbled through her, today she started her geisha training. A week ago Mother had announced that Sen had been at the Okiya for three months and it was time she began accompanying Hatsu to the academy, where she would be introduced to all of her teachers. After her first day of training it was ceremony to observe the most senior geisha in the Okiya getting ready in the afternoon and once Karin would be ready she would take Sen to the Registry Office.

Hatsu had warned her that she would need to wake up earlier than usual, being late to the academy was a death sentence. Quite often Sen would wake up to see Hatsu rushing out the Okiya, still half asleep and teary when she would return in the early afternoon. It was unfortunate but Hatsu hadn’t taken to the geisha training at all, Mother was particularly displeased given how much money she had spent on the girl for her pretty face and dark hair. Sen heard that the dark haired girl has arrived at the Okiya almost six months before she did yet Hatsu only began her geisha training a few days after Sen first arrived. 

The academy uniform was simple, a blue cotton robe without any design, Sen felt rather grown up wearing her uniform, and was cautiously excited to see what the future had to offer. These days the Land of Waves was nothing more than a passing thought, it hurt a lot to dwell on the past and when she was upset she couldn’t work. If Mother caught her slacking she would never be able to make it to the academy and find her sister. Hatsu was waiting for her in the entry way by the front door, both girls shared and easy smile, there was a lot of comfort in knowing that Sen wasn’t completely alone and that she had someone her age to talk to. As they put their shoes on disaster struck, Granny was outside her room on the opposite end of the courtyard calling at Sen to come assist her.

’Just ignore her, we can’t afford to be late,’ Hatsu said, her voice barely a whisper, but Granny was watching the girls and begrudgingly Sen made her way over. Thankfully Granny only needed help with removing her robe and didn’t keep Sen for more than ten minutes but Hatsu was incredibly nervous. They sped across the empty streets faster than what was comfortable, once they had made some progress the pace slowed and Hatsu turned to face her.

’I hate that woman she is so wicked, Sen-chan you must wash your hands well after you touch her, evil is contagious.’ Hatsu mourned, shuddering at the thought of Granny. Her shirt blue hair looked almost plum in the sunlight of the early morning. Sen wasn’t too sure that evil could be spread like that but she didn’t think any amount of reason could convince Hatsu, so she continued walking. Considering Sen and Hatsu were similar ages and of the same life circumstances, it would’ve made sense for the girls to become friends and very close to one another but chores kept them both so busy, even meals were eaten separately as Hatsu had seniority over Sen and ate her meals earlier. It dawned on Sen that she didn’t really know all that much about Hatsu other than her name and other basics. Three months had passed in the blink of an eye, that fact scared her.

’Ne Hatsu-chan, are you from the Land of Fire like the rest of them at the Okiya?’ She asked, taking the leap to start conversation. Hatsu paused for a second as she turned to Sen, her face red from Sen’s casual tone. 

‘Yes, but not from around these parts of the land, my family come from a town near the north east border with the Land of Grass.’ Hatsu’s already soft voice was even quieter now, Sen began to worry if asking such a question was upsetting her.

’My father died almost a year ago and then I was sent to live with my uncle…’ she began, her soft voice hesitant and barely loud enough to be heard.

’ He wasn’t a bad man but everyone has grown so poor and there just wasn’t the money to keep me. Another mouth to feed just wasn’t possible. He said if I worked hard and behaved I’d always have a place here at the Okiya, I’d always food on the table and a roof over my head, which is a lot more than most people have now.’ It was true, all of the Great Nations were suffering economically, in places like Konoha it was easy to forget the abject poverty everyone was experiencing for Konoha was the wealthiest district in the whole of the Land of Fire.

War had ravaged the Land of Rain and the Land of Grass, a merciless and bloody war that had destroyed all of the agricultural prowess of the Grasslands, which was devastating because they were the largest food exporter of all the nations. Food was harder to come by and what was available was far more expensive than it used to be.

’Oh Sen-chan look!’ It took a while to figure out what Hatsu was referring to, the streets were mostly empty, the shops weren’t open yet. Finally at the corner of the pavement she spotted a half eaten skewer of meat on the floor. The vendors on an evening would sell the skewers, they sold whole assortments of them. Hatsu gazed at the skewer with longing and shame.

’The skewer?’ Meat was a delicacy for the girls, they had rice and pickles for their meals with a watery miso soup once a day and a small amount of salted fish once or twice a month. Sen wasn’t sure she had ever had meat properly, even at Mr. Tazuna’ a house it had been grilled fish. Mother, Granny, Aunty and Karin all regularly ate meat, especially Granny, who indulged in it more than the others. 

Hatsu sighed and lamented over the piece of wasted meat, Sen understood the girl’s feelings, wishing too she could have had one of the skewers fresh from the vendors. Turning the corner both girls chattered on discussing the Okiya, how terrible Granny and Karin were and before Sen knew it she was in front of the academy. There were large black gates surrounding the perimeter of the grounds, the front gates were open and both girls hurried to rush inside and take their outdoor shoes off before making their way in further. The most senior girls would put their shoes at the bottom and the less senior girls would put their shoes on top, this was Sen’s first day so she had to put hers in the very top shelf which she could hardly reach, Hatsu put hers a few rows below. Sen had a nervous knot in her stomach, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect but the academy was pristine and grand.

Infront of the main building was a cherry blossom viewing garden and a traditional tea house overlooked a splendid lake. The actual academy building itself looked ancient, Sen thought it was so old it made Granny look like a spring chicken. She followed Hatsu who was rushing through the hallways to get them somewhere. At the end of the hallway was a group of girls a little bit older than Se, she strained her eyes to see if she could spot her sister but Setsu wasn’t among them. The group of girls all had the same hairstyle, the wareshinobu, which signalled they were apprentice geisha. They looked so proper in their hairstyle and sophisticated, Sen felt like she knew nothing of Konoha next to those older girls.

Sen and Hatsu reached a traditional Japanese style room which was large and open, along one wall was a large wooden board holding plaques that held names on them. Sen’s reading and writing were still quite poor even though she had attended school in Nishimoya in the mornings and spent an hour with aunty practicing her reading every day. Hatsu fished Arian inside a box on the floor for her own name plaque and put it on the next available space in the board. Sen discovered that this board acted as a sign-in sheet. Afterwards the girls went to all the other classrooms where Hatsu had lessons and did the same process. In the morning Hatsu had four classes: shamisen, dance, singing and tea ceremony. Hatsu’s name was at the bottom of every single sign-in and she began to nervously wring her fingers through her robe, as the girls made their way to their first class they spotted another girl running later than them who had only just gotten to the academy, at the sight of this Hatsu relaxed.

Hatsu sat at the back of the classroom to assemble her shamisen, Sen was completely in awe of the instrument, she had never seen or even heard of one before. Hatsu explained to her that the shamisen was a traditional instrument, smaller than a guitar but very similar looking, that could be pulled apart and reassembled making it the perfect piece for transport. As Hatsu began to tune her shamisen the pink haired girl had to stifle a shudder for the other girl had no concept of tuning, if Sen had known what to do to tune she would’ve helped but all she could do was sit there. Soon other girls began to stream into the room, all sitting equal spaces apart like a row of toy soldiers. Sen kept her eyes on the door in the hopes that Setsu would walk in but she never came, instead a small old woman who looked strangely like a bird entered, this was Mizumi sensei who made her way to a floor cushion and took a seat. She gazed at the names in the board and called out the first name at the top of the list. A girl who was sat close to the door then made her way to the front of the room and looked very confident as she began to play her shamisen. In a matter of moments Mizumi Sensei had stopped the girl, told her a number of unpleasant things about her shamisen skills and dismissed her before calling the next name down. This pattern continued for a while until Hatsu’s name was called out.

Sen knew that Hatsu had struggled with her lessons but she didn’t realise it would be quite this bad, from the moment the other girl stood up it was clear she was nervous and once she began to play it all seemed to go wrong. At first Mizumi Sensei took her shamisen so she could tune it herself, but once Hatsu had an in-tune shamisen the sound didn’t improve. Using her fan, Mizumi sensei tapped out the rhythm for Hatsu to follow but when that didn’t help either, she tried to reposition Hatsu’s fingers. Finally reaching her limit the sensei dismissed Hatsu and called the final name on the list. Now Sen would come to find out why Hatsu was so upset about being last in the board because the girl they spied earlier, who came later than them, was being summoned to the front. After, the girl bowed to Mizumi sensei.

’There is no blessing in being courteous now, no amount of bowing will make your tardiness any better. If you had woken up earlier you could have come here on time and learned something.’ Mizumi sensei barked. As the girl began to play it was clear Mizumi Sensei wasn’t paying any attention to her, instead she kept rattling on about her tardiness and soon dismissed her. Once the final student had played that meant the class was over, Hatsu took Sen up to the teacher and both girls bowed low and respectfully.

’May I be permitted to introduce Sen to you, Sensei.’ Hatsu said, coming up from her bow. ‘And ask your guidance in instructing her for she is a Girl of very little talent.’ Hatsu wasn’t trying to insult Sen, this was just the peculiar way in which Konoha geisha and other people of the time spoke when trying to be polite. For the longest time Mizumi sensei didn’t speak and Sen began to fear the worst, eventually the old woman did.

’You’re a clever girl Sen I can see it already, maybe you can help your older sister in her lessons.’ And with that the old teacher stood up and turned to face the sitting girls.

’Put your name on the board as early as you can in the mornings, keep quiet in the classroom and keep your focus to the front. If you can do all these things then I’ll teach you as best I can.’ She then took her leave. 

In the hallway between classes Sen kept her focus on spotting her sister, she hadn’t seen Setsu all day though and was growing worried and nervous that she wasn’t here. During one of her classes she hadn’t seen Setsu lost focus and began thinking about Setsu when the sensei of that class came over to ask what was worrying her. Sen managed to lie and say she had just bitten her lip and had startled herself and thankfully the lie was believed.

It was a small relief for Sen that the rest of Hatsu’s classes weren’t as tragic as the first one, at the end of each class she introduced Sen just as she did in the first one . One of the teachers said to Sen:

’You live in the same Okiya as Hatsu?’

‘Yes ma’am, the Senju Okiya.’

’That means you live with Karin-san, do you not?’

’Yes, Karin-san is the only geisha in our Okiya currently ma’am.’ The teacher snickered and sighed dramatically after hearing this, the mere mention of Karin sent fear running down the girls spine.

’I’ll do my best to teach you singing… if you do your best to stay alive Sen-chan!’ The teacher laughed as though she was the peak of comedy and sent the girls on their way.

That afternoon Sen was to accompany Karin to the Konoha Registry Office, she had no clue what the office was and what purpose it served. In her mind, she was expecting another grand building similar to the Senju Okiya but instead the office was a plain and simple building, not too dissimilar from the Tazuna Coastal Company office, just without the foul smells. The office itself only took up a few dark rooms on the second floor of the building it was it, which turned out to be a fabric storage unit. A clerk at a table in the hallway nodded at Karin and gestured to one of the back rooms, there sat at a table surrounded by ledgers and papers, was the largest man Sen had ever seen before in her life.

At the time she was unaware but the large man infront of her was a sumo wrestler, though no longer competing he still had the build. Sen chuckled silently imagining the large man steamrolling Karin and Granny into pancakes. Turning to face Karin she noticed the geisha had turned on her charm, this was the first time Sen had properly seen her in action. It was like seeing a different person come to life, all the hostility and cruelty she harboured in her small frame had melted away to reveal a warm and bubbly geisha but Sen knew it was all an act. 

‘Chooojjjiiiiiii-kkkuuuuuunnnn!’ Karin called out, her voice high-pitched and flirtatious, she floated towards the larger man who’s eyes lit up when he saw her.

’karin-chan! if you get any more beautiful I don’t know what I’ll do,’ he greeted warmly, his voice was odd, almost like a loud whisper. Sumo wrestlers typically had voices like this due to the damage their voice boxes would sustain when slamming into their opponents and Choji was no different. He may have been the size of a small boulder but he certainly dressed elegantly, Sen took in his pinstriped kimono and well kept beard. His job was to make sure that all the money that flowed through Konoha went exactly where it needed to. He managed the geisha wages, the tea house fees, the shop commissions and a small trickle of this money fell directly into his own pocket, not that Choji was a thief but this was simply the way of the district, he had an important job and he compensated himself accordingly.

Given his important role it was every geishas best interest to keep him happy, which is why he spent just as much time out of his elegant clothes as in them.

He and Karin spoke for a long time as Sen stood there gazing around, her pink hair had grown long and was beginning to cover her eyes, as she pushed her hair off her forehead she caught Choji’s eye, he turned his head to face her before standing up to look closer.

’Ha, I thought my eyes were fooling me. . .but no. She really does have eyes of a jewel.’ Sen felt intimidated by his gaze, he peered at her with wonder before taking in her hair. 

‘The hair isn’t as rare as the eyes are, there’s a few geisha with odd hair colours but still, pink. That’s a first.’ Choji’s words enraged Karin though she did a good job hiding her displeasure infront of him.

’Choji-kun you’re too kind, I once saw a dead fish with the same coloured mouth as her eyes,’ she sniffed, making a disgusted face towards Sen once the man was looking in the opposite direction.

’Karin-chan maybe you’re just too used to seeing your own beauty that you can’t see it in other’s too,’ he sighed, not wanting to upset the geisha. ‘Anyways, let’s register the girl. Name and place of birth?’

‘Sen Haruno, sir. From Nishimoya in the Land of Waves.’ He scribbled the information down, pausing for a second when he heard the land of waves. Konoha was a far far away place for the girl.

’You must be familiar with Nishimoya Sir, my older sister is from there too.’ Sen couldn’t pass up on the chance to ask Choji if he had seen her sister, she suspected Karin would be furious with her but instead she had a gleeful smile on her face that sickened Sen to her core.

’An older sister? If she was older she would have already registered and you’re the only girl I’ve seen from Nishimoya, your sister might not be in Konoha.’ Now Karin’s cruel smile all made sense, she knew Setsu wasn’t in the district at all, Sen knew that the Land of Fire had other smaller geisha districts and figured her sister must be in one of them instead.

When Sen made her way back to the Okiya, Aunty was waiting for her. She was to accompany her to the local bath house in preparation for the afternoons activities. Sen had been to the bathhouse before with the elderly maids who gave her a scrap of soap and left her to herself but Aunty was much kinder and offered to scrub Sen’s back for her. Even though Aunty was probably Sen’s favourite person in the Okiya she couldn’t help but feel resentful about it all.  Being sold to the geisha house by her father and mr. Tazuna, her mother’s sickness, being taken away from her sister and all of the wickedness she had endured. She hadn’t realised but she had drifted into her thoughts as Aunty had been speaking to her, thankfully the dark haired woman hadn’t noticed and went on talking about some famous actor.

Soon it was time to leave the bathhouse and go home, home, that was a strange word Sen hadn’t used in a while. Nishimoya used to be her home but she supposed not it was Konoha and the Okiya, the same resent built up inside her but was quickly forgotten when Aunty pulled out a silk kimono, it was the first time Sen was wearing such material and the excitement couldn’t be controlled. Golden flowers and green grass stitching covered the kimono across the sleeves and chest. Once Sen was properly dressed Aunty led her up the stairs to Karin’s room and gave her a stern talking to.

’Do not do anything to distract or bother Karin while she is getting ready!’ Sen didn’t quite understand what Aunty meant until years later when she herself became a geisha. The ritual of getting ready, applying the geisha makeup and the geisha robes wasn’t just a visual preparation to transform into a geisha but also a mental one, it was the time where they could focus and prepare themselves and transcend to greater heights. You see when a geisha wakes up in the morning she looks just like any other woman, she might have messy hair or dull skin but when getting ready she is mentally blooming into the sophisticated and elegant artisan, not on,y will she look like a geisha, she will start to be a geisha.

Inside the room Sen was instructed to sit behind Karin at an angle so she could see the older woman’s motions in the mirror in her makeup table. Karin was sat at a floor cushion before her table in her makeup robe and was holding an assortment of makeup brushes each a  different size. She turned around to show them to Sen who focused keenly.

‘These are my mail brushes, and you know that this is my makeup, you better not have touched them!’ She said, her hand moving to lift up a jar of her white face makeup and sniffed it.

’No ma’am I haven’t touched it at all.’

’Good, I believe you.’ She said, putting her jar down on the table before beginning her makeup. She started by explaining what every brush was for and what other items she had, a soft charcoal stick for her eyebrows, multiple pots of different shades of rouge for her lips and cheeks and a large jar of her white makeup that she used to make a paste with water. Watching Karin transform herself into a geisha made Sen feel sick with envy. Karin was beautiful and would go outside of the Okiya and be adored by his deeds while Sen would still be inside, sweaty and plain.

’Do you know why I’m showing you this?’ Karin asked the girl, it felt like a loaded question.

’So I’ll know how to wear the makeup?’ Sen asked, not sure if that was the right answer.

’Heavens no!’ Karin laughed out loud, nearly knocking her table over. ‘I’m showing you this so that you realise there isn’t any magic involved. What a tragedy for you, because that means makeup alone won’t fix stupid little Sen and change her into anything beautiful!’ She spat out, hostility dripping from every word.

’You know Karin, lots of people find Sen to be quite the lovely girl,’ Aunty said, coming to her defence.

’And lots of people are fools!’ Karin then ordered them both to leave, it was time for her to put her kimono on. Outside the room was Mr. Shiranui whom Sen hadn’t seen since that awful day he took them away from their home. It turned out that his job wasn’t to snatch little girls from their homes but he was the dresser. He would come to the Okiya each day to help Karin get her kimono on. The first distinction to make is that the way a geisha wears her kimono is different to the way a housewife would, the geisha wore robes of ornate design and expensive fabric, some never wore the same kimono twice! The fabric for the kimono was twice as a man was ling and all the excess fabric was folded and an elaborate obi was tied, that was truly his file, to tie the obi. It was also a ridiculously long piece of fabric but after half an hour of tugging and folding and pleating the kimono of gold and silver fit the contours of Karin’s body more perfectly than a glove. Her kimono looked expensive, of course it did, Konoha had maybe 800 or so geisha in the entire district and only 40 or so of these geisha were at the top. They were the ones who entertained foreign dignitaries, famous actors, chairmen of large corporations, political figures and other member of high society. Karin was one of these top geisha, her kimono was more expensive than what a policeman probably earned in a year and she looked perfectly at ease surrounded by the waves of fabric.

Not a single wrinkle or awkward cluster of fabric could be seen, even Aunty had to sigh and admire how wonderful the red headed serpent looked. That same sick feeling of envy returned to Sen, all her life she had never dreamed of her future for what future could a girl from a fishing village have?

Yet here she was.

Chapter Text

Winter in Senju Okiya- Konoha:

Sen supposed Karin was some sort of empress to the Okiya, she was their sole earner and the wealth she bought in supported the whole household, she got away with most of her cruelties and was untouchable to everyone other than granny and mother.

In keeping with geisha traditions, just like a servant would for an empress, the most junior geisha-in-training was expected to wait at the door and welcome the geisha of the Okiya home when they would return from their engagements.

Ever since Sen started her classes at the academy she had become the most junior trainee, in a room only metres away from the entryway where she sat Hatsu and the rest of the maids were fast asleep, retiring to bed far before midnight. Sometimes Sen would be awake till two in the morning waiting for Karin to return.

It was a thankless job, Karin often stumbled home drunk, unable to take her robes off alone and not willing to go into the kitchen and fix herself a snack, these responsibilities fell to Sen who felt more and more like a servant each day.

One night as the air began to grow cold from the approaching winter, Sen was sat at the door leaning against the wall when she began to dose off when she heard the heavy outside door began to open. In an instant she woke up, trying her best to appear alert and focused. Karin would be furious if she caught her sleeping and worse she would inform Mother who already wasn’t happy with Sen.

When the interior door opened she took a deep breath readying herself to deal with whatever ridiculous demands Karin had, when instead a man, wearing traditional work clothes, walked in. He had spiked shoulder length white hair, or maybe it was a very pale blonde and his eyes were a pale lavender. His clothes made him seem like a workman or a peasant but he didn’t look like one, he leaned down and looked at the girl square on.

‘’Well, aren’t you a pretty one,’ he smirked, there was a certain playfulness behind his voice. ‘What’s your name pinky?‘

Sen was confused, he surely must have been a work man, there was no other reason for him to come to the Okiya this late at night, she quickly realised he was waiting for an answer and hurried to say her name, she didn’t want to anger the strange man even if he did seem somewhat friendly.

’Sen-chan tell me is Yoko still here?’ He asked.

In Konoha all the Okiya were connected to the various tea houses via private telephone lines and Yoko was the operator for the Senju telephone line, she was kept incredibly busy most days, starting in the early afternoon and finishing her work come the early hours of the morning.

Her job was to answer the telephone to book Karin’s engagements and events like parties, banquets, summer excursions, sometimes up to a year in advance. Daily calls from mistresses of tea houses would ring through the phone lines with requests for Karin to stop by and entertain customers who requested an audience with her.

That night the phone hadn’t rung as much as usual and Sen hadn’t heard the telephone operator in a while, given how late at night it was she wouldn’t be surprised if Yoko had fallen asleep too.

The pale haired man didn’t wait for Sen to answer, instead he gestured at Sen to be quiet and cheekily winked at her before he made his way to the small room where Yoko worked without any directions, he had clearly been here before.

As he slid open the door she heard a loud yawn, indeed Yoko had fallen asleep, she could hear the two of them having a conversation with low voices. Eventually the phone was picked up and only Yoko’s voice could be heard, Sen strained to hear and she could barely make out Yoko saying “the kabuki actor Watanabe Tomoe has come to Konoha”. There wasn’t really a Watanabe Tomoe, it was a code name, though Sen wouldn’t really discover that until a while later.

After the call was over Yoko left the Okiya, done for the night, she didn’t seem all too concerned that there was a strange man in the Okiya, though Sen supposed he wasn’t all that strange since he had known where Yoko was. If Yoko hadn’t been too bothered about it then Sen decided it would be sensible to not mention it to anyone or think about it too hard.

Just as she was pondering the identity of the stranger Karin came back to the Okiya and stared down at her with fierce eyes.

’I haven’t truly tried to make your life miserable yet, but that will all change if you breathe a word about the man who came here tonight or that I left an engagement early.’ She hissed, her serpent-like character making a full appearance.

Silently the pink haired girl nodded and Karin silently made her way to the empty office, as she sat there frozen in place in the entryway she could hear a muffled conversation and what could almost be soft moaning and the occasional groan.

Sen felt such a mixture of curiosity and disgust it was almost as if she was glued to her spot on the floor. 

Once every two weeks or so, Karin and her boyfriend- who turned out to be an apprentice at a small kimono shop, would meet in the early hours of the morning and sneak off into Yoko’s office once she was done for the night.

They would meet at other places and other times during the day, she only knew this because Yoko was often the one to pass the messages on to Karin through the private telephone lines and Sen often overheard on her evening watch duty.

All the maids knew what Karin was doing and it was testament to the fear and power she had over everyone that nit a single one of the 25 maids had told Mother, Aunty or Granny. It was a guarantee that Karin would be in a whole world of trouble if they ever found out about what she was up to with a man like that, let alone bringing him back to the Okiya.

Being with him in an evening took her away from her engagements and events which all brought it money to the Okiya and the kimono shop apprentice didn’t pay for Karin’s time, not that he’d even have the money needed to pay for half an hour of her geisha rates.

And anyways, any wealthy man who might then be interested in an expensive, long-term relationship with Karin would be sorely put off after knowing she had a relationship with a mere apprentice.

One evening, as Sen was returning to her spot in the entryway after visiting the bathroom, she heard two voices outside the Okiya’s exterior door.

A moment later, the door was flung open with such force it slammed against the outer wall with a loud, echoing thud.

“Shut up, Karin, you’ll wake everyone up!” a high, squeaky voice giggled, unmistakably drunk.

Heart lurching, Sen rushed back to kneel in her place at the entryway, just in time for the interior door to open. Karin stumbled inside, clinging to another young woman.

The other girl was tall — so tall Sen could hardly believe she was real, towering over Karin in a way that made her seem almost unnatural. Her face, while not grotesque, was unfortunate; wide-set eyes and a long, horse-like face, though her lips were a lovely shape.

Karin, though clearly unsteady on her feet, still found it in herself to stop in front of Sen, fixing her with a glare steeped in disdain.

“This here is our good-for-nothing junior maid,” she slurred, gesturing with a lazy wave of her hand. “She has a name, but with such ridiculous hair like that, don’t you think she looks more like an insect bite, Jun?” She cackled at her own cruelty, nearly tipping over.

“Well, Little Insect Bite,” Jun giggled, her squeaky voice grating in Sen’s ears, “go get me and your older sister something to drink!”

Sen hurried to the kitchen, heart pounding. She knew Karin preferred plum wine, typically brewed in the spring, but winter was approaching and none remained.

In its place, she fetched two glasses of beer and returned to the entryway.

After guzzling down the beer, Karin dropped the empty glass to the floor and crouched down to tear away the brown paper from the package they had carried in. Sen’s breath caught when she saw what lay within.

A kimono no, not just any kimono. This was a masterpiece, a work of art fit for an empress. Thick, heavy winter silk, in powdery blues and crisp whites, embroidered with silver and black.

Flowing water, ice, and winter fauna covered every inch of the fabric, with no plain patches anywhere. Dark blue flowers dotted the silk like stars scattered over a frozen pond.

Expensive wasn’t a strong enough word for it. Even Karin, one of the highest-earning geisha in the Land of Fire, would never own a kimono like this.

Jun stared at it in stunned admiration. Sen, too, couldn’t tear her gaze away.

She was just about to quietly excuse herself when Karin’s hand shot out to stop her. “No, Little Insect Bite, you’re not going anywhere just yet,” Karin slurred. “It’s time for a game!”

Jun clapped her hands like a child. “Ooh, a game!”

“Guess whose kimono this is,” Karin challenged, her giddy excitement turning sharp and cruel.

Jun sighed wistfully, leaning over the garment. “I wish it was mine.”

“Well, it’s not yours. Think again. Who do we hate more than anyone on earth?”

Jun’s brow furrowed, her drunken grin slipping a little. “Karin… you didn’t. How in the world did you get Mameha’s kimono?”

Karin cackled. “Mameha? Gods no. You’re not thinking hard enough, Jun. Try again!”

There was a pause — and Sen watched the realisation wash over Jun’s face like a storm flattening a field of crops.

“Ino,” Jun whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh gods. That’s Ino’s kimono.”

“Ding ding ding,” Karin crowed, triumphant.

Jun’s face drained of colour. “What did you do to get your hands on it, Karin?” she asked, her earlier bravado vanishing.

Karin’s eyes glittered. “I was at the Uzumaki Theatre for a fitting a few nights ago. Heard some… interesting sounds behind the stage. Found that pig’s maid with the theatre manager in a very compromising position. Told her if she didn’t fetch me Ino’s warmed robe, and hand this over, I’d tell the whole damn district.” Karin laughed.

“She sobbed like a baby when I said I was taking this one too.”

Jun’s face twisted in apprehension, glancing at the kimono and then toward the doors.

The air in the room changed; thickened, heavy with unspoken dread.

“Karin…” Jun began nervously, wringing her hands. “What are you going to do with it? This won’t end well. You know it won’t.”

Karin’s expression darkened, her drunken mood shifting in an instant. “Coward,” she spat. “You always were. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

For a long, heavy moment, Jun hesitated. Her wide, glassy eyes met Sen’s, and in that instant, Sen silently begged her — stay. Stop this.

Say something.

But Jun looked away.

Her shoulders slumped as if something inside her had broken, and she turned, slipping out the door like a shadow, vanishing into the night.

Karin, too drunk to notice or care, thrust the kimono into Sen’s arms and staggered off toward Yoko’s office, returning with ink and a calligraphy brush.

“Come here, maid,” she slurred. “Why don’t we practice some calligraphy?”

It wasn’t a question.

Sen’s stomach knotted, horror crawling through her like ice water. She didn’t want to , she couldn’t. But refusing Karin was unthinkable.

“Do you want to find your sister or not?” Karin barked, her voice shrill and sharp. “Get over here, you little bitch!”

Her voice carried through the quiet halls, waking an elderly maid who appeared at the doorway, blinking bleary-eyed. Jun was gone.

Mother wasn’t here. No one to stop this.

The old maid’s gaze met Sen’s for a moment before Jun’s absence caught her attention and she wisely retreated.

Karin shoved the brush into Sen’s hand, her grip bruising.

Trembling, Sen dipped the brush into ink. The kimono’s fabric shimmered in the moonlight, too beautiful to destroy.

But she made the first mark.

A sharp, black slash over pale blue silk.

Karin squealed like a child at a festival. “More! Ruin it, you little insect!”

Sen’s tears blurred her vision. The brush moved again, again, and again, each stroke stealing a piece of beauty from the garment until it was a ruin of ink and tears.

When it was done, Karin cackled and wrapped the ruined kimono back in the brown paper. Shoving it into Sen’s arms, she gave hurried, slurred instructions about where to deliver it.

“But… I’m not allowed to leave the Okiya without permission,” Sen protested, feebly.

“I am giving you permission, you stupid brat,” Karin snapped, pushing her out the front doors and into the cold night.

The package felt like a brick in her hands.

The guilt clung to her like thick smoke as she made her way through the dark streets toward the place Karin had named, a small, luxurious teahouse across from the Uzumaki Theatre.

The Ichiraku Teahouse.

The most exclusive, most powerful in all Konoha, perhaps even the Land of Fire.

Sen crept around to the back entrance and climbed the wooden stairs, her legs shaking with exhaustion and dread. At the top, she knocked softly on the door. A maid opened it, and inside, Sen caught a glimpse of two figures.

An older man with long, spiked grey hair and deep red lines under his eyes. And beside him, the most beautiful woman Sen had ever seen.

Long, thick blonde hair. Clear, cutting blue eyes. The perfect harmony of face and form. While Karin wore her ornaments and paint like armour, this woman wore them as though born with them.

It could only be Ino.

The maid, Nanami, took the package from Sen, pulling the paper back just enough to see the damage. A choked, stricken cry escaped her before she could stifle it.

“Who is visiting at this hour, Nanami?” Ino called, her voice muffled but unmistakably sharp.

Nanami quickly composed herself, smoothing her expression. “No one to trouble you with, Ino-sama,” she replied, closing the door behind her.

Sen was left standing on the steps alone, the night air biting her skin.

Each step down the narrow stairs felt heavier than the last. The cold gnawed through her thin slippers. The darkness pressed close around her.

She wished the night would never break.

Because when dawn came, it would bring ruin.

And she would have nowhere left to run.

Winter in Senju Okiya - Konoha:

The next day when Sen woke up one of the maids told her she wasn’t to attend her classes that day, instead she was stuck in the kitchens preparing food for dinner. Granny, Aunty and Mother had been in Mother's office all morning and Sen knew they had been discussing Ino’s kimono and once Karin returned in the afternoon both her and Sen were summoned to the office.

A sick feeling filled Sen, Mother looked furious and Granny had a sickening look of glee on her face, she enjoyed giving beatings. Karin had a leisurely look on her face, she turned to Sen and flashed a predatory grin towards Sen which wasn’t missed by Mother or Aunty Shizune. For once there was no sake near Mother which showed just how serious she was taking the situation.

’We had a visit early this morning from Ino-san and her maid,’ Mother said, staring straight at Karin with poorly masked anger.

‘’Oh Mother, I feel so terrible about it all. I tried to stop Sen from destroying the Kimono but you know how stupid these fishing village girls are, they can barely read let alone listen to an order. I told her not to do it but she’s so hateful and destructive I can’t believe she would do such a thing just to try hurt me.’ Karin sighed, overly melodramatic and dripping with fake apology.

’Shut your mouth!’ Aunty shouted, Karin mockingly gasped and widened her eyes for dramatics.

’Aunty you can’t possibly think I had something to do with this petty nonesense.’ She continued on in the same dramatic and sarcastic tone. 

‘Everyone in Konoha knows you hate Ino, you hate anyone who is more successful than you.’ Aunty said.

‘Well in that case Aunty, I must love you given you turned out to be such a colossal failure.’ She laughed out in cruel mockery.

’There will be no more of that!’ Said Mother, her voice left in room for arguing and Karin bit her tongue.

’Now listen close Karin, nobody here is stupid enough to believe your little story. I won’t have behaviour like this in the Okiya, even from you. I have a lot of respect for Ino she is a most esteemed geisha and is deserving of our respect. I won’t be hearing of any more stories like this. As for who pays for the kimono, well there’s no doubt Sen was the one to do it, one of the maids saw it happen. The girl will pay, I’ll add it on to your ever growling list of debt.’ Mother said, rather than reaching for sake she reached for the bamboo pole, the one Granny used for beatings and passed it to the elderly woman.

’No, Tsunade-sama, there’s no reason for Sen to take on the debt of the kimono it isn’t fair, Karin should have to pay it off this is her wickedness.’Aunty said, turning to the blonde woman.

Sen was grateful that the older woman had come to her aid but Granny began talking then.

’Enough Shizune! we have spoken about this. The girl will be beaten and made to pay the debt owed for the kimono, now bring her to the courtyard so I can get it done with.’ Granny croaked, her voice heavy and laboured.

’Oh give me that Granny, I won’t have you beating her and having your joints flare up again, heavens knows you’re already falling apart as it is.’ Aunty snatched the pole from Granny and began limping towards Sen and took her to the courtyard.

Once they were out of hearing range from Karin and the others she turned to Sen and whispered to her.

‘’What the heck have you done to make Karin hate you so much? Do you even know the amount of debt you’re now in, Sen-chan this debt is serious and Karin is hell-bent in destroying you. Whatever you’re doing to upset her you must stop it!’

’Aunty I swear I haven’t done anything, she just hates me!’

‘Listen to me Sen-chan, whatever happens you must not trust Karin at all, even if it seems like she is trying to help you she isn’t, it’s a trick and she will ruin your chances here at the Okiya. She’s already landed you in so much debt it will take years to work it off.’

’Debt. . .Aunty what does that mean?’

’When you begin to work as a geisha through your earnings you start to pay off your debt to the Okiya. Here all the costs for your meals, clothes, lessons, any Doctors appointments when your sick and even the price we paid for you are considered debts to the Okiya. Once you start to earn a wage you pay a chunk of it back to the Okiya until your debt is fully cleared. Why do you think Mother is so obsessed with her account books and numbers? It’s all the money you owe to her that one day you’ll need to repay. You won’t fully pay this all off until you’ve been a geisha for a good many years and you’ll never end up paying it back if you end up a failed geisha like me. Is that what you truly want?’ Sen could hear the sadness in Aunty’s voice, since she arrived the older woman had been nothing but kind to her and had given her sound wisdom and now she was upset she had disappointed Aunty.

’If you want to ruin your life in Konoha there are hundreds of ways to do it. You could run away and then you’re really screwed, Mother won’t put any money into a girl who runs away, you’ll live out the rest of your years a maid then, no future for a bad investment. Or you could lose the favour of your teachers and they refuse to teach you and offer their guidance and then you’ll never receive the training to be a geisha and you can’t be a geisha with no training. Or maybe you’ll be like me and grow up ugly, I was a pretty enough child when Granny bought me off my parents but then I grew up and the beauty left me and one day she beat me for something so hard she broke my hip and now I walk with this limp. Thats when I stopped being a geisha. That’s why I’m going to beat you today instead of her, so she doesn’t do to you what she did to me.’

The moment the bamboo pole made contact with Sen’s back the whole world went black and all she could do was cry and cry. Sen wasn’t sure how long she laid there but once Aunty was done she shuffled off and left the girl to cry on the floor of the courtyard. Sen laid there and sobbed, it seemed like all she did these days was cry her eyes out every other day.

After a while she felt footsteps approaching and she lifted her head up to see Karin sneering down on her.

‘’Get out of my way Sen”

’You promised to tell me where my sister was!’ Sen mustered all the strength she had to speak.

’Oh yes I did!’

’Your sister is in a brothel in Hanabe District, just south of Konoha.’ When she was done speaking she kicked Sen and walked off.

Chapter Text

Winter in House Senju:

Tsunade sighed heavily as she finished her glass of sake.

What should have been a leisurely and slow morning was anything but, a few hours after daybreak Ino and her maid had come to the Okiya.

Tsunade as Mother of the Senju Okiya was familiar with lots of the geisha in the Konoha district and made a point to meet with as many as she could.

That being said absolutely everyone knew Ino, who was undoubtedly the most successful geisha in Konoha of the current generation, in all the rich history of geisha in the Land of Fire going back the last hundred years or so since the dawn of artisan entertainment, there were only two or three truly great geisha and Ino was most definitely one of them.

Tsunade held a great deal of respect for the young woman, not only was she classically beautiful, a well-mannered and kind person but also someone of importance within the bubble they all lived in, Tsunade knew where to give respect when it was due. 

In the world of Konoha it’s probably best to picture the hierarchy as some fort of triangle, at the bottom were all the thousands of “geisha” who weren’t really true geisha, sure they had their names in the registry but watch how they play the shamisen or their dancing skills and knowledge of tea ceremony and one would quickly realise they were geisha in name only, acting more as bed warmers for the right price.

Above them were true geisha who were classically trained in the arts yet were not popular, either due to not being beautiful enough or interesting enough and there were a fair few hundred or so geisha like that, their rates were the cheapest, only the prettiest of faces could charge the steeper rates.

And the pyramid keeps climbing up until you reach the final segment of 40 or so elite geisha amongst the thousands in Konoha alone and sat there at the top was Ino Yamanaka.

That was one of the reasons why she was so horrified to see Ino and her maid, carrying the destroyed kimono in the same paper shell it had been in the previous day.

The maid recounted her story, in all its gory detail, to her and then repeated it in the presence of Granny and Aunty who looked disturbed. Granny immediately flew into a flurry of apology towards Ino. 

‘Ino-san, no words can express my apology enough, that girl has brought shame upon the Senju name and she will be dealt with accordingly.’ Tsunade sighed at hearing this, Granny was just itching to give the girl a beating.

Ino was gracious enough to look satisfied after hearing this and left shortly after. Shizune and Granny were arguing back and forth over who should repay the kimono debt. Sen or Karin.

Tsunade was no fool, she knew this was all Karin’s doing, it had her malice and cruelty written all over it. Yet the elderly maid had clearly seen Sen destroy the kimono and that meant no matter how hard Shizune argued that the debt should go to the geisha rather than the girl, she could never win.

Still, just because Sen had been the one to make the marks didn’t mean Karin held no involvement, everyone knew of the fierce hatred she harboured towards Ino it was no secret and Karin certainly would stoop to low levels. Sen probably didn’t even know who Ino was, it was far more likely that Karin coerced the girl into doing it.

Everyone was familiar with Karin’s wicked ways.

In the afternoon both the girls were brought to the office, Tsunade winced when she saw Sen being marched out by Shizune for her beating but that was just the way things were done, corporal punishments were the norm. She stared at Karin who was still in her office spouting out her theatrical lies, trying to paint herself as the innocent bystander.

Tsunade didn’t miss the sky smirk on the geisha’s face when Sen was taken away. Neither Granny nor herself believed a word that came out her mouth and that was why some discipline needed to be dished out.

The blonde haired woman pulled back the sleeve of her light grey kimono and slapped Karin hard across the face, the red-headed geisha was silent as she clutched her cheek, now the same colour as her hair.

’You might think you can go around behaving as you please, perhaps that was a fault on my behalf. Listen to this well Karin for I won’t be saying it again. Ino deserves respect and admiration, you should look up to her, not go around destroying other peoples property. As for this business you’ve dragged Sen into, I don’t know what’s been rotting your mind but you stop it now. Geisha of your standing do not behave this way, least of all towards one of their juniors.’

Karin didn’t say a word, she sat there still as rock reeling from the slap, her eyes filled with anger and hatred . It was rare for her to be disciplined and least of all in such a fierce way. After a moment Granny dismissed her but not before glaring daggers at the pair of women.

’That girl was born wrong Tsunade, death can’t come quick enough for the ones like her,’ Granny said while shuffling to the door to leave. 

‘Aunty, what’s a brothel?’ Sen questioned, aunty nearly choked on her tea.

The two of them were sat in the smaller reception room practicing Sen’s reading. In the cold of winter all extra practice was done inside rather than the courtyard and Sen and Hatsu would spend hours with aunty in the room huddled around the  kerosene heater, shivering as they plucked at their shamisen or read out loud.

’A brothel is where Karin will end up if she ever gets what she deserves!’ Aunty spat, it occurred to Sen that perhaps her sister was in an even worse position than she was.

Aunty still hasn’t truly answered her question though and her worry for her sister only worsened. Sadness filled her heart, she couldn’t wait to sneak out of the Okiya and find Setsu and finally run away. As punishment for her destruction of Ino’s kimono she was confined to the Okiya for two months and only allowed to leave when going to her lessons with Hatsu accompanying her.

It would do her no good to try sneak out before her confinement was over, she was already in so much trouble and if she snuck out and was discovered then Mr. Shiranui or some other would be sent out to find her and bring her back.

Some weeks ago one of the maids from the next door Okiya had run off and been found again, the mistress of the Okiya beat the maid so badly everyone on the street could hear her wailing for days. Some nights Sen had to put cotton in her ears to drown out the noise. She decided she would wait until she was no longer confined to the Okiya and then make her plan to escape.

In the mean time though she had decided to take some revenge on Karin for all the cruelty and had begun to wipe her toilet cleaning rag all over the geisha’s makeup brushes.

There was also the other issue of actually getting there. Karin said that her sister was in another district and that posed an issue. See, where Sen lived, Konoha, was both a city itself and also a district within the city of Gion, the capitol of the Land of Fire, a large expansive city that truly had no end. Konoha was the city of the geisha where they lived and worked but within the larger capitol city of Gion it was known as The Geisha District.

That’s why most of the people in Konoha considered it to be their own little bubble, a playground for the wealthy, because truly that’s what it was, the entertainment capitol within the capitol. Surrounding the geisha city were tall walls, the only ways in our out of the district were through the glossy red gates, it kept Konoha separate from the rest of Gion and kept it isolated, an exclusive retreat for those who could pay the price.

Sen knew Hanabe district was directly to the south of Konoha and that it was a more rundown and cheap area. Aunty often said that the men who couldn’t afford even the cheapest geisha rates would frequent the houses in Hanabe, not that Sen really understood what she was talking about.

 One night some days later as Sen was sat waiting for Karin to return, Yoko came out of her small room holding a shamisen and flagged down Sen.

’Sen, I need you to go to the Mizuki Teahouse and give this to Karin, she’s lost a bet and has to play a sing but is refusing to play on any but her own. Hurry!’ Yoko snapped, ushering her out the door. Yoko wasn’t aware of Sen’s confinement snd even if Mother questioned her she had a valid excuse.

Sen knew exactly where the teahouse was, in the very heart of Konoha was the uzumaki theatre, a bastion of the geisha arts, and on the east of the theatre was the tea house district where all the reputable tea houses like Ichiraku, Mizuki, Onoe and a handful more stood. The snow came down in gentle flutters, Sen hadn’t seen such delicate snow before, all she was accustomed to was the harsh ice that stabbed her face during the bleak winters in Nishimoya. Making her way out of the gates that separates the Okiya zone from the rest of Konoha she quickly walked past the theatre and admired its beauty. The uzumaki theatre was the most prestigious in the entire Land of Fire, having been built over hundreds of years ago as a hub of geisha art and kabuki theatre. The warm orange lights streamed through the windows onto the snow covered street, leaving a glow on the ground.

It was a magnificent building, tall and made of magnificent wood with paper lanterns embellishing the outer face, beams streaming across the building front covered in kanji and ancient characters representing prosperity and creativity. 

Sen realised she was standing idle and rushed to the Mizuki which was just behind Ichiraku that was on the corner of the street opposite the theatre. Once she reached the Mizuki she knocked on the front door and saw a young woman a few years older than her slide the screen open.

’Maids go to the back door!’ She hissed, the young woman looked very put together in her dusty blue kimono snd not for the first time Sen felt envious, even so she was well aware the lady who received her was not the mistress of the teahouse but one of the maids.

’I have the shamisen for Kari-‘

’Back door, go!’ She cut Sen off and slammed the sliding door shut. Sen sighed and grabbed the shamisen before making her way around to the back door.

She knew the Mizuki was a more upscale Teahouse, it was Karin’s primary Teahouse, and she should have known to go straight to the servants entrance at the back.

The young woman was already waiting for her with the door open, Sen passed along the shamisen and explained it was for Karin, before the Teahouse maid could shut the door once more she knew she had to take a chance.

’Excuse me ma’am but might you tell me how to get to Hanabe district from here please?’

’What business does a girl like you have there?’ She questioned, her eyes sharp.

’I need to collect something.’ Sen lied, she wasn’t sure whether the young woman had bought the lie or not but regardless she answered after a pause.

‘’Well, follow the south road down until you reach the southern gates and then walk a bit past them and the next district you find is Hanabe.’

Sen bowed deeply in thanks, then took off down the south road. In a rickshaw it would take maybe ten minutes or so to get from the theatre to the southern gates but with Sen’s short legs and the snow fall it took her almost half an hour till she crossed through the glossy red gates, signalling that for the first time in months she was no longer in Konoha.

After ten minutes or so she finally came to Hanabe district, it was full of drunk men, women sat on the corner of the streets with their kimonos tied around the front instead of the back like all the geisha of Konoha she knew. The kimono tied around the front was for easier access when taking it on and off multiple times, but no ten year old would know this. Karin had said the name of the brothel that Setsu was at was called the Jirou, it was a stroke of luck that all the different buildings had names on their outside walls, not too dissimilar from the practice of Okiya, though Hanabe was nothing like Konoha.

Where Konoha was clean and refined and full of intelligent and witty geisha and important dignitaries snd business men, Hanabe reeked of alcohol and poverty, gambling dens lines every corner of the road and a brawl had broken out near a bar.

Hurriedly Sen sped up hoping to find her sister, at last she came across the building, an old woman sat outside on a stool, her kimono also tied in the same strange way, she sat talking to a younger woman also on a stool on the opposite side of the street.

‘Excuse me ma’am, I’m here to see my sister Setsu.’ 

‘Setsu? Never heard of no Setsu, get lost.’ The older woman dismissed her, not unkindly, before turning back to her conversation.

’I’m sorry ma’am but I heard my sister was here and I just want to see her!’

’And I told you there is no Setsu round here!’ The old woman huffed, clearly annoyed.

’Setsu. . .isnt that the name of your Makoto?’ The other woman from across the street said.

’Makoto. No. This can’t be her sister.’ The older woman laughed cruelly. ‘If our Makoto looked anything like this one here we’d be the busiest house in Hanabe!’

’Please ma’am, I am her sister and I’m sure she’ll confirm that it’s me once she sees me.’ The older woman didn’t look too convinced.

’Girl I bet you don’t even have a single yen with you.’ It was true, Sen never carried around money, even when she went to the shops to place orders she would simply tell them to bill the Senju Okiya.

‘My sister will lay you whatever is necessary once she sees me.’ Sen said and finally the old woman cracked a smile.

’Well you wait here and I’ll see if she’s busy or not.’ Sen stood there for what felt like an eternity before the old woman came back.

’She’s just up the stairs.’

Sen rushed up the stairs, not caring that she was being noisy, stood in an empty hallway full of closed doors was Setsu. She looked gaunt and pale, almost like how their sick mother looked. The moment Setsu saw her younger sister tears welled up in her eyes and the two girls hugged each other closely. 

‘Sen is that you?’ Setsu’s face was wet from tears snd Sen stared up at her sister, finally feeling relief.

’I came to find you months ago what took you so long, why didn’t you come quicker? oh Sen I can’t stay here it’s awful.’ Setsu wailed, clutching onto her sister.

’The woman you spoke to was wicked she only told me where you were a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t tell me for so long.`

’I have to leave Sen I can’t stay here! I’ve been saving money and I have a train timetable hidden under my bed. A week from now-on Thursday- I’m leaving, I’ve saved enough for the train fare,’ a noise from upstairs spooked Setsu who began to speak very quickly, she knew she was running out of time.

’But where do I meet you? And what time?’ Sen asked, frantic. She could feel her heart pounding, it was so intense she almost felt pain. 

’Meet me at the river Kisame by the station early in the morning. Six, come at six!’ And then suddenly a voice was approaching snd Setsu gave her sister a shove down the hallway and the two parted once again.

When Sen finally reached the Okiya she was relived to see it was just as quiet as when she left, as she settled back into her spot she noticed the door to the unused maid room was ajar and a light was creeping out from the room. She suddenly froze, nobody used that room ever.

Slowly and silently she made her way to the door snd peered through the crack, the sight that laid infront of her was more unpleasant than a dead rat, it was Karin and her boyfriend in various states of undress making the most shameful of noises, as Sen moved to walk away a floorboard creaked and she locked eyes with Karin.

’what was that noise?’ Her boyfriend questioned, looking panicked.

’Nothing suigetsu-kun, just the wind.’

’No, no,’ he snapped at her. ‘I know what I heard don’t lie to me.’ He began to grow angry and Sen took this as her cue to make her way back to her spot by the entrance.

Moments later Suigetsu came rushing out the door of the unused room, his clothes haphazardly thrown on.

He then noticed Sen by the front door and sharply turned to face Karin. His face was bubbling with anger and all of it was directed at the geisha.

’She wasn’t here before when we got here and now she is?’ 

‘She left the Okiya when she wasn’t supposed to, I’ll deal with her later.’ She said in what sounded like a soothing tone, she placed a gentle arm around his shoulders.

’But You knew she was there she was the noise and you lied to me.’ He aggressively shook off her embrace and began to open the front door.

’Suigetsu-Kun don’t go, you’d feel so much better if you’d calm down, oh why don’t you come back tomorrow evening?’ Karin was pleading, Sen had never heard Karin speak to anyone like this, ever. The geisha was following after the man, trailing like a puppy.

’I don’t want to see you tomorrow, my wife watches me too closely.’

’Then come here, we have the spare maids room!’ 

‘Yeah, come here if I want to get spied on. Just let me go, I want to go home.’

‘Please don’t be angry with me, just say you’ll come back tomorrow!’ The desperation was dripping from her voice, if Sen didn’t know her she would’ve felt sympathy for Karin.

’One day I won’t come back, you know that.’

He stared at the red headed geisha for a long while after that, both stood in silence before he turned around to leave. Karin stood staining at the door for another moment in silence before turning her evil eyes towards Sen.

’you went to go see that prostitute sister of yours didn’t you?’

’Please Karin-san, don’t say anything I don’t want to get into trouble again,’

’First you sneak out the Okiya, then you come back to spy on me!’ She began raising her voice and Sen could hear some of the maids stirring.

’Please forgive me, I didn’t know it was you in the room, I-I thought it was an intruder!’ She pleaded, hoping for some sort of understanding. Karin was silent again.

’You’re planning on running away with that sister of yours aren’t you?’ There was a softness to Karin’s voice now, a tender, almost maternal layer to it.

’I think it’s a wonderful idea, the sooner you’re out of here the better it is for me. I can’t wait to be rid of you. Wait here.’ Karin then turned around and stalked off to her room before shortly returning. 

‘Open your hand!’ She commanded , Sen did as she was told and a handful of money was infront of her, she refused to close her fist around it so the older geisha tucked the notes into the girls side pocket.

’You being gone is certainly a big help so take this money and just leave.’ Sen remembered what aunty had told her about never trusting Karin even if it seemed she was trying to help but Sen knew that all Karin wanted was to get rid of her, giving a handful of petty cash was almost a kind gesture.

Karin wore a warm and delicate smile, she still had that motherly air about her and Sen almost smiled back before it all went wrong. Suddenly Karin had a fistful of pink hair and began to drag the girl towards Mother’s bedroom where she loudly banged on the door.

The pain was ripping through the girls scalp, Karin’s grip tight on her tender head. She could feel the tears start to bead at the corners of her eyes. Sen couldn’t understand what had happened, until she realised she had been tricked again and was about to pay dearly, she felt sick and knew that this would end badly for her.

She could hear mother groan as she awoke from deep slumber before making her way out to see what the commotion was about.

’What the hell is going on you two!’ Mother shouted, anger dripping off each syllable. She slid open the door to an unpleasant sight, sen had been dragged across the hallway by her hair, tears running down her normally pale face now blotchy and red. Karin had an evil glint in her eyes.

‘My emerald brooch, this stupid bitch!’ Karin screamed while hitting Sen who could do nothing but curl into a ball to protect herself.

The geisha slammed her fists into the younger girl’s head over and over and all Sen could do was cry. In an instant aunty was awake and out in the hallway too, her and  mother restrained Karin who continued to shout obscenities at the top of her lungs.

’She stole my emerald brooch mother that wicked wicked child. She took my jewellery and sold it off, she’s trying to run away, run off from the Okiya! I saw her with a man at the entrance but he ran off, wicked wicked demon child!’

’Karin, that’s enough.’ Mother said, pushing the geisha away to create some distance. Karin had shouted so much she was red in the face and needed to catch her breath.

’Go with aunty and see what else is missing from your room!’ Mother said, grateful the horrible shouting was finally over, it seemed as though Karin’s noice had woken nearly the whole Okiya .

The moment Sen was alone with Mother she turned to the older woman, her green eyes red and raw from tears.

‘I didn’t steal anything Mother, it’s not true! Karin was in the spare maids room with her boyfriend. She’s angry at me for something and taking it out on me but I swear I didn’t take anything!’ Sen pleaded, mother didn’t say anything or even acknowledge the fact she had heard the girl. Instead she used the sleeve of her night gown to wipe Sen’s face and stood there waiting in silence. Sen sniffled, curled up on the floor at Mother’s feet, how could the day have ended so terribly?

When aunty and Karin returned, the geisha made a big fuss about how her brooch had been stolen and how it was such a valued item. It was true that the brooch was bejewelled with multiple emeralds and was no doubt expensive, but Sen had never even seen the woman wear it before.

’Shizune, search the girl.’ Sen had never been searched before but very quickly she felt aunty going through her pockets until she found the notes that Karin had placed there, they felt like bricks in her pocket. Mother counted the notes with her fickle eyes.

’Well Sen you’re a fool to sell such an expensive brooch for so little.’ Mother sighed, tucking the money into her own pocket. She didn’t further say anything to sen or even chastise her for what had happened. Mother turned her gaze towards Karin who stood smugly next to a yawning aunty.

’You had a boyfriend here tonight at the Okiya Karin,’ mother said, barely masking her anger behind her blank expression and neutral tone.

Karin paused, clearly taken aback before she burst out laughing as though mother had just told her the funniest story.

‘Mother whatever made you think of such a wild thing?’ The geisha chuckled but Sen knew, she could see the slight furrowing of her brows and nervous twitch in her eye.

Mother sternly looked towards aunty before gesturing towards Karin, immediately aunty seized the geishas slim arms and held them behind her back. Mother reached between the geisha’s kimono flaps at the thigh and when she pulled her hands back they were wet with moisture.

Sen assumed Karin would resist but instead she stood there like a statue shooting daggers at the girl. Mother instructed aunty to let Karin go and then inspected the moisture before drawing her hand back to slap Karin across the face, leaving the geisha stumbling to the wall.

Chapter Text

Winter - Senju Okiya

Karin wasn’t the only one who was angry at Sen.

Mother had taken away all the maids’ fish privilege for two months as punishment for knowing about Karin’s boyfriend and not reporting it. Truly, it was testament to the power she had over them all. All of the maids glared at Sen as though she had stolen the food from their bowls herself, Hatsu almost wept when she heard the news, the trainee geisha weren’t fed much to begin with and so the loss was felt deeply. If anything all the hatred directed towards Sen just strengthened her resolve to leave. So far she had only ever lived her life in the boxes other people had forced her into. Her father and Mr. Tazuna conspired to sell her, her own father!

She used to tell herself it didn’t matter. That a man like her father, who sold his own daughters, couldn’t take anything from her because he’d never given her anything to begin with. But it did matter. It mattered every time she remembered the way he traded her away like a sack of fish, a price agreed upon without a word of protest. It mattered in the quiet, lonely hours of the night when Sen could still smell the salt of the sea clinging to her dreams. But she swore — she swore that no one would take the rest of her. Whatever pieces of my life were left, she would claim them. One day, Sen would leave this world behind, and no one would ever own her again

To her dismay, Mother had ordered a lock to be put on both the inner and outer doors. Sen was no longer allowed to stay up to greet Karin, that task had been returned to Hatsu, who now had to wake Aunty to unlock the doors, the old woman sleeping with the key tied around her neck. It posed a problem for the pink-haired girl. If she couldn’t leave through the front, then how could she meet Setsu? Thursday was only a few days away. She had to start planning.

In the days that followed, she threw herself into chores. To anyone watching, she was a diligent, quiet little maid cleaning the unused rooms and sweeping the hallways. In truth, she was scouting the okiya for possible exits.

When she’d first arrived in Konoha, the Senju Okiya had felt like a maze — long corridors, paper screens, twisting staircases, a well-manicured courtyard in the center. On the ground floor were the formal reception rooms, Mother’s office, the kitchens. The maids slept on the first floor in a cramped room, while above them were the guest quarters, the geisha’s suites, Aunty’s tiny room, and Mother’s chambers. At the very top, beneath sloped eaves, were the kimono storage rooms and empty, dusty rooms that no one touched.

Most okiya in the district followed this pattern, though only a handful were as large as Senju’s.

One afternoon, as Sen worked her way through the top floor, chasing dust with a frayed rag, Aunty’s voice called from below.

“Sen!”

“Yes, Aunty?” she called, scurrying to the top of the staircase.

Aunty appeared, red-faced, holding a bucket of steaming water. “Pour this down the bathroom pipes up there — they’re frozen solid. If the pipes burst, we’ll all be in big trouble!”

Sen took the bucket, the heat radiating through the handle, stinging her cold fingers. Ever since her stolen meeting with Setsu, Konoha had been plunged into a relentless cold snap. Snow fell day and night in thick, smothering sheets, and the city had all but shut down. The Ministry of Weather in Gion had issued official warnings: no travel, no teahouses, no theatres, no lessons. Even the geisha academy had closed.

Mother had forbidden anyone from leaving the okiya. No one came, no one went. The only mercy was the electric heaters brought in for the main rooms and the heartier winter meals: steaming bowls of noodles thick with potato and spice. Still, the cold bit through walls and floors.

The top floor was a dead, silent place. No one lived there. Only Mr. Shiranui, the kimono keeper, came up occasionally to fetch garments. The air was thick with dust and the sharp smell of mildew.

Sen made her way to the bathroom, a heavy door, its metal handle like ice under her skin. Even inside her thicker winter robe, the cold cut to the bone. She pushed open the door and paused.

A window.

It was small, high up, and square — but a window nonetheless, one that opened onto the roof.

Sen’s pulse quickened.

After pouring the hot water down the frozen pipe, she tested the latch of the window. It moved. A plan began to form.

The front doors were sealed tight, but nothing stopped her from going up.

For the next two days, Sen worked harder than ever, making a show of her exhaustion, sighing over chores and rubbing her cold fingers before the heater. By evening she would crawl into her futon beside Hatsu, trading tired smiles as the other girl chattered about how wonderful it was to finally have warmth in the room.

The night of her escape, dinner was thick with noodles and warm broth, the kind of meal that lulled everyone to sleep. One by one the house grew silent, soft snores filling the maids’ quarters.

Sen waited.

When she was sure the others were asleep, she rose, gently sliding from under her futon. The hallway outside was dark and icy cold. She crept to the staircase, pausing by the banister to look down at the courtyard below. Snow was still falling, steady and thick.

Freedom was just ahead.

Sen moved carefully, listening for every creak, every murmur of wind. She climbed to the top floor and slipped into the bathroom, her heart hammering in her chest.

For a long moment, she crouched against the cold tile floor, her breath coming in sharp, nervous gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Just one night. Just one time. Setsu’s waiting.

Steeling herself, she reached up, pulled down on the skylight, and forced it open. Icy wind howled in, cutting through her robe like a blade. She shivered violently, but there was no turning back now.

She stood on the toilet lid, hoisting herself up through the window. Snow instantly soaked her sleeves, her fingers stiffening with cold. She gave silent thanks for the upper body strength she’d earned hauling buckets and scrubbing floors.

And then… she was out.

The rooftop stretched before her, a slope of white, smooth and untouched. The world was still, save for the snow and her pounding heart.

For a moment, she felt weightless.

A bird.

All of Konoha stretched out before her, a city blanketed in silence and snow. Lanterns glowed behind closed shutters, and the neighbouring okiya roofs all connected like a continuous frozen wave.

She gripped her robe tighter. The cold gnawed at her skin, but freedom was here; tangible, intoxicating.

Just ahead was the grove of tall trees behind the district. If she could reach them, she could climb down and slip into the night.

Sen began to climb toward the pitch of the roof, careful on the slippery tiles. Her fingers burned from the cold. Her breath came ragged. Each movement was deliberate. When she reached the top, she straddled the peak, legs on either side, and looked out. The path was clear.

She could almost taste it, the crisp air, the rush of wind in her hair, the warmth of Setsu’s arms. Just a little further. Sen crawled forward. Her hand reached out toward the nearest branch.

And then, her foot slipped. A sickening lurch twisted her stomach as the snow gave way beneath her. Her fingers scrabbled against ice-slick tiles, finding nothing.

Sen slid.

The world tilted.

Snow and sky blurred together.

And then — a brutal, unforgiving impact.

A courtyard. Stone. The cold.

Darkness.

Distant voices broke through the haze, shouts carried by the wind. Her body felt wrong, twisted. Pain bloomed somewhere deep, but her mind slipped away before she could find it.

A voice, sharp and sardonic, cut through the night.

“Seems it’s not just snow falling from the sky tonight… but little girls too.”

And then — nothing.

’

The day Sen tried to escape she ended up in the neighbouring Okiya falling in a heap on the ground.

Their maid knocked on all the doors on the street to see where the pink haired girl belonged. Aunty along with Mr. Shiranui had rushed to retrieve her. She laid there on the ground in the courtyard sobbing as she curled into a ball, all she could think of was her sister at the train station leaving this wretched place behind all the while Sen could hardly move from the floor.

With great force Mr. Shiranui yanked the little girl off the floor by her arm which was in a great deal of pain and she came face to face with aunty who stood blinded by rage and slapped her hard across the cheek, Sen’s head went snapping backwards as the tears kept rolling down her face.

’You stupid, stupid girl!’ Aunty shouted, Mr. Shiranui dragged Awn back to the Okiya and once all three returned aunty slapped Sen again with even more force than before.

’Do you even know what you’ve done?’ She shouted but Sen couldn’t answer, the shock of it all had rendered her silent. ‘What were you thinking? You’ve destroyed it all you’ve ruined everything for yourself. . .you stupid little girl!’

Sen never thought aunty was capable of such anger, the normally kind and pleasant woman was nowhere to be seen in this moment. Aunty dragged the girl by the collar to the courtyard and threw her on the floor into her stomach. Sen began to cry harder now because she know what was coming. Aunty reached for the bamboo pole and struck so hard Sen couldn’t answer hardly breathe. 

‘You’ll never be a geisha now!’ Aunty cried, ‘There’s nothing I or anyone else can do to help you anymore.’ When she finished she threw the rod on the floor and walked away, Sen lay there crying until she stopped, she began to hear terrible screams of agony. Granny was giving Hatsu a beating for not watching Sen closely.

As it turned out, Sen had broken her arm when she fell off the roof, the next morning Mother sent for the doctor to take her to the clinic to have her arm examined, it was early evening by the time she returned to the Okiya with her arm in a plaster cast. Mother summoned her to the office.

Mother sat there at her table in silence for the longest time, not saying a word to Sen but staring at her with a cold look.

’I had a lot of hope for you,’ she started, her voice tired and quiet. Sen found it hard not to squirm under the intensity of her gaze.

’I thought you were a clever girl, a special girl who could bring back the elegance and status to the Noble House Senju. But you’re not special nor are you clever enough to know what a good choice is and what a bad choice is.’

Sen watched mother pour herself a generous glass of sake which she knocked back in a blink.

’I paid eighty yen for you! And then you just had to go and ruin that kimono, steal Karin’s brooch and now you’ve broken your arm, so I’ll be adding on your medical expenses to the debt you owe along with your meals and lessons and clothes. Not to mention your older sister ran away and the mistress of the Jirou hasn’t paid me what she owed and now she says she won’t! So I’ll add your sisters debt to yours because who even cares at this point! You already owe more than you could ever repay.’ Mother was shouting now, her voice echoed through the entire Okiya, Sen didn’t care though all she could think about was that her sister was free. Setsu had managed to escape.

’I suppose, if you were a successful geisha, you could repay your debts in ten maybe 15 years. But which fool would invest money into a maid who runs away?’ Mother sighed deeply and looked at the girl and her expression softened slightly.

’Sen, you could have been a successful geisha, perhaps even more successful than Karin. That future no longer is an option for you now and you’ve made sure of it. I refuse to out more money into your lessons or training, you’re just a bad investment.’ Sen could feel herself crumbling but she refused to cry, Mother dismissed her snd she trudged out of the office and crossed the courtyard. In the formal entryway stood Karin next to Mr. Shiranui and Aunty holding a tissue dabbed at the tears pooling at the corner of the geisha’s red eyes. Sen knew exactly why karin was crying, her boyfriend had stopped seeing her, now she was banned from bringing him back to the Okiya. Karin then spied the link haired girl out the corner of her eye and snatched the tissue before stomping towards the girl.

”Karin leave her alone, you’ve got no business with Sen!’ Aunty shouted out, her limp making it hard for her to match the geisha’s pace. Sen was roughly shoved into Yoko’s room which was empty and dark.

‘’I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about how to destroy your and now you’ve gone and done it for me. I can’t decide whether to be pleased or angry at you, you foolish little bitch!’ Sen knew it was rude but she shoved past Karin and left the empty room, a furious Karin in her wake.

‘You want to know what will become of your future Sen, a crippled maid with no prospects, well just look at Aunty because that’s what your future holds! She had a broken hip and now you’ve gone and broken your arm, two pieces to the same old useless puzzle.’ The redhead spat.

’How very charming of you, lord knows why anyone entertains your poison.’ Aunty glowered.

Back in Nishimoya there was a little boy, not too far off in age from Sen, called Nobu. Surely he was a nice enough boy but he had a rather unpleasant smell that stuck to him like sand and that’s probably why he was so unpopular. Whenever he spoke all the other children paid no attention, it was as if a frog had croaked or a bird chirped, poor Nobu often sat straight in the floor and cried. In the months after Sen’s failed attempt she began to understand how little Nobu must have felt because nobody spoke to her at all unless it was to give her an order. All the maids, the cooks, Granny and Mother all treated Sen as though she was a dusty candle at the back of the shelf. Most mornings she could hardly bring herself to sit up, the rest of the household left her be, and she spent an eternity in her futon without saying a single word.

For the rest of that bitterly cold winter Sen spent her time thinking about her family. She wondered whereabouts Setsu had gone to after she left Konoha and what had become of her mother and father. Most nights Sen laid in her futon sick with anxiety and worry, and felt a dark pit inside her with no bottom. To comfort herself she often thought about her old home the Squished House and imagined herself running through the grassy fields in the sun, hand in hand with her sister. She pictured the coastal cliffs that used to get battered by the fierce waves, leaving a salty spray in their wake, she imagined her mother, free from illness and disease and wondered how life would be if her mother wasn’t unwell. She could picture Nishimoya as though she had never left it. Each blade of grass, each stone, each building was engrained into her mind, as she laid in her futon she travelled to her imaginary world where all was right once more.

Spring finally came one quiet day, washing away the last darkness of winter. Once the cherry blossoms bloomed and the sun came out that was all anyone could ever talk about. Karin was busier than ever, her calendar fully booked with events and cherry blossom parties, Sen was sick with envy watching the geisha get dressed up in the finest kimono the Okiya had to offer. She was jealous they could even leave the Okiya, she could barely do that. The four magnificent walls of the Senju Okiya felt like a prison, a beautiful prison where she was the sole inmate.

One day as Sen Was making her way down the stairs, she saw a package by the front entrance, brown paper packaging covered a small square shaped object, nobody was around so she figured she’d see who it was addressed to.

Haruno Sen

Senju Okiya

Konoha District, Gion

Land of Fire

The pink haired girl was astonished, it was addressed to her. She turned the heavy package and tried see the return address, it was from Mr. Tazuna.

Sen had no idea what the package could possibly contain. For a moment she entertained the idea that he was writing to apologise for his actions and was writing to tell her he was taking her back home, back to where she belonged. Regardless of what he felt or didn’t feel about his actions, Sen felt that her life would change when she opened the parcel. Before she could figure out what to do next, Aunty had come down the stairs and shooed her away from the parcel, even though it had been addressed to the girl. Aunty called for a knife to be brought and she sliced away the layers of brown paper to reveal a letter which she sliced open and put to the side and then sliced open the final layer of paper to reveal a dark brown box. Sen was excited to see what lay inside the box, her imagination running wild.

Aunty took of the lid and Sen felt a piece of her soul die, inside the wooden box laid the white mortuary tablets from Sen’s childhood home and two of them looked new. Aunty paused looking down at the box she held in silence before sighing heavily and taking Sen by the hand to the reception room. Sen’s body began to shake as she sat at the table, the mortuary tablets laid on the table infront of her.

’Sen, I’m going to read you a letter from someone called Tazuna Ichiro.’ Aunty said in a slow and calm voice.

Dear Sen:

Many seasons have passed since you left the Land of Waves. Soon the trees will bring forth a new generation of life and the flowers will blossom where old ones have whithered away, a reminder that death comes to all.

As one who was once an orphaned child, this humble person is terribly sorry to inform you of the burden you must bear. Six weeks after you left for your new life in Konoha, your honoured Mother’s suffering came to an end, and only a few weeks afterwards your honoured Father too departed from this world. This humble person is truly sorry for the loss you have faced and hopes you take solace in knowing both your honoured parents are enshrined in the village cemetery. Services were conducted at the Hoji-e temple in Ike and sutras were chanted. This humble person feels confident both your honoured parents have found their peace in the afterlife.

The training of an apprentice geisha is a tumultuous and difficult path. However, this humble person holds the upmost regards towards those who are able to overcome their suffering and become great artists. It gives me great inner peace knowing you are in a safe place in this world and you will not be forced to suffer through years of uncertainty. This humble person knows how rare it is for ordinary birds to give birth to a swan. The swan who never leaves its tree is doomed to die, this is why those who are beautiful and special must bear the burden of finding their own path to travel, leaving the past behind and never looking back. Only the future remains for you now.

Most sincerely,

Tazuna Ichiro.

Chapter Text

The day Sen met Mr. Tazuna was both the best and worst day of her life.

It was easy to understand why it was the worst. The man’s actions had brought nothing but misery and ruin to her family. But the best? That was harder to explain. Because, in his own careless, cruel way, Mr. Tazuna had changed the course of her life forever.

Life, Sen once believed, flowed like a river. The water followed the bends and turns of its bed, never straying from the path laid out before it. She felt herself part of that same current — destined to live and die in Nishimoya, her little fishing village by the stormy sea. But Tazuna was a storm surge. He wrenched her from her quiet stream and cast her into the wide, unkind world.

And though she was sent away, leaving home is never the same as letting it go.

On her third day at the okiya, something strange happened. She was kneeling in the entryway, rubbing out scuff marks in the floorboards when she spotted a small silver stone. Perhaps it was an uncut gem, rough and dulled by dust, but to her, it was more than that.

She held it in her palm, thumbing its powdery surface, marveling at the way it caught the light. If she concentrated, she could just make out her reflection — warped, pale, but undeniably alive. It felt like a message. Look. You’re still here. You’ve survived.

That stone was a quiet promise that, even after everything, she hadn’t been broken. It was a good omen, and she tucked it beneath a loose floorboard in the hallway, hidden from sight but not from memory. She didn’t think of the stone again until months later, when a parcel arrived from Mr. Tazuna. Inside were her family’s mortuary tablets — the polished silver of their names glinting in the light. The same color as the stone. The same weight pressing on her chest.

By then, Sen had been in Konoha for over half a year. And still, some part of her clung to the dream that this was all a terrible illusion. That one morning she would wake up to the scent of brine and woodsmoke, back in her little house by the shore.

But that’s the danger of certain dreams: they keep you from facing the truth of now.

Through that first spring and into the suffocating heat of summer, Sen was like a ghost in the okiya. Days slipped into one another, grey and indistinguishable. She couldn’t recall details, only the constant ache of loneliness and the sensation of being adrift, as though her body walked the halls while her spirit was still lost at sea.

When winter finally returned, on a bitterly dark night, Sen sat alone in the maids’ quarters, watching snow fall thick and steady in the courtyard. She imagined her father, hunched over a net by the fire, and her frail mother, a shivering pile of bones beneath a worn futon.

Sen shook her head, desperate to scatter the images, but the mind is a strange, merciless thing.

Even in sleep, there’s no escape from the grief you carry

You can never flee the misery inside you.

Two years or so after she received Mr. Tazuna’s letter autumn had returned once more, all the golden colours returning to the world. Sen was twelve now and even though she was young she had begun to look more womanly. Hatsu still held lots of her childish innocence on her face  and body but Sen’s hair was longer, now mid-back, and her face and lost lots of its baby fat and had begun to take on more shape and structure. She had finally grown into her forehead and now her face looked balanced and the perfect heart shape, her jewel green eyes were bright and her soft pink hair was long and luscious. Two meals a day and regular washes had done a world of wonders for the once impoverished child.

Before nobody paid her any mind, the workers would cast a glance before going back to their tasks but now on the streets people were beginning to look. The workmen stopped and stared for a bit longer, the geisha looked at her with narrow eyes and the men, the patrons of the geisha district also took notice now. It felt strange to have them look at her after feeling unseen for so long, she supposed if she was still training to be a geisha it would be a welcomed sign that there was some interest in her, but she was no longer on that path. 

Sen woke up one morning with the Okiya in shambles, it was the start of the autumn season and the cold winds had begun to creep back into everyone’s bones. The leaves that had fallen in the courtyard were being swept away, Mr. Shiranui was busy organising the storage room to make room for all the autumn kimono which would be worn in the upcoming months and Mother was busy packing her trunk. There was an energy buzzing through the Okiya,  an important event was happening tonight and Mother would be leaving the Okiya to attend along with Karin.

The two women were going to a birthday celebration in the Hokage Province, a large, selective area outside of Gion to the east where the Hokage Residence and all the noble clan compounds were. It was a highly guarded area with only residents and honoured guests being allowed access.  The first Hokage, Hashirama Senju was a keen admirer of the geisha arts and was the founder of Konoha. He poured time, money and love into the district and in doing so created his own geisha district.
The stories say that The First Hokage travelled to the Land of Whirlpools to foster diplomatic bonds and came across the Great Uzumaki Clan, an ancient and revered family known for being the first geisha. He was so enthralled by the beauty and the magic of it all that he married their eldest daughter, the geisha Mito Uzumaki, and together they created the Uzumaki theatre in the centre of Konoha. A bastion of the geisha arts.

The First Hokage also ordered the creation of the first Konoha Okiya in his name, the House of Senju. Hailing from his name came a line of successful and highly regarded geisha, bringing honour and glory to him. Tsunade was not a Senju by blood but was adopted into the Senju Clan, only the most prized geisha were adopted by their Okiya and allowed to take on the status and elegance that the clan name provided. As with other noble clans, the Senju and Uzumaki Clans had geisha in their ranks, it was considered a great honour and as the original patrons of the geisha arts they had the most illustrious lineages. Sen would later find out that the head of the Senju Clan before Tsunade was a woman named Masuru Senju, the last blood relation of Hashirama himself, she was his granddaughter and the woman who adopted Tsunade into the Senju clan as her heiress.

Upon reaching the age of sixty five or so, Masuru had appointed Granny to run the Okiya in her stead as the older Senju woman lived out her years in the Province, only returning to choose her successor and when functions called her back to the district. Masuru never had children of her own, there were legends of Mito Uzumaki cursing Hashirama for taking her away from her homeland and causing streaks of infertility in the Senju bloodline. Whatever the truth may be, Hashirama’s blood descendants were never blessed with an abundance of children and the Senju name lived on only through memory and the geisha. That meant that each generation of Senju geisha had to acquire young girls and train them in hopes of continuing the Senju name when a successor would be chosen.

Everyone assumed that Masuru would’ve chosen Granny out of all of the numerous geisha in the Okiya , granny was shrewd, experienced in business and knowledgeable in the ways of the geisha. Granny was in her late fourties at the time and had decades of experience, and had been appointed to run the Okiya by Masuru herself. To outside eyes it seemed an easy and obvious choice. However, The Senju woman held the same belief as her predecessor, that only those who carried the Will of Fire in their hearts were worthy of being Senju. Masuru took one look at Tsunade and she knew, the young blonde geisha was to succeed her. Granny was left with nothing.

That meant that the large Senju compound in the Hokage Province belonged to Tsunade and Tsunade alone. Before Masuru died the old woman took Tsunade around all the clan compounds to introduce her and taught her the histories of their noble lineage. As a Senju, Tsunade was expected to attend formal events to represent her house and maintain good faith with the other clans. That’s why she had to attend the birthday celebration this evening, it was expected of her.

“So, Mother, tell me again why I’m not staying with you in the province?’ Karin whined, interrupting Mother’s packing. The blonde haired woman sighed and dropped the necklace she was holding.

’Well, if you must know, you’re not a Senju, or a member of any of the noble houses. Therefore you’re not permitted to stay in the Hokage Province, you’re lucky I’m even bringing you along for the celebration. The Uchiha are as old as the Senju and if you even put a hair out of line and bring shame to me at their celebration tonight you will lay dearly for it.’ Karin froze at hearing the threat, she knew Mother would come down on her like a storm if she shamed the Senju name.

’Don’t fret Mother dearest,’ Karin’s tone was sickly sweet through her fake smile.

’Hmm, well if you’re done bothering me then get out and make yourself busy, we leave in a few hours.’ Mother commanded, shooing out Karin with the wave of her hand.

’Not so soon Mother, you’ve not even told me who’s celebration this is?’

’Maybe if you paid more attention to your networking rather than carrying on with apprentices you’d remember it was Itachi Uchiha’s twentieth birthday. This entire week was full of celebrations but tonight is the main party at the Uchiha Compound.’ Mother’s frustration was rising, just how stupid was Karin to not remember one of the most important events of the season?

’Oh, yes now I remember. I shall do plenty of networking this evening, there will be so many guests I might even secure a potential Patron.’ Glee dripped from each syllable the geisha said.

’ Karin finding a patron at the Uchiha birthday celebration, what a joke,’ Tsunade muttered under her breath before slamming her trunk shut.

’Any poor fool who takes you as a Patron will lead a miserable life now for the second time, get out!’ Mother was raising her voice at the end, the geisha shrunk in fear before quickly leaving the room and huffing down the stairs to her own room.

After a speedy breakfast Sen had been swamped in the kitchen helping the cooks to prepare the bento lunches for Mother, Karin and Mr. Shiranui as well as lunch for the rest of the household. The maids usually ate two meals a day but in the colder months they stopped midday for a small bite to keep their energy up, plain rice and pickles was their usual menu but the occasional steamed sweet potato or yam wasn’t too unusual either. As Sen stood in the kitchen clutching her sweet potato she could feel the warmth seeping into her fingers. She spent hours in the kitchen chopping vegetables and peeling them and the warmth was rather comforting in her aching hands.

’Sen? Sen where are you?’ She could hear Aunty call from across the courtyard by the stairs leading to the upper floor. Quickly swallowing the last bite of her sweet potato she rushed out to see what was happening. Upon seeing the young girl Aunty’s face softened with relief, the older woman hurriedly beckoned her over.

’Aunty what’s wrong?’ 

‘That fool Karin forgot to return an hair ornament from one of her peers from the Mizuki, here, run along and return it for me as fast as you can!’ Aunty gave her the ornament wrapped in two layers of brown paper. Wearing someone else’s hair ornament might nit seem to strange to you but for a geisha it was akin to wearing each others underwear. Hair ornaments were very intimate things for geisha, the elaborate hairstyles they had would last them for days in end, most geisha only  washed their hair once a week or so. Even below two layers of paper neither Aunty nor Sen really wanted to touch the hair pin.

’Just take it for heavens sake and get moving!’ Aunty chastised before unlocking the front doors and ushering her out.

With a sigh Sen took off up the street to leave the Okiya’s behind, it was a wonderful crisp autumn day, there wasn’t a cloud in sight and the sky was a brilliant blue. She took a deep breath of fresh air in and at the top of the street she turned right to see the Uzumaki theatre, decorated tastefully for the autumn season in bold oranges and reds with streamers hanging from its front face welcoming harvest and prosperity. There was a kabuki theatre show being performed soon snd the streets were filled with people. Just behind the theatre where most of the teahouses and carefully crossing the road she passed what felt like wave after wave of geisha all dressed in their finest kimono. Seas of fabric, pink, yellow, red, gold, white, brown. They all washed over her as she pushed through the crowd in her plain grey robe, feeling very out of place and very jealous. She delicately peeled back the paper to see the hair ornament, just wanting a glimpse of it. A long golden pin with a pearl drop chain on the end faced her. It was a very expensive and clearly a well loved piece, Sen let her mind drift off into her dream land, wishing she too could wear such beautiful accessories. 

Before she knew it her feet had taken her to the back door of the Mizuki Teahouse. Like all the other prestigious teahouses, the Mizuki also had a well manicured garden and Sen watched a pair of geisha who wore matching kimono perform a dance on the grass for an adoring audience who sat completely still, their eyes transfixed on the geisha’s every movement. Dance was the most revered of the geisha arts, all the best geisha were highly regarded dancers. Tearing her eyes away from the sight she quickly knocked in the back door snd handed in the hair ornament to the maid who nodded understandingly and said she would ensure the pin got back to its owner. In another life maybe Karin didn’t hate her so much and maybe Sen wouldn’t have tried running away, maybe she could have been a geisha. She tried not to think about it too much, knowing she was to live and die a maid was not comforting to her, not when she had suffered so much and undergone so much hardship to get here just to end up a mere servant. 

It was as though she stood in the eye of a storm. All around her, joyful, beautiful geisha sparkled in the dying autumn light, surrounded by adoring clients and bustling workers. They orbited her plain, grey form like dazzling stars around a lonely, insignificant moon. Sen thought they all looked majestic. She slowly lowered her gaze to her own simple robes, her hands dirt-smudged and trembling. She knew she could never compare.

The weight of it — the years of turmoil, the kidnapping, the loss of her parents, Karin’s cruel torments — it was too much. Too much. Before she realised it, she was running. Faster than she ever had. Her tears blurred the streets into smudges of colour and light. She didn’t know where her feet carried her, only that her lungs burned and her heart threatened to tear itself apart.

When at last she stopped, gasping for air, she found herself by the Kisame River, on the opposite side of the Uzumaki Theatre. The clear water shimmered, catching the dying sunlight. And when she realised where she was — this was where she was meant to meet her sister, just on the other side of the station — the tears came again, harder than before.

Curled into a ball on the bank, she wished she could slip into the clear blue water and vanish, let it claim her soul and wash her far from this cruel world. Autumn was the end of all things. Perhaps it was a sign.

“It’s far too beautiful a day to waste on tears, little one.”

A man’s voice. Kind, but carrying a note of something sharp beneath it. In Konoha, men rarely spared a word for a crying child, let alone one in a maid’s robe.

Sen turned her tear-streaked face toward the voice. A tall man, perhaps forty-five, with long, choppy black hair and sharp, impossibly dark eyes. He wore black robes — plain, but cut from silk — and over them a blood-red jacket fastened at the shoulder. On his back, embroidered in black thread, a fan sigil gleamed in the dusk.

A geisha stood beside him, dressed in honey-coloured silk, hair arranged with glittering pins. She was beautiful and proud.

“Look at her — a maid,” the geisha scoffed coldly. “She probably tripped over running some errand. Someone will come fetch her soon enough.”

“I wish I had your faith in people, Nami-san,” the man said mildly. He stepped down the path towards Sen.

“Madara-sama,” the geisha protested nervously. “The show’s about to start. We’ll lose our seats.”

“Are you suggesting it’s a waste of time to help her?” His voice was soft, but the edge in it made the geisha flinch.

“N-no, of course not, Lord Madara. Only that… well, it’s dreadfully bad manners to be late—”

“I am certain that once, you too found yourself in a state like this girl’s,” he said, his voice now gently reproachful. “The life of a geisha isn’t so easy that you can afford to forget.”

The geisha paled.

“I’ve never… not like this,” she muttered. But he dismissed her with a glance.

“Go on. Find our seats. I’ll be along shortly.”

The geisha left without another word.

Madara turned to Sen and crouched down, his face close to hers. “Come now, little one. Let’s see you stand up. There’s no need for all this crying.” His smile was warm, but there was something behind it — something ancient and watchful.

Sen hesitated, then let him take her hand and help her to her feet. His fingers were cool, his grip firm.

He studied her for a long, silent moment — from her tangled hair to her tear-stained cheeks. She felt small and plain beside him, like a grub before a peacock.

“Please, sir,” she managed, voice cracking. “The lady was right. I’m just a foolish maid. Don’t let yourself be late for my sake.”

Standing this close, Sen could see his face clearly: unblemished, with sharp, patrician features and long raven hair. He smelled of sandalwood and something darker — smoke, perhaps. The scent of old wars.

Occasionally in life, there were moments when everything quietly shifted. The day she’d met Tazuna had been one. This was the other. The day she met Uchiha Madara.

He wiped a tear from her cheek, brushed gravel from her sleeve, then gently tilted her chin upward. She tried to look away, but his gaze held hers like a hand around her throat.

“My, my,” he murmured. “A beautiful little thing with no reason to feel ashamed… and yet afraid to look me in the eye. Has life been cruel to you, little one?” He sighed, as though not expecting an answer.

“I… I think so, sir.”

“Most of us never find half the kindness we deserve,” he said softly, and for a moment there was something real in his voice — an echo of grief, or wisdom.

Sen wondered who this man truly was.

Then, before she could gather her thoughts, he pulled a silver coin from his pocket and flashed it with a boyish grin.

“Cherry or orange?”

“S-sir?”

“Dango, little one. There’s a stall around the corner.” He pressed the coin into her palm and added a folded silk handkerchief to her pocket. “Use it afterwards. Can’t have a face like that smeared with tears.”

“Uncle.”

A new voice. A younger man’s — smooth, calm, and rich as autumn wine. Sen turned and stared, her green eyes wide.

He was beautiful. Inky black hair tied in a low tail, robes of deep blue trimmed in white. The same fan emblem on his back. His eyes, darker than a storm, met hers. She felt heat rush to her face.

“Yes, Itachi?” Madara sighed, glancing at his nephew before returning his gaze to Sen.

“The show can’t begin without its esteemed guest, Uncle.”

“ Ever the dutiful one, my Itachi.” Madara ruffled Sen’s hair lightly. “Be good, little one.”

Without waiting for a reply, the two men walked away, their silhouettes long in the evening light.

Sen stood there a while longer, clutching the coin as though it might anchor her to the earth.

And though she did not yet know it, this had been the second day her world changed.

With newfound energy she raced to the dango stall and ordered a skewer of cherry syrup dango, they were fresh and sweet and she enjoyed the sticky syrup, licking it off her fingers. She had never had sweets like these before, they were a luxury so far away from her reach she never even thought of them, she supposed geisha like that woman were used to eating such wonderful sweets and elaborate meals, never getting their expensive robes dirty or a single hair out of place. If Sen were a geisha perhaps important men like that man and his nephew would want to spend time with her, would think she was valuable and important and worth entertaining. Once a geisha reaches a certain level of success they’re free, free to go about their own business venture or train or teach, if Sen became a successful geisha she too could live freely.

Sen had never truly imagined herself envying a geisha for anything other than their clothes. She had been bought here to become a geisha but up until now if she had the opportunity to run away she would’ve done so in an instant.

Now she understood the thing she overlooked, it wasn’t enough to become a geisha, the whole purpose was to be a geisha. 

To leave behind the silly little girl from the land of waves, to abandon who she was before and embrace something new, to embrace the geisha way.

The change clanged in her pocket as she shook her head. The coin Madara gave her was far too much for a single stick of dango. After running for what seemed to be ages she finally reached her destination.

Konoha temple.

The bright wooden gate symbolised the entrance to the shrine, gingerly she began walking up the stairs till she reached the offerings box. She was dreadfully out of breath, it seemed like all she had done today was run and cry. 
She threw the coins into the offerings box and announced her presence to the Gods by clapping her hands three times and bowing low. With her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her hands together, she prayed that the gods permit her to become a geisha somehow and that she would suffer through any training and bear any hardships, for a chance to become a geisha.

Hokage Province: 

Tsunade thanked her lucky stars that Karin hadn’t said a peep during the journey to the Hokage province, it was a two hour journey in the carriage and she was thankful it wasn’t snowing or else the journey would have taken so much longer. The inside was lined with blankets and velvet pillows, Karin wore a thick wool overcoat and Tsunade wore a grey fur coat. Bundled up in the carriage she almost fell asleep like Karin but instead forced herself awake, mentally going over the evening. She knew the Uchiha Clan were watching the Indira Kabuki play, a historical epic about the legendary Uchiha clan founded, it was a tradition they watched it annually and it just so happened to fall today on their Heir’s birthday. Tsunade had met Madara Uchiha twice before, the first when her predecessor Masuru introduced them upon her adoption and the second time at Masuru’s funeral. He was a controversial figure and not one to be crossed in any regards.

Madara Uchiha along with his clan founded their great nations military and police force, giving them a considerable amount of political power, putting them toe-to-toe with the Hokage in terms of power and influence. Personally, Tsunade never liked Madara, though he was a great patron of the geisha arts he was also a ruthless man with no care for anyone but his own. The heir, Itachi, she had never met before. Thought it was hard to escape his reputation. Cold, calculating and absolutely brilliant by all accounts, an Uchiha prodigy just like his uncle, though famously he had no care for geisha at all. It was his birthday this evening, for much of the young man’s life he had spent it in Natsu Province, the historical hometown of the Uchiha clan, just east of the Land of Grass. There was a large military outpost there and the young man had been sent there to gain first hand military experience and with the war that had ravaged the Land of Grass, there was no better place to be. 

She would do her duty and introduce herself and make his acquaintance but honestly she was just looking forward to it all being over, of her own decision she was going to stay an extra few days to mingle with the other noble houses and see all of them again. It had been quite some time since she last made an appearance at the Hokage Province and never had she brought Karin with her.

The only reason she did bring Karin was to keep an eye on her, the woman was as slippery as an eel and Tsunade knew that without careful supervision she would bring ruin to the Okiya, so it was better that she be kept close. Karin, as foolish as she was, thought this event was her way of finding a Patron or perhaps even Tsunade’s way of introducing her to the noble families in preparation of adopting her. But Tsunade would never adopt Karin, in doing so she would destroy the Senju name and destroy the memory of Hashirama and Masuru, there was no Will of Fire in Karin, only jealousy and hatred.

‘Lady Tsunade, we’ve reached the Senju compound.’ Mr. Shiranui came to the door of the carriage as it rolled to a stop.

’Thank you, come on Karin let’s go get ready.’

‘Spit it out Itachi, your thinking so loudly.’ Madara said, the two of them sat next to each other in one of the Uchiha carriages, their family symbol adorning the black exterior.

’The celebrations are unnecessary uncle, the show you’re putting on is quite obvious, and excessive.’ Itachi answered, his tone even and nonchalant.

’Excess is the language of Uchiha power, you’ll be fluent in it soon enough.’

Madara stared out the window for a good while before continuing.

’The imperial histories teach us that a celebration is a weapon, my boy. Feed a man wine and praise, and he’ll dance to any tune. This evening is for them to see you, the future of our noble house.’ Madara said, his tone calculated.

’All this indulgence, it weakens people. It dulls them. ‘ Itachi said, his voice low and quiet. Madara leaned forward, his eyes sharp. 

‘Indulgence is control. Joy is a leash, my boy.’

’You want them drunk and docile while the Land of Fire slowly rots.’ Itachi said knowingly to his uncle.

Madara smiled coldly, ‘The Land of Fire only rots when its roots are neglected. And tonight, we are reminding them it was the Uchiha who planted the forest.’

The ghost of a smile tugged at itachi’s lips, after a measured pause he said, ‘You always did know how to spin a tale, uncle.’

’And you, my boy, have always known how to see through them. Happy birthday.’ 

‘Thank you uncle, and what of the envoy from the Land of Wind?’ Itachi asked.

’Just leave the Kazekage to me.’

The sky had grown dark by the time they left the theatre in the late afternoon. The Uzumaki theatre was one of Itachi’s least favourite places, Konoha being his least. Unlike his uncle who held geisha in high regard and regularly entertained them, the younger man found the whole concept bizarre and distasteful, paying a woman to spend time with him felt almost insulting. If anyone wanted to be around him it should’ve been due to their own desire for his company, not his wealth.

Sat in the audience if the theatre he felt all the geisha regard him behind their painted faces and hand held fans. “That’s the Uchiha heir” they whisper to each other, each one trying to catch his eye, each of them failing. That tiny pink-haired maid did a better job catching his attention, even if it was only because of her raw display of emotion. Sasuke used to cry like that when he was younger, Itachi chuckled to himself, wondering how his little brother was.

His birthday celebration was due to start in the evening at seven, once they reached the Uchiha compound he was swarmed by dressers like bees onto a flower. Out of his day robes and into more intricate robes better suited for an event in his honour. His tailor truly outdid himself, dark blue kimono robes with a red undershirt and trousers and small black pinstripes along the hems and cuffs. Then a black over robe with red clouds to wear on top, he ran his fingers over the material, silk for the kimono and a thicker cotton material for the over robe to keep him warm. The silk felt cool and slippery under his touch and he shivered slightly. With the help of the dressers he slid off his daywear and redressed, mentally dreading the night ahead.

Guests had already filled the reception room and begun to spread out into the courtyard and gardens, glowing lanterns and outdoor heaters lined the outdoor pathways providing much needed warmth in the chilly evening. Itachi stood outside a side door leading to the reception room and listened keenly to the sounds inside. Hundreds of voices clashed together, the sounds of politicians and military officials, business men and children, household staff and entertainers and of course the distinct accent of Konoha geisha. Grimacing, he turned around to make his way to the main door and pushed it open. 

All eyes were in him, Itachi was used to being the centre of attention but every now and then it still threw him off. Keeping his face trained in a small and polished smile, he walked through the crowd shaking hands, bowing and greeting his guests.

‘Ah, Itachi! Come here let me greet you properly!’ A jovial voice rang through the hall.

’Lord Hokage,’ Itachi nodded his head towards the blonde man.

’Your uncle sure does now how to throw a party doesn’t he,’ the Hokage chuckled, looking somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer number of people around him.

‘’Of course, almost as well as he knows warfare.’ Itachi added dryly, The Hokage laughed out loud at this and drew the eyes of those around him, nervously scratching the back of his head his cheeks flushed.

’Minato you didn’t even wish the boy a happy birthday,’ a woman tutted from behind Itachi, the blonde haired man’s face grew even more embarrassed. 

‘Oh of course how could I forget, happy birthday Itachi, it’s good seeing you home again.’ Minato added hastily.

The woman from before stood next to him and looped her arm through his. Kushina Uzumaki was a beautiful woman and the most famous geisha in all of the Great Nations. Her red hair was styled in two high buns with and a hair pin in each, holding silk tags imprinted with kanji for the Uzumaki and namikaze clans. In true Uzumaki fashion she wore a multi layered kimono with a turquoise collar and an ivory outer layer embellished with thousands of tiny golden spirals. She was the first geisha to marry a politician since her ancestor Mito Uzumaki married Hashirama Senju.

’Lady Kushina, looking as beautiful as always,’ itachi gave her a small smirk as he bowed his head to her, Kushina just rolled her eyes at him and chuckled.

’The famous Itachi Uchiha is a charmer, who would’ve thought eh Minato!’

’Lord Hokage, what an honour to have you here,’ Madara smoothly cut in, ‘And Lady Kushina, it has been some time since I was last in the presence of such a noble geisha.’

’Madara-san has outdone himself with this celebration, my highest regards to his taste.’ Kushina bowed to the elder Uchiha slightly, her geisha formalities poking through her speech. ‘Where might be Mikoto-san, I’ve yet to gre-’

’GET BACK HERE YOU TEME!’ An obnoxious child shouted.

’shut up dobe, you’re embarrassing yourself, ‘ another child said, the exasperation dripping from each word. The adults all turned to face the two boys who were running around the courtyard. Madara’s eyes filled with disgust at the rambunctious display.

’please accept my apologies Madara-san, Naruto can be rather excited around sasuk-‘ a loud crash in the courtyard cut Kushina off, her and Minato shared a look before excusing themselves to go check on the two boys. 

‘Come Itachi, there are many more introductions to be made.’ Madara steered Itachi towards the centre of the party. After some hours mingling and talking dinner was to be served. Afterwards, Madara took to the raised lectern outside by the fountain and a servant rung a bell to get the attentions of the guests. The hall quietened, in the warm glow of hundreds of lanterns, Madara’s crimson robes shimmered in the light. Every guest turned their gaze towards the charismatic man.

’My people… honoured Lords and Ladies, my honoured guests- and most importantly my precious nephew Uchiha Itachi.’

‘Tonight, we gather not simply to mark the passage of time, but to celebrate what those years have forged. A man is not measured by the days he endures, but by what shapes them.’ A ripple of approving murmurs circled through the audience. Itachi sat still, his face unreadable. 

‘From the first moment Itachi held a blade, I knew, this world would never tame you. Fierce, loyal and unyielding. And though you wear your duty lightly as a feather, none can deny the weight you carry for us all.’ Madara continued, his deep voice echoing.

’In such trying times as these, when allies smile with hidden knives, and shadows plague our borders- it is not the sword alone that secures the borders. It is the storyteller, the one who shapes what our nation hopes for, what they believe in, and what they fear.’ Madara’s voice grew darker, a cold edge beneath the silk.

’Celebrations are not an indulgence my friends. A feast can do what no army cannot- bind our hearts, blur resentments and strengthen our wills. And so tonight, we raise our cups not only to you, Itachi, but to the legacy you are destined to carve.’ Madara lifted his cup of sake, the audience following his suit.

’To loyalty, to strength, and to the unbroken will of the Uchiha.’ He drank deeply from his cup as the hall erupted in cheers. Some of the guests far too drunk to notice the chill in his words, others- the shrewd, the distrusting, the wary- felt the sharp edge of it.  

The cheering was so loud that Itachi could feel the vibrations in his chest, it was a wonderful feeling being celebrated, even if it was for something as pointless as a birthday. Itachi stood up, catching the eye of his uncle.

’Is there someone else left to greet?’

’We haven’t yet made introduction with the Senju.’ Madara finished, a bitterness in his voice. The two of them scanned the room and the outdoor courtyard before they found the last Senju stood next to her old friend, Master Jiraiya and his geisha.

’Tsunade!’ A loud voice boomed, the blonde woman had lost sights of Karin who sped off the moment she saw one do her friends, she had just gotten herself a drink when a voice in the distance called her name. Focusing in the moving figures approaching her she squinted her eyes.

‘’No, no it can’t be. Jiraiya?’ She called out, without even thinking her legs begun to move in their own before she was pacing to meet the man opposite the room. Capturing her in his strong arms wrapped around her waist, she smiled deeply and truly and felt the tension melt from her shoulders. Eventually they pulled apart, Tsunade had the decency to look embarrassed by their display but Jiraiya grinned at her, the same boyish smile in his weathered yet attractive face.

’I’d say I’m shocked to see you but I don’t think that carries enough punch. Have your boobs gotten bigger, damn Tsuna-‘ a sharp slap cut him off, of course she should’ve known better, he was still a pervert after all these years.

‘Wonderful to see you too Jiraiya.’ She responded dryly, secretly they both knew it had been far too many years and they missed each other dearly. Jiraiya was the first person Masuru had introduced her to, Tsunade would go on to spend years entertaining Jiraiya both as a geisha and as friends.

She then noticed the younger blonde woman at his side, she was wondering when Ino would show up.

’No but I am shocked to see you, you haven’t been here in years, not since Masuru died right?’ He questioned as he wrapped an arm around Ino’s waist, her plum coloured kimono ruffling under his arm.

’I-yes, it has been a long time. After Masuru-san’s death there was so much to do, the Okiya needed me and I couldn’t play high-society like I did before.’ Tsunade didn’t know why she suddenly felt so nervous, it was nobodies business to question her whereabouts, she was an esteemed geisha once and now kept the Senju Okiya afloat, of course she couldn’t return each winter for their social season. 

’What makes this event different? Why did you come to this one, the Uchiha heir’s birthday?.’

’Oh for gods sake Jiraiya I’ve barely finished my drink, think you could wait till I’ve got some sake in me before you start your interrogation ?’ Tsunade barked out, feeling very defensive all of a sudden.

She couldn’t read anything from his face but it was such an odd line of questioning, why did he care so much about her movements?  He leaned  in closer to her ear, whispering so only she could hear him. His deep eyes held such focus and intensity, she tilted her ear towards him.

’Whatever you do, do not trust the Uchiha.’

Suddenly Jiraiya pulled himself backwards as though he had been burned.

’-then Ino tripped over her feet, you know how clumsy some geisha can be and she’s a total clutz!’ Then Jiraiya began to laugh obnoxiously, grabbing his tummy with his free hand and throwing his head back in laughter. Just what the hell was Jiraiya doing, first he gave her a suspicious warning and then threw himself into an unrelated sentence. Wait, what has he noticed that she hasn’t yet ?

Footsteps came from behind Tsunade, an ominous wave washed over her, that sucked the warmth out of her soul and put her in edge. What the hell was going on here?

’Lady Tsunade, what a surprise to see you here, I’m so pleased you could attend.’

Madara.

Madara was behind her, it all made sense now.

Slowly turning around to face him, she glimpsed upon Itachi Uchiha. He looked a lot like his mother Mikoto. If she was any younger she certainly would’ve tried to grab his attention, not unlike all the other women in the room , geisha and nobles alike. He was a handsome young man, clearly gifted with the Uchiha clans famous looks but there was something else about him. Something unsettling.

Every smile he had given felt. . .off.

She half expected him to be an egocentric maniac, it wasn’t unheard of for anUchiha to be too far up their own ass, but Itachi, no, he seemed almost too self-aware. Every movement, every twitch, it was so perfectly executed, so calculated. Almost as if he were nothing more than an actor who had perfected his craft. Tsunade shuddered inwardly, she would need to speak to Jiraiya further.

‘No Madara-san the honour is all mine, please allow me to thank you for your humble invitation,’ she said as she bowed deeply towards him.

’Nonsense, the Senju and the Uchiha have a long and illustrious history together, it was only right that the Senju heiress be given an invitation. Please allow me to introduce my heir, Itachi.’ Madara ushered Itachi forward who bowed towards the Senju woman and greeted her warmly, or as warmly as an Uchiha could really, while his uncle moved on to greet another group.

‘Lady Tsunade, thank you for joining in our celebrations, I trust the journey did not trouble you too much?’ Itachi asked, perfectly pleasant, he even gave her a somewhat genuine looking smile.

’No, the journey was no trouble at all.’

’Did anyone else from your household attend with you my Lady? It must be dreadfully empty in the Senju compound alone, you must come stay here if you’re on your own.’ Tsunade narrowed her eyes, his concern sounded genuine, like he did value her comfort but after that warning she didn’t know what to think.

‘’That’s very kind of you but I did bring some of my household, a most esteemed geisha and our dresser. We won’t be staying for the festivities for the rest of the week, Konoha summons us back within the next days. The Senju Okiya needs me.’ She forced the pleasantries out, he gave her a small smile and said she was always a most welcomed guest of the Uchiha.

Just as their conversation was coming to a close she spotted a familiar red - head, Karin, and by the looks of it she had been sensible with her drinking. A geisha of Karin’s standard would never dare get drunk in public, it was shameful and inappropriate for a geisha, especially one of her level.  She came gliding towards Tsunade and Itachi with a large sickly sweet smile plastered on her face. Her hand fan open, delicately fanning her flushed face, she was laying the charm on thick and if he were any other man maybe it would’ve worked but Itachi looked at Karin with no more regard than he would a leaf on a tree.

’Good evening Itachi-san,’ she said, the words dripping off her tongue like sugar syrup. ‘Allow me to wish you, the most happiest of birthdays.’

Tsunade just managed to catch Itachi subtly rolling his eyes, she would have laughed if she could but his was not the time.

’This is the most esteemed geisha Karin of the Senju Okiya, please make acquaintance with her my lord Uchiha.’ Tsunade said it Itachi as both women bowed deeply to him. All this bowing and strange formal greeting might seem excessive but it was a key part of geisha introductions, it was simply their unique way.

Karin stepped forward in an attempt to get closer to Itachi and initiate further conversation, her long red hair was worn down in a bold move and she flicked her hair over her shoulder, it should have been alluring but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Itachi. Tsunade turned to walk away, she did not want to be anywhere near Karin’s attempt to charm the Uchiha.

’Might I complement the noble Uchiha clans fine taste, this evening has been spectacular.‘ Karin began. Itachi nodded in acknowledgment, the corner of his mouth twitch in upwards into a cold but polite smile. 

‘Itachi-sama, surely a man of your reputation should enjoy the finer pleasures of life… The company of a geisha perhaps?’ Karin leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. 

Itachi tilted his head, a bored look upon his usually blank face. He leaned in closer to the geisha’s ear.

’How charming, a woman who thinks her conversation is worth more than silence.’ He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I fail to see the geisha appeal.’

’Its an art,’ she bristled, recovering quickly, ‘ geisha are practitioners of a great historical tradition, surely a man from a clan as noble as the Uchiha has some appreciation for tradition and custom?’

’Then perhaps you should make the acquaintance of some other Uchiha, good evening to you Karin-san.’ He said to her, smoothly walking past her, leaving the geisha stunned.

“God, where the hell are they?”

Minato’s head was buried in his hands, his voice low and frayed with exhaustion. The two men sat alone in Madara’s private study, having left the celebration to drink in quiet and speak plainly.

“Bad weather can’t be helped, Lord Hokage,” Madara replied smoothly, pouring another measure of sake into Minato’s cup. “They’ll arrive when they arrive.”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right,” Minato sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. “It’s just… we need this alliance, Madara. Now more than ever. The Land of Grass, the northern front — everything is coming apart at the seams. Dammit—” he cut himself off, swallowing hard. “What the hell’s happening to the world these days?”

The frustration in his voice was raw, the weight of a nation’s safety straining every syllable.

Madara regarded him over the rim of his cup. He almost — almost — felt sympathy for the younger man. But this was the nature of power. It was a burden, and those who couldn’t bear it should step aside for those who could.

Still, appearances mattered.

“Your leadership remains a beacon of hope in these dark times, Lord Hokage,” Madara said, his tone formal but faintly reassuring. “Do not let shadows cast by misfortune dim that light.”

Minato managed a tired smile. “I’d be lost without you, Madara-san. The Uchiha have become this nation’s greatest strength — a true family of fire.”

Madara inclined his head with practiced humility. “Thank you, my Lord.”

But in his dark eyes, something flickered — a glint of something sharper, colder.

The Hokage didn’t see it

‘-and pink hair which idiot has actual pink hair?’ Karin whinged, she sat with Jun outside in the courtyard by a heated, all the guests had filtered outside for some fresh air and hot tea. Itachi stood with Jiraiya and his geisha Ino, the two men were discussing the older man’s recent adventures  in the Land of Honey when Itachi’s focus was stolen. As the older man rambled on he instead listened to the gossip behind him.

’She tried to run away a few years back and Mother obviously stopped her geisha training, she’s just a maid now, I can’t stand that brat- anyway enough about her, I’ve had the worst evening ever, do you know what that heir said to me-‘ itachi stopped listening at this point, strangely enough he wasn’t the only one listening in, so was Ino.

She had spent most of the night at Jiraiya side as was customary for a geisha attending an event with their Patron. He wondered what interest she had in Karin’s gossip. He had a pretty good guess that the red-head was speaking about the little girl he and Madara had come across earlier this afternoon, after all, pink hair was practically unheard of. Before Itachi could dwell on it further the bell was rung again, that was odd, what announcement was being made now? The party was almost over.

’May I announce the arrival of the Great Kazekage of the Land of Wind

Chapter Text

Summer- Senju Okiya:

Konoha was known for its summer months. The district came to full bloom under the heat of the blazing sun.

Sen woke up early one morning, long hair sticking to her clammy back. The humidity had been brutal recently, making it difficult to work or even to sleep comfortably. With a groan and a stretch she flung off her thin blanket and made her way to change and freshen up. The face that greeted her in the mirror seemed almost alien to her. 

She had changed so much.

Gone was the childhood baby fat and round cheeks, instead a somewhat structured and more mature face looked back at her. It had been four years, Sen had been in Konoha for four whole years. Her body had changed almost as drastically as her face, she was no longer a short child, she now had an inch or so over Karin, her body long and slender with unblemished skin and a healthy flush to her with the hint of curve. There was still very much the essence of a girl around her but in a year’s time or so she would become even more womanly. It felt strange seeing herself change into someone new.

Hatsu was already in the bathroom washing her face. Sen admired the other girls beauty, her short dark blue hair was damp from the morning heat and looked almost purple in the golden light. Over the years the two girls had grown close to one another, having nobody to confide in except each other. The pink haired girl took great comfort in knowing Hatsu could relate to the struggles of life in the Okiya and the torments of Karin.

Ever since Mother resigned Sen to being a maid, Karin has stopped paying any interest to her, clearly no longer feeling threatened by the once-potential geisha. It was a relief to not have to look over her shoulder constantly but Karin hadn’t been beaten, she was like a tiger laying dormant, waiting for another opportunity to strike.

’Ne Sen-chan, were you listening at all?’ Hatsu waved her hand infront of the girls green eyes as she giggled.

’Sorry Hatsu-chan I wasn’t paying attention, sorry,’ Sen said sheepishly, scratching her cheek in embarrassment.

’I wasn’t saying I heard from Yoko there’s a heatwave starting tomorrow, it’s going to get even hotter!’ Sen groaned loudly upon hearing this and splashed water on her face, begging autumn to come back quickly.

The heatwave over the next few days bought the Okiya to a near standstill, Mother had to send for fans to be purchased for the rooms and all the maids working hours had been changed, during the middle of the day till late afternoon nobody had any energy to work at all. Even mother, who spent all her hours pouring over account books and dealing with clan affairs, could hardly do more than drink ice cold tea. Karin had been busier than ever in this hot spell, going on boat parties down the Kisame River or attending evening parties in the Konoha Gardens. 

On one day towards the end of the heatwave, Sen and all the maids awoke to screaming. There was a particularly foul smell emitting from somewhere in the Okiya. As all the maids scurried to the door of their room to catch a glimpse of what was happening, mother stomped towards them and shouted to get back inside. She sounded panicked and both Hatsu and Sen shared a look, something bad had happening. There was a buzz amongst the maids, the women speculating amongst themselves waiting for Mother of Aunty to make an announcement. As the doctor hurriedly made his way to Senju Okiya, bursting through the inner doors and beelining straight to Mother who led him up the stairs, a silence fell upon all of them.

Granny for all her faults and problems didn’t deserve the death she received. It was rather gruesome and the doctor made sure to securely cover the old woman’s body to preserve whatever dignity Granny had, though how much dignity could be awarded to a rotting corpse Sen wasn’t quite sure. 

The foul smell everyone had noticed was coming from granny, the taste of death was unmistakable.

In a desperate bid to keep cool in the brutal heat granny had been using her electric fan excessively and the cord had worn down. When granny went to plug it in the previous evening she unintentionally electrocuted herself. Even though she had been dead less than a day the heat had intensified the smell. The doctor reassured Mother that it was unlikely Granny suffered and her death was probably painless and instant, but the smell was burnt into everyone’s minds and the shadow of her death loomed over the Okiya like thick smoke.

In Shinto death was the most impure thing there was.

Mother, for all her penny pinching ways, spared no expense when it came to the funeral and cleansing the Okiya. The maids were stirred out of their heat-induced stupor with renowned vigour. There was so much to do. Mother had paid a hefty sum of money for the monks to chant sutra’s at the temple in granny’s honour, every single room in the Okiya was to be cleaned thoroughly and then blessed. The maids were working all hours of the day and night in the days following Granny’s death while Mother and Aunty made phone call after phone call and ran so many errands Sen was convinced they were inhuman.

None of it made that much sense to Sen, when the numerous delivery men came with flowers, artisan sweets, plum wines and sake and Mr. Shiranui came with three brand new kimono. In the Land of Waves death was seen as a normal part of the life cycle, the fisherman knew that everything that breathes must one day come to a stop and life was a cycle of endings and beginnings, but in Konoha it seemed they had very different customs.

The Okiya suddenly became swamped with candles and lanterns, tea stands and money trays, even an offering tray was put out in the hallways and a small shrine had been erected.The small bonsai plants that lined the hallway had been moved and instead incense sticks were lit to cleanse any miasma. Such rapid changes had been made seemingly overnight.

’Hatsu!’ Sen hissed, catching the other girl in the hallway one evening, two days after they took Granny’s body. ‘Why have we had so many deliveries, and for sweets and wine? Do you have parties to celebrate death here?’

Hatsu carefully looked around, making sure nobody would catch them chatting and slacking off.

’No, it’s not that at all. But think about it Sen-chan, Granny died, that means all of Konoha and half of Gion are going to come trudging through the Okiya. Mother clearly needs to put on a suitable show for all of the mourners!’

Hatsu was right, of course.

Everyone from the wig makers, jewellery shop owners, Mistresses of tea houses would be coming, as well as elder geisha from Granny’s era when she worked and representatives from the noble families to come pay their respects to Mother. Not to mention all the younger geisha who had a relationship with Karin who would come too to pay their respects, sometimes Sen forgot how influential House Senju was. Hatsu was correct when she said it would feel like all of Konoha would come through the Okiya doors because they truly did.

On the third day after Granny’s death, the mourners began to visit.

The Okiya had been suitably cleaned and decorated to keep up appearances and the maids were tasked with making fresh tea and preparing snacks for each round of visitors. Some mourners would stay for ten minutes or so and others would stay for hours. She soon realised that in the mornings and early afternoons all the guests who came to visit stayed for short times and they were only there out of formality, but in the evenings that was when the guests who either knew granny personally or were clan representatives would come to pay their respects and would stay for dinner. Sen’s job was to greet them all at the entrance and take their shoes to the storage closet.

At first she struggled, it was hard matching shoes to a person when staring at their face was considerably disrespectful but eventually she devised a clever system. Each kimono had a unique hemline with either a special design or a colour and she would match the shoes to the hem, it was difficult at first but after the first few hours she had it down.

She looked down at her own plain robes, all the maids were given charcoal black robes to wear during the mourning period, Sen shuffled under the scratchy material, sighing as she wished she could wear the more comfortable silk mourning robes that Mother, Aunty and Karin were wearing. Deep black robes with the green Senju insignia on the back of only Mother’s robe, being the heiress of an esteemed clan must have been some sort of charmed life.

Sen was shaken out of her thoughts when two figures appeared infront of her, immediately she bowed low to greet them and Aunty came out of the reception room to welcome them, there were two women, one was clearly a geisha with her cotton socks and wooden tabi shoes, her kimono hemline was a deep plum purple that looked almost black but was embellished with thousands of tiny white petals all hand sown with a silvery thread that glistened when the light hit it, it stood out to Sen as the loveliest Kimono she had seen since the guests had begun to visit. Silently chuckling to herself, she wondered what all the people back in Nishimoya would think of the elaborate lengths they went to here after a death. The second woman wore plain charcoal mourning robes, not dissimilar from Sen, she must have been a maid too.

It was unusual for a geisha to have a maid, at first Sen was convinced the woman must have been the mistress of a tea house since maids were nearly unheard of for geisha. Not focusing on it too much she quickly gathered the shoes and placed them on the storage rack, as the guests paid their respects at the small shrine in the hallway Sen stole a glance at the woman’s face. It was so perfectly smooth and unblemished, even under the white makeup of the geisha she could see perfectly healthy skin and the most oval face, perfectly proportioned. She wasn’t a striking beauty like Karin, with her blood red hair and matching eyes, no, this woman was classically beautiful, like the ancient scroll paintings of emperors wives that lined the halls of the Geisha academy.

Sen suddenly began to feel very small and insignificant in the wake of such a woman.

All of a sudden, Sen realised who the woman was. Ino, who’s kimono Karin had ordered her to destroy.

What happened to Ino’s robe wasn’t really the girls fault, but still, she feared what would happen should Ino somehow recognise her. Even though it had been two years since ethe incident and the maid who received the kimono wasn’t the once accompanying her, there was a feeling of dread bubbling up. Lowering her face she hastily showed the two women to the reception room where aunty stepped out of to announce their arrival to Mother. The relief she felt when she could finally turn away and leave them in the reception room was unimaginable. Until twenty minutes later they made their way to leave.

Once again making her way to the shoe closet she grabbed them and arranged them neatly on the front steps. As Ino’s made rolled open the interior door Sen breathed a sigh of relief that her ordeal was over. But instead of walking out, Ino just stood there. She began to panic and worry, in a moment of uncertainty her eyes flickered up to Ino’s and she saw the older geisha peering down at her with her big blue eyes.

‘What’s your name little girl?’ Ino said in a very stern voice, Sen quickly choked out a response.

‘Stand! I’d like to take a look at you Sen,’ she said, shakily the pink haired girl rose to her feet, praying the ground would swallow her up. She began to scrunch her face up slightly, wincing in anticipation for what was to come.

’Stop wrinkling your face, I want to take a look at you, not smack you!’

She raised her head ever so slightly and tried relaxing her face, Ino let out a long sigh and ordered the girl to look up at her directly.

’My, what unusual eyes.’ The geisha said. ‘I thought I was imagining it, ne tenten what colour eyes would you say the girl has?’ She asked the maid.

closing the interior door and walking back into the entry way, the maid also took a close look at Sen’s eyes.

’Emerald green ma’am,’ tenten replied.

’Thats exactly what I would have said, now I wonder how many girls in Gion have eyes like yours?’ Neither Sen nor Tenten knew who she was speaking to and both remained silent. Ino was looking at the girl with great concentration, she could almost hear the buzz of her brainwaves. After a moment or so the geisha snapped out of her stupor and excused herself to leave.

Granny’s funeral was held almost a week later, on a bright morning chosen by a fortune-teller. Afterwards all the maids were tasked with putting the Okiya back in order, but with many changes.

Aunty moved downstairs into the room that had been granny’s while Hatsu, who was about to begin her apprenticeship as a geisha, moved into the empty room next to the maids quarters. Additionally, four new maids arrived the following week, middle aged and very hardworking. It may seem strange that Mother added more maids upon the loss of a household member but in fact the Okiya had previously been understaffed due to Granny’s dislike of crowding. The final change was that Hatsu’s chores had been taken from her. Instead she was told to use her time to practice her geisha skills.

She gave Hatsu little smiles whenever their eyes met, happy that her friend was moving on in life and training. Over the years Hatsu had improved massively in her geisha skills, no longer was she tragic with her lessons though her shy nature did hold her back considerably. It stung though, the pink haired girl was already finding it difficult to bear the burden of patience in her life, waiting for so,e tiny opening that might never come. Now she had to watch as the door of opportunity was wide open for someone else and she couldn’t even complain since she had landed herself in this mess anyways.

On some nights she would imagine the coin the man, Lord Madara, had given her and lay in her futon imagining herself as a geisha. She would frequent banquets and parties, attend opening ceremonies and flagship events and would mingle with the wealthy men who would throw their money at her for just a moments conversation. If she were a geisha maybe she would be able to save up enough money to one day have her own small home, her own piece of ownership and leave the world of Konoha behind. The money she put in the offering box played on her mind, she wondered just how its blessings would come to her and she prayed the gods had not forgotten about her

Towards the end of the month after Granny’s death, one of the new maids came to Sen, saying there was a message for her at the door. It had been an unreasonably hot September afternoon and her body felt sticky with sweat. Quickly mopping herself up with a wet towel as q]fast as she could, she rushed down to find a young woman in the entry way, dressed in a maid’s kimono. Sen got on her knees to bow down and only as she got closer did she realise it was the maid who had accompanied Ino to the Okiya a few weeks earlier. Feeling certain she was in trouble, Sen tried to hide behind her pink hair as best she could. The maid just peered at her strangely before she gestured at Sen to step out of the entry way and into the street.

’Are you sent out on errand at all Sen?’ It had been so long since she had tried to run away that she was no longer confined to the Okiya.

’I do ma’am,’

‘Good,’ tenten said with a smile, ‘ Arrange to be sent out tomorrow at midday and meet me at the little bridge behind the entrance of the Konoha Gardens!’

’Yes ma’am. . .but why?’

‘You’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?’ She said as she smiled, a littler crinkle in the corners of her eyes.

Sen was certainly nervous about Ino’s maid wanting her to accompany her somewhere, probably to Ino herself she thought, to be reprimanded for what she had done all those years ago. But all the same, the next day before midday the pink haired girl sought out Hatsu and informed her of what had happened.

’What if it’s a trap Sen-chan? Ino-san isnt known for any hostility but her and Karin’s hatred for one another is legendary.’ Hatsu whispered, the two girls tucked in the apprentice geisha’s room.

’I know, buts still I have to see what she wants. You didn’t see how she looked at me when they came those weeks ago. It was like she was examining every hair on my head.’ Sen shuddered at the memory.

’I still think it’s a bad idea but if you think it’s important then I’ll help where I can.’ Hatsu said, her voice quivering ever so slightly. Sen beamed at hearing this and scooped the other girl into a big hug.

‘’Thank you Hatsu-chan! I promise it will all be fine and I’ll repay you somehow.’

’Ne Sen-Chan just focus on not getting into any more trouble.’

The two girls stood up and made their way to the door of Hatsu’s room, their ruse was about to begin. Taking a deep breath Hatsu began to project her voice.

’Sen-chan, can you go fetch me some kabuki magazines and shamisen strings! Is that okay Aunty?’ She called out, anyone listening in would assume the pink haired maid was leaving on an official errand rather than her own volition. After a moment or so the two girls smiled conspiratorially and Sen took off down the stairs and out the front door.

For late September the weather was mild and peasant, the walk to the Konoha gardens didn’t take any longer than twenty minutes and as she reached the small bridge she stood for a moment to admire the leaves that had begun to turn orange and brown. The garden was quiet and after a few minutes of waiting, Ino’s maid arrived. Without a word the young girl began to follow the made, out of the gardens and up the main road, they were right infront of the Uzumaki theatre when they turned right. On the east of the theatre was the Teahouse district, surely Ino wasn’t going to entertain a mere maid in one of the Teahouse?

The two walked past the teahouses and after fifteen minutes reached the end of the Teahouse district which led onto a small residential area. Though small it was very affluent with large groves of trees separating each house from the next. Eventually the maid stopped infront of a machiya style townhouse, leading the pink haired girl through the lacquered wooden doors Sen felt awfully intimidated by the house.

It was clear that a lot of love and money had been put into the decoration and maintenance of the house. The elegantly designed wooden townhouse was filled with polished wood, as was fashionable of the time, and tatami mats with an array of sliding shoji doors. Sen could hardly take it all in as the maid sped through the hallway, leading her deeper and deeper into the building before they finally reached a small intimate lounge. The two stood outside the door.

’Sen is here ma’am.’

’All right, thank you Tenten!’ Ino called from inside the room. The maid led Sen into the room and directed her to the cushions by the table, sat across from her was another floor cushion that was empty. Shortly after a second maid came out with a cup of tea for the girl, because Ino had not one, but two maids. Sen certainly wasn’t expecting to be served tea, in fact nothing that generous had ever happened to her since she had dinner at Mr. Tazuna’s house all those years ago. She took a sip to be polite and bowed her head, but she found herself sitting there in awkward silence, alone in the room.

Ino’s house wasn’t large but it was extremely elegant. A beautifully hand written scroll was mounted to the wall and it her antique trinkets were tastefully placed around the room.

At last, Ino came into the room wearing a delicate beige kimono with a wave design at the hem. Sen turned and bowed very low on the mats as the geisha drifted over to the table, her footsteps not making a sound. Even as she sat down and arranged her robes she did so with such elegance.

’Now. . .Sen, wasn’t it? Why don’t you tell me how you managed to leave the Okiya today. I’m sure Lady Tsunade doesn’t like it when her maids leave to conduct personal business.’

Sen sat there stumped. This was definitely not the sort of questioning she had been expecting. After taking a minute to compose herself snd stop her heart from racing she tried to open her ,out to explain but in words would come out. She dropped her head in shame, now she couldn’t even speak.

’I have no intention of scolding you, I only want to know if you e gotten yourself in trouble by coming here.’

Sen felt relief at heading this.

’No ma’am, I, supposed to be on an errand for kabuki magazines and shamisen strings.’

’Oh, well I have many of those,’ she said, and then called a maid over to fetch her some and placed them on the table infront of the girl.

’Take this with you when you return to your Okiya, and no one will wonder where you’ve been. Now, when I came to your Okiya I saw another girl your age.’

’Oh, you mean Hatsu, the one with the dark blue hair?’

’This Hatsu girl, does she get along with Karin?’

’Well, honestly ma’am I’m not sure anyone really gets along with Karin. She pays her no more attention than you would a blade of grass in a garden.’

’How. . .poetic, and is that the way Karin treats you too?’

Sen tried to speak, but the truth was she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know Ino at all and it would be improper to speak poorly about Karin outside the Okiya. Ino almost sensed to sense what the girl was thinking because she said:

‘You don’t really need to answer, I know exactly how she treats you. Like a serpent eyeing up its next meal.’ Sen froze, Ino was correct.

’If I may ask ma’am, who has told you?’

’Nobody has told me, Karin and I have known each other since we were girls. When you’ve seen years of a creature misbehaving and conniving you’re not surprised at what it does next.’

‘I don’t know what I did to make her hate me,’ Sen’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, her green eyes downturned.

’Has anyone ever told you the story of how Karin drove out young Hatsuoki from Gion?’ Sen shook her head.

’Oh what a beautiful girl Hatsuoki was, and a very dear friend of mine too.’ Ino began, a small find smile gracing her face.’ She and your Karin were sisters. That is to say they’d both been trained by the same geisha- in their case it was the great Tomahina, who was already an old woman at the time. Karin never liked Hatsuoki and when they both became apprentice geisha she couldn’t bear having her as a rival. So slowly, she began to spread a rumour around Konoha that Hatsuoki has been caught in a public alleyway doing something very naughty.’ Ino took a sip of her tea.

’Obviously it was a lie, but Karin, well she’s a sneaky one as you know. If she had gone around the teahouses saying this then nobody would believe her, everyone knew she felt threatened by Hatsuoki. So instead she would wait, wait until she came upon someone very drunk and then she would whisper the story to them, so when they would wake up the next day all they would remember was a foggy story of poor Hatsuoki in the alley. Soon her reputation was damaged so all it took was a little shove and some more tricks and Karin drove her out.’

Strangely, Sen felt relived to hear that other people too had been treated monstrously by Karin too.

’She can’t bear to have any competition, and that’s why she hates you so much Sen.’

’Ma’am, surely Karin doesn’t see me as a rival. I’m no more a rival to her than a leaf is to a forest.’

’Not in the Konoha teahouses, you’re not. But inside your Okiya. . .Think Sen, don’t you find it odd that Lady Tsunade never adopted Karin as her daughter? The Senju Okiya is the wealthiest Okiya in Konoha without an heir. If Lady Tsunade were to adopt Karin she would solve that issue and all of Karin’s earnings would be kept by the Okiya, without a single yen paid out to Karin herself. Amd Karin is a successful geisha! You’d think someone as business oriented as Lady Tsunade would have capitalised on this by now, no?’

Sen took a minute to absorb everything Ino was telling her, truthfully she had never really thought about any of this before but everything was beginning to fall into place now.

’Adopting Karin would be like setting the Senju name on fire.’

’Exactly and I’m sure Lady Tsunade knows exactly what sort of adopted daughter Karin would be. The type to drive the mother out. In any case Karin has no decorum for that level of status or the patience, after a year or so she would sell the okiya’s kimono collection and retire. That, little Sen, is the reason why Karin hate situ so much. That Hatsu girl, as sweet looking as she may be, well, I can’t imagine Karin being worried about Lady Tsunade adopting her.

’Ino-san, I’m sure you’ll remember that kimono of yours that was ruined. . .’

’Youre Going to tell me you’re the poor soul who did it?’

’yes ma’am amd even though you probably know Karin was behind it, I’m still deeply sorry for the part I played.’ Ino was silent and pensive after hearing this.

’Well, you may apologise if you wish.’

Slowly backing away from the table, Sen bowed low to the mats. Before she had the chance to ego say anything at all Ino interrupted her.

’That would be a wonderful bow if you were a farmer visiting Gion for the first time. But since you’re wanting to appear cultivated you must do it like this. Look at me; move further from the table. Yes- thats enough distance. Now, straighten your arms out and put your fingertips on the mat not your whole hand. And you mustn’t spread your fingers at all, I can see space between them!. Very well yes stay still. . .there! Now that looks lovely Sen. Bow as low as you can and for heavens sake keep your neck straight. There now let’s try it again.’

And so Sen bowed once more, this time taking care to do it exactly as Ino had instructed her to do so and apologised for destroying her kimono.

’Ah, it really was a beautiful kimono, wasn’t it?’ She sighed wistfully, the tea had gone cold now but Ino still cupped it gently.

’We can forget about the kimono now, I’d like to know why youre no longer training to be a geisha? I spoke to your teachers, they told me you were doing very well right up until the moment you stopped your lessons. You should be on your way to a very successful career in Konoha so why did Lady Tsunade stop the lessons?’

Sen told the geisha about her debts, including the kimono and the brooch that Karin accused her of stealing. Ino looked coldly at Sen after the girl finished speaking.

’Considering your debt, I’d expect Lady Tsunade to feel more determined to see you succeed as a geisha, so why don’t you tell me what really happened.’

Upon hearing this, Sen couldn’t hear to meet Ino’s eyes and looked down, suddenly the mats were the most interesting thing in the room.

’You tried to run away didn’t you little one?’

‘yes ma’am, I had a sister, we were separated but I managed to find her and we planned to escape together. But then I fell off the roof and broke my arm and well, she got away and I’m still here.’

’The Roof!. . .you must be joking thats madness?’

Sen explained how she had seen the bathroom window and planned to climb down the tree, inky to slip on the icy tiles and fall off the roof.

’I know it was foolish of me, and now Mother won’t invest anything in my training since she fears I may run away again.’

’Yes but there’s more to it than that. A girl who runs away makes the mistress of the Okiya look bad, thats just his people in Konoha think. And the Senju Okiya is one of the oldest and most prestigious, the damage your little attempt did to the reputation of her house was catastrophic.  But what will you do with your life now Sen? You don’t seem like a girl content with the life of a maid.’

’Id give anything to undo my sims takes. It’s been two years now, I’ve waited hoping an opportunity might come along.’

‘With That much water in you, waiting patiently doesn’t suit you. Water never waits and water never stops, not for anyone. It’s the most powerful of the elements, it can put out fires, wear down mountains, shape entire valleys to its desires, and yet you haven’t drawn upon your natural strengths.’

‘I suppose I’m like a river that has reached a damn, and that dam is Karin.’

’Yes Sen, thats probably true, but rivers sometimes wash dams away.’

Since the moment Sen had arrived at the townhouse she had been wondering why Ino had summoned her. She’d already deduced it wasn’t anything to do with the ruined kimono from before but now she was beginning to put the pieces together, Ino wanted do use her as a weapon against Karin. It was clear they were rivals, why else would Karin want to destroy her kimono? No doubt ino had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike and now she had it.

Ino wasn’t simply looking for revenge, she wanted to be rid of Karin completely.

’in any case, nothing will change until Lady Tsunade lets you resume your training.’ 

‘I don’t have any hope then, of ever being able to persuade her.’

’Its not about the “how” but more so bout the “when”,’ Ino smiled knowingly.

If there was one thing Sen struggled with, it was patience. The great harbour waves wait for no one and Sen couldn’t understand what ino meant about the “when”.

‘There is truly nothing worse than stumbling through life unaware of the paths already laid out for us. There is a perfect “when” for everything, don’t you know how to check your almanac?’ Ino questioned, raising a brow.

Sen had never even seen an almanac before, geisha are a superstitious breed and Mother and Aunty, even the cooks and the maids hardly made a decision without consulting theirs. Even one as simple as buying a new pair of shoes, the almanac would be consulted. But Sen had never checked one in her life.

’Well it’s no wonder your life has been one tragedy after the next,’ ino was laughing now, though not unkindly, even though it was rather unkind.

’You truly are full of water, trying to run away without even checking if the day was auspicious. Water really does have no patience.’

Ino wanted to know if the girl remembered the day she and her sister were set to run away and once she had tye date she called for a maid to bring her the almanac for that year and together they flicked thhfiugh the pages before reaching the correct one.

’A most inauspicious time for. . .needles, exotic fruits and travel must be avoided at all costs!’ Ino read from the pages after determining what year Sen was born.

’Dod you hear that? Travel. . .not a good idea for you was it, let’s see what it says to avoid, “bathing during the morning”, “acquiring new clothing”, and listen to this one, “changing residences”.’

Many had doubts about these sorts of fortune telling tales but any doubts Sen might have had were swept away after what happened next. Ino asked for her sister’s sign and looked up the same information.

’well,’ the geisha began, ‘ it reads: an auspicious day for pickling, pruning gardens and small changes. Maybe not the greatest day for running away but certainly a better day for it than the others near it. Oh and listen to this, “a good day for travel in the direction of the Sheep.’ Ino paused in silence for a moment before calling for a map to be bought to the table immediately.

The geisha found Nishimoya, it lay northeast of Gion and indeed was in the direction of he zodiac of the Sheep. Setsu had checked her almanac, she was right to do so too because she escaped, Sen didn’t.

It began to dawn on Sen his unaware she had been, not only I’m planning to run away but in everything. She’d never understood how closely things were connected to each other, and it wasn’t just the zodiac. As human beings everyone was interlinked, connected to something larger, when we walk along the path, we may crush a beetle or simply cause a change in the air currents making a fly to somewhere it wouldn’t have gone otherwise. Human beings are affected every day by forces over which we have no more control than the poor beetle under the sole of a leather shoe. Fighting the current was pointless, but to flow with the current, that was the real objective.

Ino picked the almanac up and began to scan the upcoming weeks looking for a day that was suitable for significant change.

’Listen to me Sen, it isnt my intention to have you speak with Lady Tsunade yourself. I want you to return it your Okiya and speak of our meeting to no one.’ At this she gave the pink haired girl a stern look, the girl bowed and excused herself right then and made her way to leave. She was so heavy headed from her meeting she had forgotten the kabuki magazines and shamisen strings and one of the maids had to chase after her down the street to give her them.

Chapter Text

Uchiha Compound- Summer

Itachi had been awake for hours.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the shoji screens, casting a warm, golden glow across the dark room. Decorated in the traditional Uchiha style, it was filled with heavy reds and deep blues. He sighed. He would have preferred something neutral — perhaps even white. The dark colours seemed to trap the heat, and even in the early hours of morning, he could already feel the summer warmth creeping in, turning his bed into an oven.

If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost picture his bedroom in Natsu, the military outpost where he’d spent the last few years. Aside from the occasional visit back to the Uchiha compound or Gion, Natsu had been his home. Truthfully, Itachi preferred the war to the politics of Gion. He let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humour in it. Only bitterness.

The Land of Grass had once been the agricultural heart of the continent. As a child, he’d visited with his parents, long before the war began. He remembered rolling green valleys and fertile fields stretching endlessly to the horizon. The land had been blessed by an intense rainy season and rich volcanic soil, its minerals feeding crops of unparalleled quality. Every vegetable imaginable grew there — larger, sweeter, richer than anywhere else.

He thought of Sasuke then. His brother couldn’t have been more than three at the time, biting into one of the Grasslands’ famous Momotaro tomatoes, the umami-rich juice spilling down his chin. Itachi had never seen a place so alive. He could feel it in the air, in the ground itself. Now it was nothing more than a graveyard, the earth stained with blood.

The war had taken everyone by surprise. The Great Nations, complacent in their strength, hadn’t seen it coming — least of all the Grasslands themselves. Ten years ago, the Uchiha Intelligence Division had picked up rumours of a dissident group in the Land of Rain: the Akatsuki. What no one expected was for the Rain to turn their armies against their closest neighbour.

The Land of Grass had never been a nation of warriors. It had no need for conflict. And yet, one night its people went to sleep, and by morning, those who survived woke to their homes ablaze, their fields razed, and their trading posts destroyed. The fires burned for weeks. Neighbouring countries sent aid, but the flames raged on, and the invasion continued. Soon, hardship spread. Vegetables grew scarce, prices soared, and animal feed dwindled.

The Land of Fire could sustain itself, but other nations suffered. The Land of Waves was too cold, its soil too salty. The Land of Lightning’s mountainous terrain left little room for farmland. And the Land of Wind — its endless golden dunes — had always relied on imported grain. Famine began to creep across the map.

Though other nations exported what they could, none could fill the void left by the Grasslands. Intelligence reports offered no clear motive behind the Rain’s assault. Spies sent into the occupied region struggled to gather useful information, concluding only that the invasion was part of a larger effort to destabilise the region — though to what end, no one knew.

Over the years, the Land of Grass and the minor countries along its borders clashed endlessly, while the larger nations watched from a distance, unwilling to risk their own soldiers. The violence was pointless. A decade of slaughter for what? For burned crops and murdered farmers. For famine and desolation.

Itachi stared at the ceiling. There was nothing else to do.

In the first year of the war, the Land of Wind sent weapons and supplies to the Grasslands, unwilling to commit fully but eager to sway the outcome. In retaliation, the Land of Sound backed the Rain insurgents, and soon a proxy war began. More nations entered the fray, each with their own ambitions, until the conflict spiralled far beyond its original borders.

He was selfishly relieved the Land of Fire had stayed out of it, for the most part. They had no relationship with the Land of Grass — few self-sufficient nations did. But they shared a mile of border east of Natsu, and so the Fire military had remained vigilant.

Itachi didn’t know when the war would end. Too many hands in too many pockets, too many grudges and schemes. And now, with his uncle’s latest maneuverings — a proposed alliance with the Kazekage — things were only growing worse.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Itachi-sama,” a maid’s voice called quietly, “Lord Madara has sent this for you.”

She was carrying a black box. A new set of robes, perhaps. Behind her stood a line of servants, waiting to attend to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, just loud enough to be heard but soft enough not to disturb the morning hush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young woman blush.

Itachi almost pitied her, fawning over a man she didn’t truly know, a man she could never have.

He took the box, surprised by its weight. Too heavy for summer clothing. He set it on the table and slid open the shoji screens, letting the sunlight pour in. The warmth on his skin felt good. He stretched, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.

Behind him, the quiet shuffle of feet as maids tidied his room and prepared his bath.

A charmed life, he thought bleakly. While others bled and starved, here he was; waited on hand and foot. Five years in Natsu, and the war was no closer to ending. Real change would come, but not yet. The winds of fortune would need to shift. When they did, perhaps then he could make a difference.

A servant approached and informed him his bath was ready.

The water was just the right temperature, soothing his sore muscles. His hair spread out around him in the water like a dark fan. He sank deeper, letting his thoughts scatter.

It wasn’t that he missed Natsu, but Hokage Province meant facing the suffocating burden of his clan. Madara did a good job keeping them in line, but as heir, the mantle of responsibility still fell heavily on Itachi’s shoulders. He used to bear it with vigour, driven by duty and belief in something greater.

Lately, he wasn’t so sure what kept him going.

The bathwater had cooled considerably by the time he reached for a cloth and began to wash. By the time he rose, his fingertips were wrinkled and the servants had vanished, leaving the room in peaceful silence.

A teapot waited for him, still steaming. He poured a cup and sighed. Today would be long.

The first order of business was the box Madara had sent. Inside was a men’s kimono — but not one suited for the summer heat. Itachi frowned, pulling it from the box.

A montsuki kimono.

Formal, ceremonial. Worn only for the most serious of occasions.

His brow furrowed. Whatever Madara was scheming would need addressing, and soon. He only hoped his uncle hadn’t arranged a marriage behind his back. Madara was eccentric and impulsive, but even he wouldn’t dare orchestrate something so delicate without Itachi’s consent.

At least, Itachi hoped he wouldn’t.

But whatever game Madara was playing could wait.

There was someone Itachi needed to see first.

Sen figured she should find out more about what Ino meant by “older sister’ even though she had a vague idea she wasn’t fully aware of what the term meant. Once again she had gone to Hatsu who from all her schooling has become very knowledgeable about geisha customs and culture. The pink-haired girl discovered that by the time a girl was finally ready to make her debut as an apprentice geisha, she needed to have an established relationship with a more experienced geisha.

Older Sisters weren’t always so senior in age, any geisha could act as an Older Sister so long as she had at least one day’s seniority. When two girls are bound together as sisters they underwent a ceremony, similar to a wedding and afterwards they would see each other as family members. Some geisha didn’t take the role as seriously as the should but any geisha who did her jon properly would easily become the most important person in her Younger Sister’s life. An older sister does a great deal more than just making sure her junior learns the proper way of blending embarrassment and laughter when a man tells an inappropriate joke, or helping her select the right hair ornament for each season and event.

Older sisters were responsible for taking their younger sisters out into the work of Konoha and advertising them, they did this by presenting the juniors to the mistresses of all the proper teahouses, to the men who made the wigs for stage performances, to the head chefs at important restaurants, and so on.

There was plenty of work in this arrangement but introducing her younger sister around Konoha during the day was inky hard of the duty of an older sister. Because Konoha is like a candle, it burns brightest in the dark night. On evenings, older sisters would take their younger sisters with them when they go to entertain, in order to introduce her to the customers and patrons and clientele she had built up over the years and say “Oh have you met my younger sister?Please be sure to remember her name, she’s going to be the next big star! And please permit her to call on you the next time you visit Konoha!” Of course, few men paying the steep geisha fees would want to spend their evening chatting to a fourteen year old novice, so the customer probably won’t in fact summon the girl on his next visit.

But the older sister and the mistress of the Teahouse would continue to push him until he did. And I’m time, he would probably end up a patron of hers in good time, and very find of her too- just as he was of her older sister.

Many geisha would say taking on the role of older sister often felt like carrying a brick along with you. Not only are younger sisters dependant on their older sisters for introduction into the community, but when a girl behaves poorly it is the older sister who bares the brunt of responsibility for it. The only reason busy and successful geisha took on the burden of a younger sister was because of the blessings new geisha bought to Konoha. Everyone in Konoha wins when an apprentice succeeds and becomes a geisha. The apprentice herself benefits by working off her debt and if she was very lucky she would end up the mistress of a wealthy man.

The older sister would receive a portion of her younger sisters fees- as did the mistresses if various teahouses where the girl primarily entertained. Even the wig makers, dressers and hair dressers … though they may never receive a portion of the girls fees directly, everyone benefits by the patronage of yet another successful geisha, who can bring customers into Konoha who spend money.

It was no exaggeration to say that for all the young girls in Konoha, everything depended on who her older sister was. And yet hardly any of them had any say in who their older sister will be. An established geisha wouldn’t dare jeopardise her reputation by taking on a younger sister she thought was dull or someone she felt her clients would dislike. On the other hand the Mother’s of Okiyas who invest great deals of money into training the apprentice girls wouldn’t sit quietly and wait for just any dull geisha to come along and offer to train her. So it ended up quite often that popular and successful  geisha ended up swamped by more offers than she could manage. Some which she could decline, and some she cannot- which was probably what Mother felt, just as ino had hinted, that no geisha would want to be Sen’s older sister. 

In the beginning when Sen first arrived at the Okiya she suspected Mother would have made Karin her older sister. Karin may have been the sort of woman to bite a snake back but any girl would be lucky to have her as an older sister. Karin has already been older sister to at least two well know young geisha in Konoha. Instead of torturing them as she had done to Sen, she’d behaved herself well. It had been her choice to take them in and she had done so for the money it would bring her. But in Sen’s case, Karin would receive no money for training her. Mother certainly could have commanded Karin to have been the young girls older sister, not only because Karin lived under the roof of the Senju Okiya but also because she had so few of her own kimono and was completely dependant in the okiya’s collections. But Sen didn’t think any force in the universe could have compelled her to train the pink haired girl properly.

As for any other geisha training Sen, well that would mean crossing paths with Karin, and few geisha in Konoha were brave enough to do such a thing.

Late one morning a week or so after Sen’s encounter with Ino, she was serving tea to Mother in her office when Auntie came rushing in as fast as she could, very dishevelled.

’Lady Tsunade, we have a visitor!’ Aunty said, out of breath. Mother narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

’Are you having a dull day Shizune? To come and announce a visitor yourself, are the maids refusing to do their jobs now.’ Mother didn’t sound very impressed. 

‘I thought you would rather hear it from me, that our visitor is Ino.’

Sen had spent days worrying that her conversation with Ino had been fruitless and all for nothing but after hearing aunty say this she began to tremble slightly before quickly stopping so she wouldn’t catch the attention of Mother. The room was awful,y silent for a long minute, Sen could hear every single one of her own breaths, just as she was about to excuse herself from the room Mother began to speak.

’Ino-san, here?’ Mother was silent again for a moment, Sen could see the cogs in her mind turning.

’Well let’s not keep her waiting, take her into the reception room and have the cook prepare refreshments!’ Mother stood up swiftly, her green kimono jacket billowing from the fan oscillating on the table next to her. Sen always admired Mother’s beauty, she had heard that Lady Tsunade had been a very successful geisha before she retired to be the head of the Senju clan. Even now the blonde woman carried herself with the grace of an esteemed geisha, from the delicate footsteps to the peculiar way she spoke in formal settings. So it was strange to see Mother stand infront of the mirror and awkwardly rearrange her jacket and straighten out her robes.

While Mother went to greet their guest, Sen grabbed a cloth from the supply store and began to buff a scratch on the floor just paces away from the reception room entrance. Normally Aunty would forbid her from working so close to the reception especially when a guest was there but the older woman was too preoccupied with her own eavesdropping to care. From behind her the girl could hear delicate footsteps, Hatsu with a cloth of her own knelt down next to Sen.

’What is going on?’ She whispered, her eyes filled with curiosity.

’It’s Ino, she’s finally come to speak to mother!’

Sen and Hatsu strained to hear bits of their conversation but they weren’t close enough, taking a risk they shuffled forward slightly where they could hear much better, Mothers voice was clear:

’My apologies for keeping you waiting Ino-san, how wonderful of you to visit our humble Okiya.’ Hatsu snorted after hearing that, there was nothing humble about the Okiya at all. Especially since granny had passed, mother and aunty had given the Okiya a complete makeover with brand new decorations and furniture.

’Of course, it is always an honour to visit the esteemed Senju Okiya, please forgive me for visiting unexpectedly, I trust you must be very busy these days Lady Tsunade.’ Ino said, these greetings were awfully dull. Both women went back and forth with their superficial greetings and formalities until almost half an hour had passed. 

‘Lady Tsunade, I do hope you’ll forgive me for prying, but I’d like to speak with you about Sen.’ Aunty froze and turned her head to look at the two girls, her eyes meeting Sen’s in shock and worry.

’Our Sen? I do hope she hasn’t been any trouble to you Ino-san, she can be rather spirited.’ Mother sighed.

‘Oh no, nothing like that at all. I has noticed she hasn’t been in attendance at the academy these last months and came to enquire into her health, i had become so very accustomed to seeing her in the hallways that when she stopped attending, well. . .I started to fear the worst, she must have taken ill. I made the acquaintance of a very capable doctor some time ago, I would be most pleased to have him call around.’

’That is most kind of you, but you must be thinking of a different girl. Sen hasn’t attended the academy in, what- three or well I suppose four years by now.’ Tye cogs in mothers brain were turning over and over.

’Are we thinking of the same girl? Very pretty, pink hair and the most startling emerald eyes?’

’Now that does sound like our Sen but surely it hasn’t been her you’ve seen. I never would think there was a second girl in Konoha who looked just like her though. . .who would’ve thought.’ Mother laughed incredulously.

’My, I wonder if it’s possible that four years have passed since I saw her,’ ino said. ‘She really made such an impression upon me, perhaps that’s why it seems so recent. May I ask Lady Tsunade, is she well?’

‘She’s as spring as a chicken, and as headstrong as one too. For better or worse, that girl marches to the beat of her own drum she’s like a harbour wave.’ In her own way, it sounded as though Mother was proud of Sen when she spoke. The two had never discussed her running away attempt after she was beaten, but in that moment Sen smiled, because she knew that Mother, in her own way, respected the girl for trying to sieze the reigns of her life.

Slowly, the reception room door opened and Mother was face to face with Aunty’s ear who looked red from being caught. Neither mother nor aunty made any acknowledgment and instead the blonde Senju snapped her fingers, signalling Sen to come towards her. By the time the link haired girl had bowed low in greeting and taken a seat at the low table mother had already begun talking.

’Is this the girl you’ve been worried about?’

‘Yes! That is the very girl I was thinking of. How do you do Sen? I trust you are well,’ Ino said with such convincing enthusiasm that if Sen weren’t aware of the ploy she would fully believe Ino to simply be a concerned senior geisha worried for her juniors well-being.

‘Yes ma’am I’m very well, thank you.’ Sen said, trying to keep her voice steady.

’Thank you Sen,’ mother said, patting the girl on the shoulder, signalling her she was no longer needed. As the girl left the room Ino said:

’She really is the most wonderful little girl, Lady Tsunade. I had often thought of coming to ask your permission to take her as my younger sister. But now she’s no longer in training. . .’ 

Mother spluttered at hearing this, her eyes widening in poorly masked shock. She sat there frozen for a minute in silence, staring at Ino with a bewildered look.

‘A geisha as esteemed as you, Ino. You could have any apprentice in the nation as your younger sister?’

‘It is true, I am often asked and am swarmed by offers each season but I haven’t taken a younger sister in nearly two years now. One would think with that horrible war and the Depression the nation was facing that business would slow, but truly I’m far busier than I have ever been.’ Ino lamented.

’Well, even during times of war the rich get richer and I suppose they need their fun now more than ever.’ Sen found it funny that mother said that, as though she wasn’t one of those rich aristocrats who also profited during this time. Karin’s diary had been fully booked for the past eighteen months, her rates had skyrocketed too.

‘Well anyways, I mustn’t waste any more of your time, I am very pleased that Sen is healthy after all.’ Ino said, preparing to excuse herself.

’Very healthy indeed, but Ino-san, you mentioned taking her on as your younger sister?’

’By now, well she’s been out of training for so long …’ Ino began to drift off. ‘And I wouldn’t dare second guess your decision, I’m sure there was an excellent reason you decided to terminate her lessons.’

’Some girls just don’t take to the geisha arts as well as they should, there’s no point putting more money into a bad investme-‘ in a rare display of rudeness, Ino cut off mothers sentence.

’Forgive me Lady Tsunade, but such a beautiful young girl. I would be shocked if she were to become anything less than the next big star.

‘Sen, despite her beauty, is headstrong and has considerable debt, I would be surprised if she were ever able to repay that debt. Our Hatsu is a far safer investment, I’m sure you can understand my reasoning Ino-san.’

’And even if I did invest some more into the girl’s lessons, where would it all lead to?’

’I am sure that the girls debts are very considerable,  it even so I would think she would repay them by the time she was twenty.’

’Twenty!’ Laughed mother. ‘No girl in the whole of the Fire nation has ever done such a thing, and in the midst of the depression …’

‘Yes it’s true there is the depression…’

’And with you Ino, her debts would only get worse before they got better. Which is why Hatsu is a far more favourable investment for us.’ Mother wasn’t just talking about the lesson fees, but older sisters typically took a portion of their younger sisters fees as payment. A geisha of Ino’s standing would take a far greater portion than a standard geisha would.

‘If the Great Yamanaka Ino says that Sen will repay her debt by the age of twenty, then how can I ignore such a statement. Of course, she won’t succeed without an older sister such as yourself but she is still a risk, I would only be willing to offer half the fees you would ordinarily expect.’  Mother had a sly smirk plastered upon her perfect face.

’just now I’m entertaining several generous offers, if I am to take on a younger sister I couldn’t possibly afford to do it at a reduced rate.’

’You haven’t heart my proposal yet, it’s true I would only give you half your expected fee, but if Sen does repay her debt as you predict by twenty, then I would turn over the remainder of what was owed to you plus an extra thirty percent. You would make far more money in the long run.’

‘And if she turns twenty and hasn’t cleared the debt?’

’Then unfortunately it would have been a bad investment for the both of us.’

 There was a painful silence and the Ino sighed once more.

’Im dreadfully poor with numbers. But if I understand correctly, you’d like me to take in a younger sister for a reduced fee? There are hundreds of promising young girls in Konoha who would make a finde younger sister with no risk to me whatsoever. I’m afraid I must decline your proposal.’ Sen felt her heart drop into her stomach. What if Ino and mother couldn’t come to an agreement?

’You’re right, thirty perfect is rather low. I’ll offer double instead, if you succeed.’

’But nothing should I fail,’

’Dont think of it as nothing Ino-san. a portion of her fees would have gone to you all along.’ Sen was certain that Ino would refuse for a second time snd she began to feel clammy.

’I would like to see how extensive her debt is first,’

’Of course, I’ll have the account book brought down.’ Mother told her.

Sen didn’t catch the last part of their conversation, aunty had run out of patience for the two girls in the hallway and sent Hatsu off to practice her shamisen and Sen was given a list of errands to run. All afternoon she felt anxious, she had no idea how the meeting had ended and what decision had been made. If mother and Ino didn’t come to an agreement then she would remain a maid all her life. Once she had returned to the Okiya, Hatsu was sat in the courtyard plucking at her shamisen. One of the strings was dreadfully out of tune and the twanging noise was awful. The moment the blue haired girl saw Sen she flung her instrument snd rushed towards her.

‘Sen-chan! You must go find some excuse to speak with mother, she’s been in the office all afternoon with her abacus and account books. If you see her she will definitely say something to you.’

The pink haired girl agreed it was a fine idea, one of her rands had been to fetch Mother’s new shoes but there had been some delay with the shop and she needed to inform her. So she trudged along to inform mother of the issue. She wouldn’t care, Sen suspected mother hadn’t even known she had been sent to go fetch them but at least it would get her into the office. It turned out that mother was listening to a comedy show on the radio, normally if the girl disturbed her at a time like this the older woman would wave her in and go right on listening to the radio- looking over her account books and drinking sake. To Sen’s surprise, mother turned off the radio the moment she walked in, as the girl bowed and went to kneel at the table mother slammed the account book shut.

’I noticed you hard at work in the formal entrance hallway polishing the floor,’  Mother said dryly, she knew that they had been eavesdropping.

‘There was an awfully large scuff in the floorboard, Hatsu and I were trying to buff it out.’ She said earnestly, hoping to seem genuine.

‘I hope you turn out to be a better geisha than you are a liar,’ mother laughed but there was no malice behind it, she actually seemed amused by it all. 

‘Now Sen, I bought you here because I knew you had the makings of a fine geisha. Never did I think a geisha like Ino would come along and say she wanted to be your older sister. I’m not sure what to make of it.’

As it seemed to Sen, Ino was less interested in helping her and more interested in harming Karin. But she certainly couldn’t tell that to mother, though she had a sneak feeling mother was already aware. But before she could respond, the door slid open and Karin’s voice filled the room. All the hairs on Sen’s back stood up and she shuddered, mother cast a concerned glance her way for a moment.

‘I’m sorry mother I didn’t know you were busy scolding the maid,’

‘She won’t be a maid for much longer,’ mother said, leaning back in her chair.

‘Yes, I gathered Ino has come to pluck our little lamb from the pasture,’ Karin sneered, she drifted over and knelt at the table as well.

‘For some reason, Ino seems to think Sen will repay her debt by the age of twenty.’ Mother said.

karin’s face turned towards Sen. She was beaming proudly, like a mother looking at her baby’s first steps. But this was what she said:

’Perhaps, mother, if you sold her to a whore house…’

’Shut up! I didn’t summon you hear for any of your cheap insults. I want to know what you’ve done to Ino to provoke her.’

’I may have ruined her day by strolling past her on the street maybe, but other than that I haven’t done a thing.’

‘She’s planning something and I want to know what,’ Mother said, directing her words to Karin who looked the picture of innocence.

‘It’s really no surprise Mother. She thinks she can get to me through the stupid maid over here.’

Mother sat pondering for a few minutes, thinking about what the red head geisha had said to her.

‘Or maybe she thinks that Sen will be more successful than Hatsu and wants to make some money off her. I can’t blame her, that’s why I bought her myself.’

‘Really, Mother… Ino doesn’t need Sen to make money. Do you think it’s an accident she wants to waste her time on a maid in the same Okiya I live in? She wants to drive me out of Konoha.’

‘Let’s not be dramatic Karin, just because you have wicked ways does not mean Ino shares them,’

‘She wants to humiliate me by telling everyone, “oh, please meet my new younger sister, she lives in the same Okiya as Karin but she’s such a jewel they’ve entrusted her to me for training instead.’

’I cannot imagine Ino behaving in such a manner,’

’Look mother, if she thinks she can make sen more of a success than Hatsu then she’s going to be very surprised. Either way it’ll be a perfect opportunity for Hatsu, once she’s sharpened her teeth on the stupid maid she’ll become a much better geisha for it.’

Mother seemed to like this idea, she raised the edges of her mouth in a sort of smile.

’I had no idea what a fine day today would be, this morning I had two useless girls in the Okiya. Now they’ll be fighting it out… and with a couple of the most prominent geisha in Konoha ushering them along.’

Chapter Text

Senju Okiya - Summer

’So they’re pitting us against each other?’ Hatsu frowned.

Both girls whispering under their breath to avoid being heard. Sen had waited till the late night to debrief Hatsu out of fear they would be overheard gossiping. It was late and most of the household was asleep, mother had ordered Sen to move into the same room as Hatsu so the apprentice geisha were kept together. It was nice having more space and privacy in the new room, even if it were smaller. The large room where all the maids slept was cramped and unpleasant, all the women’s futons squished together in rows to fit as many bodies in as possible. Sen rolled around in her futon, throwing off the blanket to try cool down.

’Sort of. It’s probably Karin’s way of trying to cause more trouble. She thinks she can train you better than Ino-san will train me, she’s just being competitive again.’ Sen speculated, still slightly uncertain though.

’At least it ended well for you though, Sen-chan. You’re going to become a geisha now and to have Ino-san as your older sister is an honour.’ Hatsu beamed, pleased that her friend was no longer resigned to the life of a maid.

‘We just have to hope Karin won’t ruin everything, each time I see her something always goes wrong.’ The pink haired girl said solemnly, already worrying about the malicious geisha. Even worse, Hatsu would most likely have Karin for her older sister, the thought struck fear into the pink haired girl.

‘Mother has been much better at keeping watch over her but that’s just made her sneakier, and Karin won’t have any real punishment as long as she’s the okiya’s principal earner.’ Hatsu lamented, a small yawn escaping her. ‘It’s already grown so late, I can’t stay awake much longer Sen-chan.’

As the dark haired girl fell asleep Sen laid there thinking about that fateful day she met Lord Madara. She hoped one day she could thank him for the kindness he had shown her, and for inspiring her to find the strength in her to keep going and not give up. Even though she never had many dreams or aspirations to become a geisha back then, she did now. She always had respect for the hard work and dedication geisha’s had for their art and the rich culture and history that surrounded them were fascinating but in the heart of Konoha as an abandoned orphan, rejecting the idea of being a geisha was her own way of seizing what little autonomy she had left. But the life of a maid was a bleak one, her river had been obstructed by a damn and all the water inside her pooled like a sinking ship, dragging her deeper and deeper into the abyss.

That’s when she began to realise than being a geisha was her lifeline, she could study and train and become someone.

Be a geisha.

Become someone who was successful enough to march to the beat of their own drum and not be stifled or controlled, and the only way to that level of success was to throw her everything into becoming a geisha and following Ino’s lead.

The very next morning Ino summoned her to her apartment. This time she was seated at the table already waiting, it was early in the morning and she was wearing simple lilac robes, loose and airy to keep her cool in the heat. Sen was careful to bow properly before coming into the room and then to cross to the table and bow again. Ino smiled at her, pleased she has correctly bowed as she had taught her previously.

’Ino-san, I don’t know what led you to this decision but I can’t express how grateful I am-‘

‘Don’t get too far ahead Sen-chan, nothing has happened quite yet. Now please tell me what you and Lady Tsunade spoke of yesterday after I left.’

‘Well,’ Sen hummed looking for the right words. ‘Mother was confused and didn’t really understand how I had caught your attention, she thought you were only doing it because Karin had provoked you somehow. And as for Karin-‘

‘My first piece of advise is to not even bother wasting time thinking about Karin, it won’t serve you well. As for her and Lady Tsunade, they certainly have a vested interest in seeing you fail.’

’I don’t understand why Mother should want to see me fail? Since she will make more money if I succeed.’

’Except that if you pay off all your debt by twenty she will owe me a good deal of money, I made a sort of bet with her yesterday. And it’s not that Lady Tsunade does want you to fail out of spite or dislike towards you, it’s purely financial, if anything you’re probably her favourite in the whole Okiya considering she didn’t throw you out after all the trouble you’ve caused.’ Ino said, while a maid served us tea and a selection of sweets.

’I would not have made the bet until I felt certain you would succeed but if I’m going to be your older sister you should know I have very strict terms.’ Ino said, Sen expected her to tell her them but the blonde only glowered and said:

’Really, Sen, you must stop blowing on your tea that way. You look like a peasant girl! Leave it on the table until it’s cool enough to drink.’

‘I’m sorry Ino-san, I wasn’t aware I was doing it.’ The girl apologised feeling quite embarrassed, Sen glared at the cup willing it to cool down quicker, all she wanted was some of her drink.

’As a geisha you must always be aware of your every action, much can be deduced from body language and you can send the wrong message with poor manners. It’s time you start focusing on your presentation, it will make you a better geisha.’ She began, Sen instantly sat up straighter and began to focus on her body and her posture.

’As I was saying, I have strict terms. To begin with, I expect you to follow my every instruction immediately without questioning or hesitation. I know in the last you’ve disobeyed Lady Tsunade and Karin and you probably felt justified in what you did but perhaps if you had been more obedient in the first place, none of those awful things would ever happen to you.’

‘Some years ago I took on two younger sisters, one of the, worked very hard, but the other one was lazy and put no effort in. I bought her here one day to explain to her that I wouldn’t tolerate her making a fool of me any longer, but it had no effect. The next month I told her to go find a new older sister.’

’Ino-san, I promise you I will work harder than any younger sister you’ve had before. I-I have purposely now and it’s all because you put your faith in me.’ The older woman’s eyes softened and she smiled genuinely.

’I know you will Sen-chan, that’s because you’re a harbour wave, a massive unmovable force. There is incredible strength inside you, I can see it, Lady Tsunade can see it and so does Karin and that is why she hates you so much. But you must protect yourself from her, she will try to trick you and make your debts worse, for heaven’s sake don’t even break a teacup!’

’There’s one more thing Sen-chan, whatever you and I discuss must be kept private. You are never to tell any of it to Karin, she’s quite clever, if you give her the slightest hint you’d be surprised what she can find out. If she ever asks what  I said you must tell her, “Oh, Karin-san, Ino-san never says anything of interest! She’s ever so dull whatever she says slips out of my mind straight away!’”

‘I understand, I won’t tell her anything!’

In the years since Mother had put a stop to Sen’s lessons, she had forgotten most of what she learned, not that she had learned much to begun with. That was why when she returned back to the academy after Ino agreed to be her older sister, it felt as though she was starting her lessons from the very beginning. Sen was fourteen by then, having grown older she assumed it would be an advantage but it certainly wasn’t. Most of the girls in the school had begun their studies much younger snd in some cases at the traditional age of three years and three days. Those few were usually the daughters of geisha themselves, and had been raised in such a way that dance and tea ceremony were as much part of their daily life as swimming had been for Sen.

A geisha must study a great selection of arts, her first lesson was music where she practiced her shamisen, then the flute and traditional drums. The method of studying any if these instruments was the same in the lesson. The teacher would begin by playing something and then the students would try playing it back. They would start low, with the teacher playing only a single note to begin with, but even after a single note the teachers always had lots to say.

’So-and-so, you must position your finger lower. Such-and-such, you aren’t sitting correctly.’ Sen found the content commenting annoying and could feel her frustration build, but music was an elegant art and the teachers demanded nothing less than perfect. Over time she began to appreciate their attention to detail and their dedication to perfection but it was a hard hill to cross.

After her instruments lessons she usually had singing. Geisha often sung at parties snd of course parties were the main reason men came to Konoha. But even if a girl couldn’t hold a tune and would never be asked to perform infront of an audience, she must still study singing to help her understand dance. That was because dances were to particular music pieces which usually had a singer accompanying the dance. They studied countless songs but some of the most important were popular ballads; long story telling pieces from kabuki theatre; shorter musical poems.

Each song held its own story and Sen loved listening to the tradition style of singing, to most unfamiliar with it, it seemed not dissimilar from a cat wailing and it was try that the traditional style of singing was guttural and from the back of the throat. But there was so much raw emotion it evoked that each song sent shivers down her spine, she could feel the emotions deep in her soul. 

Music and singing were only a part of what they learned, a girl would be poorly received at a party or event if she hadn’t learned proper comportment and behaviour. That was the main reasons the teachers always insisted upon good manners and posture in their students, even when just walking down the hallway. When taking shamisen lessons, the girls were corrected for speaking in anything but the most proper language and regional accents were forbidden, only the proper Gion accent was permitted. In fact, the most severe punishment the girls would receive probably wouldn’t be for playing her instrument poorly or not knowing the words to a sing, but rather for having dirty hair and nails, or being disrespectful and improper.

Once many years into her geisha career, a visiter from a distant land had asked her about her training and whether geisha studied the arrangement of flowers. Of course geisha never studied such a topic, anyone who sat down next to a man and began rearranging flowers for his entertainment would surely look up and find him asleep from boredom.

Above all, a geisha was an entertainer and a performer and they must look the part and fit seamlessly into high society events and functions. They may pour tea or sake for men, but they would never go and fetch another serving of pickles or collect a new glass or decorate a room in a Teahouse with flowers. In fact geisha were so well pampered by their maids that they hardly knew how to look after themselves and keep their own rooms tidy. Karin being a key example.

Sen’s final lesson of the morning was in tea ceremony. She was always the most excited for it, tea ceremony had thousands of books written about it, while not as exciting as dance or singing it was her personal favourite. Tea ceremony was where time came to a standstill and she focused on the moment, it felt almost like a meditation. In traditional tea ceremony, tea was prepared in the traditional manner using beautiful cups and bamboo whisks. Even the guests were part of the tea ceremony because they had to hold the cups in certain ways and drink from it in a particular way.

Tea ceremony was an essential skill for geisha, it wasn’t unusual for a party at a private residence to begin with a small ceremony, and the guests who came to Konoha to see seasonal dances in Konoha would first be served tea by geisha. Sen’s tea ceremony teacher was a young woman who hadn’t been a very good geisha but she was so obsessed with tea ceremony. She taught it as if every single move was holy, to her it was a ritual of the highest order. Because of her enthusiasm Sen respected her teachings and found it the perfect lesson to round off the busy morning. The atmosphere was still serene, that was a particular slowness that accompanied tea ceremony that put her at ease., it was almost as enjoyable as a good night’s sleep.

What made a geisha’s training so difficult wasn’t the arts and history she needed to learn but it was simply how hectic her life becomes. After spending all morning doing her lessons in the academy, the apprentices were still expected to work during the afternoon and evening just like she always had. During her days as an apprentice Sen slept no more than four hours each night, during these months she felt even if she had split into two clones of herself she’d still be just as busy with all of it. Recently Mother had been more hands on with both Sen and Hatsu’s training, choosing to personally oversee some of their at home practice and giving them small insights into her own experiences as a geisha and the history of the Senju Clan.

The girls would spend every afternoon together practicing shamisen for an hour and afterwards would sit with aunty to study reading snd writing. Mother would help Hatsu with her shamisen but it was the pink haired girl who she would focus more on. Sen wasn’t all too sure why Mother had suddenly gained such an interest in her training, especially since she had an incentive to be a roadblock to the pink haired girl rather than a teacher. Ino had also found it rather interesting, and would ask what would happen in these lessons when she would see the pink haired girl a once or twice a week.

She would send one of the maids to fetch the apprentices on an evening after dinner, the three would sit in the second reception room. The Okiya had two reception rooms which meant that the larger one was used as the main hosting room and the second, smaller room was instead repurposed as an informal lounge for more intimate meetings. The room was hardly ever used, it was rare for Mother to entertain more personal guests, it felt like a waste to the pink haired girl, the lounge had clearly been decorated with lots of love and care. Handmade blankets piled high in a basket next to a low table, the floor littered with patchwork pillows and plush floor cushions. Sen and Hatsu settled onto them, mother sat opposite them behind the table, a steaming pot of tea and some small sweets on the table.

’Sen, why don’t you pour us all some tea,’ Mother said, her keen eyes following the girls every move.After only a moment she swatted at the pink haired girl with her folded fan.

’Are you trying to offend me?’ Mother barked, dropping her fan to lower Sen’s elbow and rearrange the girls fingers around the teapot to the correct position. Once she was satisfied with the position she tapped her fingers with the fan again and signalled her to continue to pour into the blonde’s cup.

’When serving tea, you have to be aware of the status of those around you. Pouring tea for a gentleman paying for your time requires a different touch to pouring tea for the mistress of a Teahouse or a senior.’ She lectured, taking the now full cup of tea and sipping. Once her cup was empty she looked towards Sen to try again.

’Pouring tea for anyone your senior requires modesty and decorum, no sly flashing of your forearm, keep your elbow low and tuck your fingers closer together.’ Mother used her fan to tap at the girls fingers to close them, ‘the same applies for pouring tea for superiors in general or more formal occasions. Only when trying to catch the attention or tease a customer will you show a slither of skin.’ She took the teapot from Sen and demonstrated herself, delicately pouring tea into the girls’ cups. Both apprentices followed her moves keenly, watching her fluid motions performed so effortlessly from decades of practice.

That evening the two girls took turns pouring tea in the correct manner for different audiences: paying customers, teachers, senior apprentices and so on, practicing their movements under the watchful eye of Mother. After she was satisfied with their pouring she sent Hatsu to fetch her shamisen to practice, the instrument was the dark haired girls least polished art.

The girls had been in the room for almost two hours and even though they had only learned about tea pouring Sen felt privileged to learn from Mother, the blonde woman was a hard teacher but she drilled the basics into them effectively. Remembering the techniques that Ino taught her, Sen pushed herself away from the table and positioned herself into a low bow as delicately as she could.

’Thank you for your assistance of our education, Mother. Hatsu and I are going to make you proud.’ Sen said once she finished bowing. Mother had been watching her keenly.

’That’s some bowing technique you have, very polished and done in the Uzumaki style. I’m assuming Ino taught you?’ Mother pondered, her tone light but very curious.

’Yes Mother, Ino-san had taught me it. But you said the Uzumaki style, what is that?’ Sen asked, was her bow theatrical like the uzumaki theatre? Mother laughed at the girls puzzled face, her cheeks red from the force. It took her a few moments to settle back down.

’I forget you’re not from this land sometimes. The Uzumaki clan from the Land of Whirlpools are the original geisha clan, for hundreds of years they kept their traditions alive and strong in their land. The entire Whirlpool country feels like one massive Konoha just older and more illustrious, Uzumaki Kushina is one of the most famous living geisha to this day, wife to the Fourth Hokage and a very distant relative of mine. She was also Ino’s Older Sister, that is why the bow you do is in the Uzumaki Style, because Ino’s own geisha teachings follow the Uzumaki School.’ Mother explained, Sen drank it all in , she never knew there was so much lore to geisha practices and schooling. She also never knew that Ino had such an important woman as her older sister, she suddenly felt very small and insecure.

Even though her own home country didn’t have a Kage ruler, only a regional Daimyo, when she first arrived to Konoha she quickly learned that the Hokage (and other Kage rulers) were the elected heads of their respective Great Nation and far exceeded the status of a mere Daimyo. Knowing that Ino had the Fourth Hokage’s own wife as her older sister sent chills down her spine. She knew Ino was one of the most esteemed geisha in the Kand kf Fire but she hadn’t grasped just how well connected the blonde was. It made her nervous for her own future. In the face of such a great woman she wasn’t even a dot and yet Ino had taken notice of her, even if it was only to drive out Karin.

She must have been making quite the face because mother said:

’Ask away, I can see the questions floating around your head,’ Mother offered, gesturing to her empty cup as Sen poured her another and thought about what to ask first.

‘If Ino-san follow the Uzumaki Style then what do the other Konoha geisha’s learn?’ She asked, just then Hatsu slid into the room with her shamisen assembled.

’Good timing Hatsu, take a seat and start playing through the piece you struggles with earlier and pay attention, it’s time for a history lesson for you girls.’ Mother said, she waited until Hatsu had sat and started playing for a minute before she started to talk again.

’Each Okiya has their own history and unique practices but they all follow the same general principles because every apprentice is taught the same thing in the Konoha Geisha academy. You all learn the same customs for tea ceremony, the same kabuki dances, the same style of shamisen because those are what are historical to the Land of Fire, they make up our history. Geisha from the Land of Whirlpools have their own histories and customs; their own styles of dance and theatre, their own instruments and traditional styles of singing.’ Mother paused as Hatsu played the incorrect note, a flat twang ran through the air, Hatsu grew very red in the face and apologised before playing again.

’As I was saying, Lady Kushina is from the Land of Whirlpools so her talents are in accordance with the traditions and practices of her land and even though Ino was taught in the same academy as you girls, your older sister’s teachings will take you further than the academy’s and that is why Ino practices in the same manner as Uzumaki geisha, just as you will too Sen although not to the same extent.’ Mother finished, she turned towards Hatsu who was drawing to the end of her shamisen piece and focused on the girls finger work, stopping her every so often to demonstrate the correct plucking technique. 

‘Mother, what did you mean I won’t practice to the same extent?’ Sen asked once the song was over, Hatsu also perked up at heading her friend’s question, eager to know the answer too. Mother sighed and stood up, clearly tired from the day.

’Another time, Sen. Tidy up the room and head to bed girls.’ She said, grabbing her fan off the table and walking out to leave the two girls in the lounge, utterly perplexed.

’What was that about?’ Hatsu muttered to no one in particular. Sen shrugged and helped her gather the cups and teapot to take back to the kitchen.

’Your shamisen playing has definitely improved!’

’You think? I don’t know, my fingers just don’t want to cooperate like yours do.’ Hatsu lamented as she emptied the remnants of the teapot down the sink. It was late into the evening and the maids had retired to their shared bedroom, they could see the light on in Mother’s office, no doubt she was going over some papers before she too went to bed.

‘Tomorrow I can help you with your finger position, if we have time I can show you the sliding technique I learned the other week.’ Sen offered, the other girl beamed, her smile was radiating warmth.

’Thank you Sen-chan, I would lov-‘ the kitchen door slammed shut behind them suddenly causing both girls to snap their heads around to see what the noise was. Infront of them they were greeted by the sight of Karin dressed in her full geisha regalia, her red lipstick looked like blood. Sen shuddered.

’Well look what we have here, it’s Ino’s Little sister to-be,’ she sneered, stalking towards the two teenage girls. She had chosen her words carefuly because Sen would only officially become Ino’s younger sister after the ceremony was performed and she made her official debut as an apprentice geisha. 

‘I might think you’re stupid but after hearing all the terrible shamisen from Hatsu I think I best save my insults for her instead.’ Karin hissed, Sen found it funny how such a strikingly beautiful woman could be so poisonous. Poor Hatsu just lowered her face in shame, Sen burnt with anger but couldn’t risk saying anything to Karin, Ino’s warning ringing clear in her mind not to cause any more trouble.

’Have I done something wrong Karin-san?’ Hatsu asked timidly, Sen didn’t even need to look at Karin directly to see the malice blooming in her face. The pink haired girl was terrified of what was to happen next.

’No, nothing at all,’ Karin said. ‘I just didn’t realise what a thoughtful person Sen was.’

’I’m sorry Karin-san, I was trying to help Hatsu by-‘ Sen began, fierce green eyes peeking out from her pink locks.

’Oh but Hatsu doesn’t want you help. When she wants help she’ll go to her teacher.’ Karin turned towards Hatsu and smacked her around the head before walking to the door. Turning around she said,

’You and I need to have a chat, out your shamisen away and come quickly Hatsu, I hate being kept waiting.’ Hatsu’s lip began to tremble as she quickly started to disassemble her shamisen, she turned towards Sen who gave her a small smile hoping to calm her friend down but it did not, hot tears began to run down her cheeks as she began to rub her head where she had been hit. Karin began to smirk and turned towards Hatsu Sen with a satisfied smile.

’You’ll have to find yourself another little friend, after Hatsu and I have our talk she’ll know better than to Soest a word to you in future. Won’t you Hatsu?’

She nodded because she had no choice, Sen could see how upset the other girl was. After that day Hatsu stopped practicing with Sen and even stopped attending the evening practices with Mother after Karin announced she would take over her future younger sisters training.

Sen told all of this to Ino the next time she went to her apartment.

’Hm, that is rather unfortunate.’ Ino said, looking rather sympathetic towards the pink haired girl. 
‘ I hope you took it seriously though, if Hatsu isnt to say a word to you then you mustn’t say anything to her. She would only have to report it to Karin and it may even get her into trouble. You may have been friends once but you must keep your guard up around her now.’

Sen felt sad hearing this, she could barely speak for a while afterwards. If it wasn’t bad enough that she could no longer practice or attend extra lessons with her friend, mother had also commanded Hatsu to move into the large room that Karin occupied, leaving Sen in the apprentice room all alone.

’Trying to survive un an Okiya with Karin is like a pig trying to survive in a slaughterhouse.’ Sen was thinking of Hatsu when she said that but Ino must have thought she meant herself for she put an encouraging arm around the younger girls shoulders and gave her a tight hug.

’Yes you’re quite right Sen-chan. Your only Defense is to become more succeful than Karin and drive her out of Konoha.’

’But everyone knows she’s one of the most popular geisha. I can’t imagine how I’ll ever become more popular than she is!’

‘I didn’t say popular, did I though.’ Ino said, a glimmer in her eyes.

’Popular and successful are two very different things. Going to lots of parties and events isnt everything. I live in a town house with two maids of my own while Karin, who goes to perhaps more parties than I, still lives at the Senju Okiya.’ She began to stand while still speaking.

‘When I say successful I mean a geisha who has earned her independent. Until a geisha compiles her own collection of kimono or is adopted as the daughter of an Okiya- which is just about the same thing, she’ll be in someone else’s power for the rest of her life. You’ve seen my kimono haven’t you, how do you suppose I came by them?’ She said, beckoning Sen to come look into the wardrobe she was stood at.

’I’ve been thinking that perhaps you were adopted as the daughter of an Okiya before you came to live here.’

’I did live in an Okiya until five or so years ago, but the Mother of the Yamanaka Okiya had a natural born daughter of her own, she had no need to adopt another.’

’If I might ask, did you buy your entire collection yourself?’ Sen asked, Ino looked horrified before laughing and lagging the girl on the shoulder.

’How much do you think a geisha earns Sen! A completely collection of kimono doesn’t mean two or three robes per season. Some men’s entire lives revolve around Konoha, they would grow bored of they saw you in the same outfit over and over.’ Sen was certainly puzzled, Ino who was still laughing turned her towards a particular lovely sea green kimono that reminded the girl of the waters back in her home country on the rare sunny days.

‘Cheer up Sen-chan, there is an answer to my riddle. My danna is a generous man, he bought me most of these robes. That’s why I’m more successful than Karin, I have a wealthy Danna, she hasn’t had one in years.’

Sen had been in Konoha long enough to knie a but about the term Danna. Normally it was a term used by a wife to refer to her husband but a geisha who refers to her Danna isnt talking about her husband. Geisha never marry or at least those who do rarely continue to be a geisha.

You see, sometimes after a party with geisha, certain men don’t feel satisfied with all the flirting and begun to long for something a bit more. Some of these men are content to make their way down to the nearest brothel, others work up the courage to ask a geisha what her “nigh fees” were. A low class geisha might be highly agreeable to such an arrangement, the woman may call herself a geisha and even be on the registry but ask her to dance or play a song in the shamisen and you would quickly discover she was a geisha in name only. Lacking the education and knowledge of true artisans. A true geisha would never soil her reputation by making herself available to men on a nightly basis.

Nobody pretended that geisha never casually gave in to a man she found attractive but whether she dies or not is her own business. Geisha have their passions like all the rest and make the same mistakes. A geisha who takes such a risk could only hope she isn’t found out, her reputation would certainly be at stake but more importantly is her standing with her Danna if she has one. What’s more, she invites the wrath of the woman who runs her Okiya.

Sen remembered how furious mother had been when she discovered Karin’s boyfriend.

A geisha in the top two tiers cannot be bought for a single night, not by anyone. But if the right man was interested in something else- a longer form of companionship- and was able to offer the correct compensation, then a geisha would be more than happy to agree to the proposition. Parties and functions were all fun snd games but the real money in Konoha came from Danna, meaning a Patron. A geisha without a Patron- like Karin, is like a stray cat with no master to feed it. 

For such a beautiful woman like Karin, any number of men would have been eager to propose themselves as her Patron and many did. She had in fact had a Danna at one time. But somehow or another in typical Karin fashion she made an enemy, she had angered the mistress of her principle Teahouse the Mizuki, the men whi make inquiries forever afterward were told she was unavailable to take a Danna. In damaging her relationship with the mistress she had hurt nobody more than herself. As a popular geisha she made enough money to make mother more than happy and she solely kept the Okiya afloat with her incomings. But as a geisha without a Danna, she made nowhere near enough to gain her independence and move out of the Okiya once and for all.

She also couldn’t register herself at another Teahouse, no other Teahouse would be willing to take the woman in out of fear of damaging their own relationship with the Mizuki.

Of course the average geisha isnt trapped in this way. Instead she spends her days and evenings charming many men in hopes that one of them would eventually make an inquiry with the mistress of the Teahouse about her. Many of these inquiries lead nowhere, upon investigation the man may be found to have too little money or he may balk at the suggestion of gifting an expensive kimono as a sign of goodwill. But after weeks of negations if a successful closing was reached then the geisha and her new Danna conduct a ceremony just like when tea geisha become sisters. In most cases this bind would last a year or so, it only took so long before men grow bored of their toys and want someone new.

The terms of the arrangement were very favourable for geisha though, the Danna would be expected to pay off a portion of the geisha’s debt and cover many kf her monthly living expenses, such as: her makeup, regular doctor appointments and her lesson fees. He would also pay her regular geisha fees too but he would be allowed certain “provelidges”. These were the terms of arrangements for an average geisha. But for very too geisha, kf which there were only a handful, the terms would be far more detailed.

To begin with, an esteemed geisha would never even consider tarnishing her reputation with a strung if Danna and instead may inky have ine or two in her entire life. Not only would her Danna cover all her living expenses, he would also provide her with lots of spending money, sponsor dance and music recitals for her and buy her gifts of kimono and jewels. Not only would he do that but he wouldn’t just lay her usually hourly fee when in her presence, he would probably pay two or three times more as a gesture of goodwill.

Ino was undeniably one of these top geisha. As Sen came to learn the blonde was probably one of five best-known geisha in the whole of the Land of Fire. Sen knew of one other such geisha, Uzumaki Kushina, the wife of the fourth Hokage which had caused something of a scandal at the time of their marriage. Having an older sister like Kushina was already enough to ensure Ino’s succeful career but fifteen years ago when Ino was just a bit older than Sen was now at fourteen, the Gion Travel Bureau began its first international advertising campaign. The posters showed a beautiful photograph of the Sarutobi Temple in southeast Gion, with a blue river under a magnificent bridge with the most delicate and graceful apprentice geisha on it. That apprentice was Ino.

It would’ve been an understatement to say that Ino became famous. The poster was shown in cities all over the world with the message “Come and visit the Land of Fire,’’ In all sorts of foreign languages. Ino was only sixteen at the time and suddenly found herself summoned to meet every visiting dignitary, every Fire Lord and Daimyo, hundreds of chairmen snd business magnates. She poured sake for the great late Hiruzen Sarutobi and was the inspiration for a famous painting done by an esteemed artist from the Land of Rain. In the years since them , ino had inky grown more famous as she began to put in many widely publicised dance recitals at the Uzumaki Theatre, usually attended by aristocrats and politicians, not to mention her her older sister and the Hokage himself. 

When Ino had announced her intention of taking Sen as her younger sister, the pink haired girl had no idea about any of these facts other than the identity of her older sister, and it was just as well. If Sen had known she couldn’t have been able to do much more than tremble in the beautiful woman’s presence.

Ino was kind enough to sit the girl down and explain the whole timeline of Sen’s debut to her.

’Following your debut, you’ll be an apprentice geisha until you turn eighteen. After that you’ll need a Danna if you want any chance of paying off your debts. A very substantial Danna too. That’s where I’ll come in, my job is to make you so well known in Gion that by the time you’ll become a full geisha you’ll have a while line of potential Danna. But it’s up to you to work hard at becoming an accomplished dancer. If you can’t make it to at least the top fifth spot by the time you’re sixteen there’s nothing I can do to help.’

’Ino-san, what’s dance got to do with anything?’

’Dance is the key, the most successful geisha in Konoha, all of us are dancers.’

 
Dance was certainly the most revered of the geisha arts. Only the most promising and beautiful geisha were given the opportunity to specialise in dance. All apprentice geisha were required to study dance but only the attractive ones who had potential were encouraged to specialise snd hi on to become true dancers, rather than shamisen players or singers. That was the reason why Hatsu, with her soft round face, would spend so much time practicing her shamisen, because she hadn’t been selected to be a dancer. As for Sen, she wasn’t so exquisitely beautiful like Ino snd Karin that she had no choice but to specialise in dance, it seemed she would only become a dancer through hard work and grit.

Sen wouldnt say she had any natural talent for dance or really for any of her studies, she wasn’t terrible at any of them but she didn’t have a natural calling to any subject. What she did have was determination and willpower, her under strength burnt like a fire in her soul. Her dance teacher had recognised the girls passion and ferocity and had begun to nurture her dancing talents and soon Sen had grown to become one of her favourite students. Since meeting Lord Madara she longed for nothing more than to show him how successful she had become, that she was no longer the weak crying girl she once was but that she has bloomed and found a place for herself in this cruel world. Now that Ino had given her a chance she was determined to sieze it with all her might, she would not lose this opportunity, it was her lifeline to a better life.

Despite her determination, Sen still felt exhausted, all her lessons and chores and extra lessons were draining and even though Mother had taken most of her chores away from her, she was so stretched thin she had begun to devise techniques to study while on the go. She was rather proud of some of her techniques. She would practice the shamisen in her head, imagining her fingers plucking the strings as she went about doing her menial chores. She got so good at her mental practice that when she would play the piece for the first time she could play it relatively well even if she had only ever played it once before. Many believed she had learned it without practicing but the truth was the pink haired girl had practised it all the way up and down the streets of Konoha. 

She used a different trick for memorising ballad lyrics, she would take a scrap piece of paper snd write the words down and read them be for bed, then in the mornings before she had even stirred in her futon, when her mind was still soft snd impressionable, she would read the lyrics and they would sink into her memory. Usually this was enough for the ballads, tricky ones she would hum as she went about her day, the music reinforcing her memory.

But the real task was dance.

Aunty had helped her a lot, the older woman would play she shamisen while the pink haired teenager would practice her dancing in the courtyard. On one particularly difficult day, Sen had been plagued by thoughts of her mother, whi she hoped was in peace in heaven, and of her father who had been so willing to sell his children and live the rest of his life alone. As these thoughts raced through her mind she could feel her body begun to grown heavy, what she discovered that day was that when her body felt heavy she could move with great dignity.

Aunty stopped her playing to watch the girl dancing with her breath held, it was a still moment as Sen commanded her limbs to glide as though she were a sailboat on the still ocean, floating on the water with the grace of an angel. Aunty gave her a great big hug and complimented her skills but all Sen could do was imagine she was dancing for Lord Madara, her movements took in such a deep sense of feeling that sometimes she felt everyone who watched her could see her gratitude and strength in each movement.

And when she snapped her fan shut at the end of each dance practice she further strengthened her resolve, she would best Karin and take back control over her own life.

Winter- Senju Okiya

Over a year had passed since Sen and Hatsu had been forcefully separated from one another, during the last days of winter Karin and Mother had decided it was time for Hatsu to make her debut as an apprentice geisha. Of course Sen had no clue, since Hatsu had been ordered not to speak to her and both Karin and Mother didn’t consider it to be any kf the pink haired girls business. Sen inky found out when she saw the other girl leave the Okiya one afternoon only to return hours later with her hair professionally styled in the traditional updo of apprentice geisha.

When Sen saw her friend she stopped and froze, happy that her friends debuted had come but also sick with jealousy. Hatsu looked beautiful, the other girl had always been pretty but with her hair styled and properly she looked every bit the pristine apprentice she was supposed to be. Hatsu’s eyes never met Sen’s for longer than a flicker, but when her dark eyes met emerald green Sen knew the other girl felt just as upset as she did. 

For years the two girls had shared secret hushed conversations, would laugh at the maids snoring and chat enviously about the older girls who wore their hair so elegantly. Now Hatsu would be setting out as a geisha while Sen remained behind, unable to even speak to her.

Then a few days later came the day Hatsu was to be dressed as an apprentice geisha for the first time and went with Karin to the Mizuki Teahouse for their sister ceremony. Mother and aunty went as well, Sen obviously wasn’t invited but she stood in the entryway with the other maids as Hatsu came down the stairs wearing a magnificent black kimono with the Senju clan insignia on her back and a plum obi that nearly matched her hair. Sen noticed the nervous look on the other girls face, her face was strained as she focused on making in down the stairs in one piece as she gripped her heavy robes. Mother out a camera in auntys hand and the blonde woman helped Hatsu to the front door where she had the flint sparked against her back for the first time for good luck as aunty snapped a picture of the historic moment.

Before Hatsu and the other women were to leave the Okiya, the apprentice geisha turned around and met Sen’s eyes with an expression that seemed to say she was very sorry for the way things had turned out. Aunty, unaware of what was happened, grabbed Hatsu by the hand to lead her to the street.

By the end of the day, Hatsu was officially known by her new geisha name Hinata. The “Hina” part of her name came from Karin’s own older sister the Great Tomahina, an elderly geisha who passed some years ago.

Sen was very excited to tell Ino about her friends debut but I I had been far busier than usual lately, travelling frequently with her Danna to the Hokage Province where his primary residence was. That meant that she hadn’t seen the blinde in nearly six months, another few weeks had passed before Ino summoned her to the town house. When Sen stepped through the door, the maid let out a gasp and then a moment later Ino came walking out the back room and let a gasp out as well. Sen didn’t know what was the matter and when she got on her knees prepared to bow to Ino and greet her, the blonde laid her no attention at all.

’Goodness, has it been so long tenten?’ She said to her maid. ‘I hardly recognise her.’

’I agree ma’am, at first I thought I had trouble with my eyes!’ Tenten chimed in. Sen sat there confused, clearly she had changed a lot in the last six months. It was true that she had grown slightly taller and her hair was nearly to her waist. Perhaps she had changed more than she had noticed. Ino had ordered her to stand and turn around slowly, her and tenten would turn her head ine way and then the next, muttering between themselves as they began to measure her.

’She has certainly grown into a fine young woman,’ tenten said, smiling warmly at Sen.

’No doubt about it, my kimonos will fit her like a glove.’ Ino said with glee, she walked to the wardrobe in the corner with tenten and pulled out a kimono and sent the pink haired girl with tenten into the dressing room to get her changed. When Sen arrived to the townhouse she was wearing her simple school robes but Tenten quickly changed her out of those and into a dark blue silk kimono covered with hundreds of tiny yellow flowers. It wasn’t the most beautiful kimono in Konoha but when Sen looked at herself in the mirror as tenten tied a jewel green obi around her waist, Sen found that except for her plain hairstyle she could’ve easily been mistaken for a young apprentice geisha on her way to a party. Ino walked in and gave a hum of approval and began rummaging around a jewelry box and pulled out a simple flower hair pin, within a few minutes Ino had brushed the girls long pink hair and twisted it into a simple bun and pushed the hair pin in. Now when she looked in the mirror she truly felt the part.

Ino didn’t say anything, instead walking towards the front door as Sen and tenten followed after her, the blonde geisha tucked a handkerchief into her sleeve and donned her shoes and had her maid grab a spare pair for Sen.

’Well, are you ready to go Sen?’ She said, looking over her shoulder. Sen had no idea where ino was taking her but she followed after her nonetheless. It was so difficult to walk in the kimono, not only was it extremely heavy with all the layers of fabric but the obi was stiff and she could hardly move her midsection. None of that really mattered though, Sen was thrilled at the idea of being seen in the streets with Ino, as she followed her down the path and onto the street she buzzed with joy. As soon as they got onto the start of the Teahouse Road an elderly woman slowed to bow to Ino and then, in almost the same movement turned to bow to Sen. The teenager hardly knew what to think of this for it wasn’t often anyone ever bowed to her.

The sunlight was so blinding she couldn’t even make out whether she knew the older lady or not but she bowed back in return snd in a moment the woman was gone. Sen guessed maybe she had been one if the teachers at the academy but then an instant later the same thing happened again- this time with a young geisha that Sen had often admired, but who had never so much as glanced in her direction before.

The two ladies made there way up the street and nearly everyone they passed stopped to bow and greet Ino and then afterwards would give Sen a little nod or bow as well. Several times the apprentice would stop to bow, resulting in her falling a few steps behind Ino. The blonde could see the difficulty the younger girl was having and took her to a quiet side street to show her the proper way of walking with a kimono. The trouble, as Ino described it, was that Sen hadn’t learned to move her upper body independently from her lower body.

’Slowing your walk is a sign of respect,’ Ino said. ‘The more you slow down the greater the respect. You might stop fully to bow to one of your teachers but for anyone else don’t slow down any more than you need to or else you’ll never get anywhere. Go at a constant pace and take little steps to keep the bottom of your kimono fluttering. When a geisha walks she should give the impression of a cloud floating over a valley.’

Once ino was satisfied they set out again.

Spring- Senju Okiya

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. It had been a few months since Hatsu-no Hinata’s debut as an apprentice geisha and she was busier than ever. When Sen would wake up in the mornings the other girl was already awake and being dressed for the day. The arrival of spring brought the beginning of the Konoha social season which started on the first day of spring and ended on the first day of autumn.

Sen found the term deceiving since Konoha was busy year round, but the Danna and aristocrats that brought the real money to the district spent the autumn and winters months tucked away in their clan compounds, choosing more intimate gatherings for the gloomy parts of the year. That wasn’t to say that none of them came in the colder months, they certainly did, but not as much as in spring and summer. Karin and Hinata’s diaries were fully booked with cherry blossom viewing parties and boating adventures up and down the Kisame river. 

Since Hinata’s debut, Sen had been waiting for Ino to make an announcement regarding her own ceremony but Ino hadn’t said a word. Instead months had passes and while Hinata lead a very interesting life now, Sen only had her lessons and her chores, as well as the twenty minutes or so that Ino spent with her during the afternoons once or twice a week.

Sometimes Sen sat in her home while the geisha gave her lessons on current affairs and politics, teaching her about the histories of some of the Great Clans and what they were known for. More often though, Ino would dress her in one of her kimonos and they would go on walks together, buying jewellery or makeup or checking out new kimono shops that had opened.

They would browse through new perfumes imported from the Land of Honey and check on what theatre performances were to be performed at the uzumaki theatre in the upcoming weeks. Even when it rained and ino had no errands to run, the two would huddle together under the geishas plum coloured lacquered umbrellas and walk around the district, making smalltalk with everyone they passed.

At first Sen thought perhaps Ino took her along to help teach her manners, proper posture and how to walk in a kimono, which Sen had nearly mastered now. Ino seemed to know everyone in Konoha from the bakers wife to the director of the Uzumaki Theatre.

The geisha always made a point of smiling or saying something kind to everyone, even the most junior of maids, because she understood well that she owed her exhausted position to the people who thought so highly of her. One day as the two were walking out of a flower shop, Sen suddenly realised what she was really doing. Ino had no particular interest in going to the flower shop or the perfume store or the fruit market, no- these errands were something she would typically send a maid to complete.

She was running these errands with Sen so the people of Konoha could see the two together, that was why Ino had delayed her debut, to give the people time to take notice of her.

Mother, too, had begun to take more notice of Sen. Every time she crossed paths with the pink-haired girl, she would give her shoulder a sharp smack with a folded fan, barking at her to stand straight and stop slouching. Since Hinata had stopped attending the extra lessons, Mother had shifted all her focus onto Sen.

At first, it was intimidating being alone with her. The memory of having disappointed Mother in the past clung to Sen like a shadow. But over time, something changed. Mother softened — or at least, as much as she was capable of softening. It started simply enough: a maid would appear with tea and sweet snacks while Mother sat and watched Sen dance alongside Aunty, or helped correct her shamisen playing.

After a few weeks, the lessons grew warmer. Mother began to talk — really talk — sharing fragments of her own years as a geisha to an amused Aunty and a wide-eyed, astonished Sen. But that only happened after the sake came out.

“S-Sen,” Mother hiccupped one humid evening, holding out her cup. “Pour me another.”

Sen dutifully reached for the bottle, pouring a generous amount as Mother hiccupped again, nearly spilling her drink.

“And t-then I told that sleazy pervert to stop peeking at me in the bath,” Mother slurred, waving her hand in the air. “Obviously, the fool didn’t listen, so I took my shoe and cracked him over the head till he saw stars!”

Her face was flushed from the drink, and she leaned heavily on the low table. Aunty was already giggling, her cheeks pink with sake. The three of them were seated in the lounge with the shoji door slid open to let in the evening air. A warm, humid breeze drifted in from the courtyard, carrying the scent of damp earth.

“Lord Jiraiya always did appreciate your body, Tsunade-san,” Aunty teased, waggling her brows meaningfully at Mother’s generous chest.

“Some lord he is,” Mother scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Still the same shameful old toad.”

Sen had pieced together over time that when Mother was a young geisha and newly made heiress of the Senju clan, the previous clan leader, Lady Masuru, had introduced her to Lord Jiraiya. He’d been only a handful of years older than Mother at the time. Sen didn’t know all the details, but from what she gathered, Lord Jiraiya had been Mother’s danna for a decade, and at one point had even gone so far as to petition Lady Masuru for permission to marry her.

Both women had declined — though for very different reasons. Lady Masuru had chosen Tsunade to lead the Senju clan, and marrying her off would have severed the family line.

As for Mother… though she’d been fond of Lord Jiraiya and he had served her well for those years, her heart belonged to another.

He’d known it, too. Known she could never love him in the way he wanted, and that her duty to the Senju name would always come first.

Eventually, after ten long years, he ended his patronage and returned to his work as an international diplomat for the Hokage. He left the country for over a decade, and when he came back, it wasn’t Mother he claimed as his next geisha, but Ino Yamanaka.

The whole thing struck Sen as messy — how everyone seemed to know each other’s business, how danna and geisha swapped places, how old liaisons and rivalries clung to the walls of the okiya like faded paint. She knew this was the way of their world. At the top of the geisha hierarchy, such tangled, intimate relationships were not unusual.

But still, it unsettled her, how tightly woven the web was.

She wondered how the Uchiha clan fit into it. She had never mentioned meeting Lord Madara or the other man to either Mother or Ino. A part of her knew they’d take a keen interest if she did. And perhaps if she told Mother… perhaps then she could find a way to express her gratitude when her debut came.

Sen was almost sixteen now. And it wasn’t just her body that was changing — it was her soul. Some days, she felt as though she were becoming someone else entirely.

And at night, in the quiet hush of sleep, she dreamed.

Always of a man.

Dark-haired, long of limb, with eyes she could drown in for hours. His deep voice echoed through her bones, warm and rough like smoke curling through a paper screen. She couldn’t remember his name.

She always told herself it was nothing. Just a dream. A trick of the restless mind.

But sometimes… sometimes it was hard to ignore the strange warmth that pooled low in her belly when she thought of him.

Summer- Konoha

One sunny afternoon, sen and Ino were strolling through the Konoha gardens, watching the boats on the river pass them by, filled with joyful passengers. A great many other people were also out, taking in the glorious sun, and as to be expected, nearly all of them greeted Ino and in turn would greet Sen too.

‘You’re becoming quite the popularity,’ Ino said positively, lightly elbowing Sen as they walked arm in arm.

’I think most people would greet even a sheep if it were walking along side you Ino-san.’

’But really Sen, I hear so many people asking about the girl with the lovely green eyes and delicate pink hair, they haven’t learned your name but it makes no difference. You won’t be sen for much longer.’

‘Do you mean tha-‘

’Yes, I’ve been speaking to my fortune teller and he tells me the beginning of autumn is the most suitable time for your debut.’ Sen stood still in shock, unable to say anything, after a moment she collected herself and bowed low, thanking Ino profusely.

’You’re going to make a fine geisha Sen, and now that Lady Tsunade has been taking a particular interest in you I think your about to move up a few stations in the world,’

’She spends most of her time correcting my posture or drinking sake and sharing old stories though,’ Sen said, looping her arm through Ino’s.

’That’s precisely the point, she takes no interest in spending extra time with Karin or Hinata in such an informal way and yet she’s very clearly singled you out to be privy to her intimate stories. She’s preparing you Sen, at some point once you’ve become a proper geisha she will most likely adopt you.’

Since her first true conversation with Ino, sen knew that Mother would never take Karin as a daughter and that only left her and Hinata as options so it was a fifty-fifty chance who she would pick and it seemed she had chosen the rose haired girl.

‘But what about the bet she made with you?’

’Nevermind the bet now, you and I have a task to do.’

’A task?’

’Yes, you’ll make a good geisha but you’ll be even better once you start to put some thought into the sorts of statements you make with your eyes,’ Ino said, leading the two out of the gardens and in the direction of a row of restaurants and eateries.

’I didn’t think my eyes could make statements,’ sen said, puzzled. Ino just sighed dramatically.

’The eyes are the most expressive part of a woman’s body, especially in your case, you’ve got the most interesting green eyes and you haven’t learnt to utilise them. Stand by that pole a moment and I’ll show you.’ Ino said before walking around the corner, leaving sen alone on the unusually quiet street. A moment later the geisha strolled out and walked right past her with her eyes to ine side. Sen had the impression Ino felt afraid of what might happen if she were to look in the pink girls direction.

’If you were a man,’ Ino began, ‘what would you think if that display just now?’

‘I’d think you were concentrating so hard on avoiding me you couldn’t think about anything else.’ Sen offered.

’Exactly!’ Ino beamed, pleased the younger girl had understood. ‘That’s just what I’m trying to say, a girl with a stunning profile will never accidentally give a man the wrong impression with it. But men will notice your eyes and imagine you’re giving them messages with them even when you aren’t. Watch me once more now.’

Ino went around the corner again, this time she came back with her eyes to the ground walking in a dreamy manner. Then as she neared sen her eyes rose to meet the girls for just an instant and very quickly looked away. Sen felt an electric jolt deep inside her.

’If I can send such a string message with ordinary eyes like mine, think about how much more you can say with yours, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were able to make a man faint right here on the spot.’

’Ino-san!’ Sen squeaked in shock, ‘ If I had the power to make a man faint I think i would know by now.’

’Im Quite surprised you aren’t aware,’ she muttered, turning to sen she said. ‘ let’s agree that once you make a man stop in his tracks you’ll be ready to debut.’

Sen was so eager to debut that even if Ino had told her to make a tree crumble she would’ve tried it. Very kindly, ino had offered to walk with sen as she practiced on a few men it begun with. Her first encounter was with a man so old sen wasn’t even sure whether his eyes worked or not, he was making his way down the street slowly with the help of his walking stick and he didn’t notice sen or Ino at all. They continued onto the next street where they spied two men in clothing reminiscent of the Land of Wind and sen had no better luck with them, they recognised Ino or perhaps they smoke found her prettier than sen since they never took their eyes off the blonde.

Sen was ready to give up when she saw a young man, maybe twenty or so, who looked as though he worked at the restaurant at the end of the road. His dark hair fluttered in the wind and sen felt her own tummy flutter, he was pleasant to look at. He was carrying a stack of crates piled high with produce, he was walking towards the direction of sen and Ino as he was on the opposite end of the street.

’Make him drop the crate,’ Ino whispered hurriedly into the girls ear before the geisha took off down a side road, leaving sen alone to put her eyes to the test. Sen didn’t think it was possible for a girl of almost sixteen or really a woman of any age, to make a young man drop something just by looking at him a certain way. In the movies and books such things happen and perhaps sen would have given you without trying had she not noticed two things. The first was that the young man was already eyeing her up as though she were a tall glass of cold water on a scorching day. The second was that nearly all the streets in Konoha didn’t have a curb but this particular one did. If she could crowd him so he had to step up onto the sidewalk and stumble over the curb, he might drop the crate.

She began by keeping her gaze firmly on the floor, just as ino had done to her earlier, after a moment she quickly flicked her green eyes towards the young man who caught her glimpse, she then focused back on the floor again. Bingo, he had fallen for her first attack. She then began to slow her pace and met his eyes for a second time, by this point he had forgotten all about the crate he was holding and was eyeing her hungrily. When the distance between them began to shorten, sen changed her course ever so slightly and began to crown the young man, so that he wouldn’t be able to pass her without stepping over the curb into the pavement, and then she looked him right in the eye.

He was trying to move out of the girls way; and just as she had hoped, his feet tangled themselves on the curb and he fell to one side, scattering the produce all over the road. Sen couldn’t help buy giggle! The young man also began to laugh, she helped him pick up some of his fallen items and gave him a small smile before he bowed to sen more deeply than any man had ever bowed to her before, and then he went in his way.

Sen met up with Ino a moment later who had seen it all, the geisha had a proud look on her face as she warmly embraced the pinkette. 

‘Perhaps you’re as ready now as you’ll ever need to be.’ And with that she took the girl by the hand and began on the walk to visit her fortune teller, to set him to work on finding auspicious dates for all the key events leading up to her debut, such as: going to the temple to announce her intention to the gods; and having her hair styled properly for the first time and performing the ceremony that would make sisters of her and Ino.

Chapter Text

Autumn- Konoha 

When a girl makes her debut as an apprentice geisha, no one ever tells her how exhausting it will be. At least, no one had told Sen. If she thought she’d known what busy meant before, the past week had redefined that meaning entirely. From the moment Aunty shook her awake days ago, the air thick with excitement, it was as though she’d been swept into a current too swift to fight.

Sen was debuting.

The first task was the hair. Her hair would be styled in the wareshinobu, the ‘split peach’, the traditional style worn by apprentice geisha for generations. In the days when Granny and Lady Masuru worked, every apprentice wore the style without exception, but customs had softened over the years. Nowadays,  geisha typically wore their hair to reflect their own okiya’s customs, apprentices would style their hair in the same fashion as the their older sister’s though for a formal debut there could be no alternative to the peach .

Konoha was home to many hairdressers, each with their own specialties. Ino’s hairdresser, however, worked in a cramped room above a butcher’s shop. Sen spent nearly three hours there, waiting with Aunty amid a growing crowd of other geisha. The room was hot and heavy with the scent of unwashed hair, rank perfumes failing to cover it. Most geisha had their hair styled only once a week, and by week’s end, even the camellia oil couldn’t mask the inevitable. You see, some Okiya had such elaborate excessive traditional hairstyles that it was too much work to visit the salon more than once a week.

By the time it was her turn, Sen’s nerves were frayed. The hairdresser steered her toward a sink, pushing her head down as he dumped a bucket of warm water over her pink hair. The scrubbing was brutal. Scrubbing was too kind a word, it was a scraping, a burning, a tearing at her scalp until her eyes prickled with tears. She gritted her teeth and clenched the arms of the chair, only for the man to bark, “I put you over the sink for a reason. If you need to cry, then cry.”

When he finished, he dragged a wooden comb through her hair, each knot and snag a small agony. Then came the camellia oil, slick and heavy, giving her hair a luminous shine. He worked hair wax through the strands and began the painstaking process of sculpting it into the split peach. How she sat through it, allowing him to smear hot wax into her scalp without more than a quiet whimper, she would never understand. Somewhere in that pain, she realised, was her first small act of strength.

On the walk home with Aunty, her scalp stung with every step, and it felt as though her head were filled with clay. But none of that mattered when she caught her reflection in a shop window. The girl who looked back at her wasn’t the barefoot child who ran along the shore. She was a young woman now, no longer Sen, but something else, something polished and luminous. She found herself stopping every time she passed another reflection. She was afraid to blink, in case the girl in the mirror disappeared.

When they returned to the okiya, Aunty made her parade through the halls so Mother could admire her hair. Kind words followed, about how beautiful she looked, how proud they were, but none of it seemed quite real. Even Hinata, who hardly spoke to her these days, had stepped out to admire her hair, a wistful expression flickering in her pale eyes before she disappeared again.

Every day that week, Aunty dressed her in full apprentice regalia and made her walk the length of the okiya, again and again. The debut kimono was a heavy, magnificent thing, its sleeves long and cumbersome, the fabric trailing like water around her feet. At first, she could hardly move in it. She stumbled, tripped over the hem, her balance faltering. But Aunty insisted the practice was essential. “You must wear your suffering with grace, child.”

By the time the day of her debut arrived, summer had softened into the gentle burn of early autumn. The courtyard shimmered in warm orange light, the leaves just beginning to turn. It was beautiful, and she was terrified.

She bathed early, Aunty scrubbing her back, then helped her apply the white makeup. It coated her skin so thoroughly she could no longer feel her own face. Every time she touched her cheek, she felt only the dull pressure of her fingertips. She did it so often Aunty had to redo her makeup twice.

When she looked in the mirror afterward, a strange thing happened. She knew the girl staring back was her , and yet, she was a stranger. White skin, red lips, soft pink on her cheeks. A formal black kimono embroidered with a copper and gold dragon that shimmered as she moved. One of Mother’s own jade hairpins and spring flowers in her hair. She reached out to touch the mirror, half-expecting it to be someone else.

She realised then that today would be the death of Sen.

The girl she had been, barefoot and wild, hair tangled by sea air — was gone.

She had shed her skin like a snake, and in its place was Sakura. A name chosen by Mother and Ino after careful consultation with a fortune-teller. A name that spoke of beauty and resilience. Of fleeting, delicate strength. Of cherry blossoms blooming against the odds.

Before leaving, she tucked the silk handkerchief Lord Madara had given her years ago into her obi for luck. She told herself she didn’t care that she would never again be that little girl.

But she did.

The Sister Ceremony began at Konoha Shrine. She, Mother, and Aunty walked to Ino’s apartment, where she knelt and pledged to honour her older sister. Together, the four of them made their way to the shrine, the fading light of late afternoon stretching their shadows across the stone path. There, she and Ino clapped their hands, prayed to the gods, and announced their bond. She closed her eyes and silently thanked the gods for fulfilling her the prayer made years prior, to have the opportunity to become a geisha.

The ceremony itself at the famous Ichiraku Teahouse, over the last year it had undergone notable building works, the once small and exclusive Teahouse had now expanded, its signature terracotta walls extend ending further than before. Nestled opposite the Uzumaki theatre, it sat on the street as majestic as the setting sun. The gold and red tiles caught the early morning run, reflecting the warm light all over the building. It looked like a palace.

The ceremony itself was swift. The mistress of the house arrived, a maid trailing behind her with lacquered cups of sake. Three sips each, three cups passed between them. And then it was done.

From that moment forward, she was Sakura.

Mother and Ino had worked tirelessly to decide a name for her with a strong meaning, it was only when they consulted with a fortune teller that they settled upon Sakura. It felt fitting, the girl’s pink hair was reminiscent of the budding cherry blossoms and she had always been a child of spring.

She knew what was expected from Sakura. In the first month, a novice geisha could not perform alone. She would watch, learn, speak little, and carry herself with grace. She would endure. Afterward, they gathered for a modest lunch of miso ramen and pickled radishes. The food tasted like nothing. A pale blur of sound surrounded her, the soft clink of cups, the rustle of silk. The mistress asked her a question, calling her Sakura, and the name felt like a pebble dropped into a deep well.

That was when she realised what was truly gnawing at her. It wasn’t the pain in her scalp, the heaviness of the kimono, or even the white mask on her skin. It was grief.

Sen was gone.

She bowed her head, smiled as she was expected to, and for a moment she mourned a little girl running wild along the cliffs, free and unpainted.

Uchiha Compound-

Itachi could hear the chirping of crickets, the evening air sweeping a freshness through the space. Dinner was being served beneath the open pavilion in the Uchiha gardens, he could faintly hear the rush of servants somewhere near, no doubt preparing the next course.

He sat quietly, listening to the idle conversation surrounding him. Minato, the fourth Hokage, was seating at Madara’s right, the two grinning to each other as old friends do. Across the table, sasuke sat stoically, his dark eyes glaring holes into the side of Naruto’s head, the blonde boy chattered endlessly much to the younger Uchiha’s annoyance. Itachi picked at his food while Madara’s spoke with that heavy, commanding voice that made the air feel thick and heavy.

”It’s important for a boy to know his history,” he said. ‘To understand the sacrifices made by his forefathers, only then can he carry his name with pride.’’ 

Sasuke grunted nonchalantly, turning his attention back to Naruto, unphased by his uncles words.

”I heard from Kushina today that Ino-san has taken a new younger sister,” Minato said, catching Madara’s attention.

”Has she now? How wonderful, her younger sister must be very excited to learn from such an illustrious geisha,” Madara said, his passion for geisha creeping into his voice.

”Indeed, I’m sure she is. I believe the girl is of the Senju Okiya too.”

”My my, a girl of the Senju Okiya who’s older sister was trained in the Uzumaki ways. She will surely be one to watch out for.” Madara said with a glint in his eye, minato chuckled.

Itachi’s dark gaze landed in Minato, the man smiled on the surface, playing the role of the diplomatic guest perfectly, but he didn’t miss the tightening around the man’s eyes, the subtle tension in his shoulders that most wouldn’t have noticed. But itachi noticed. As he reached for his tea, the memory crept in, sharp and sudden as the katana kept by his side.

Two years ago - Uchiha Compound

The night air was cool against his flushed skin after a day out in the relentless heat. The moon hung low, a dull, yellow splodge in the dark sky. The evening was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of trees in the breeze. The party had all but finished now, only a select few guests remaining.

Lanterns glowed softly, emitting a flickering light, he followed their glow along the stone path towards the koi pond. He could smell the scent of flowers and hear the gurgling of water with each step he took. Itachi sat by the pond, watching the koi swirl beneath the surface. Brilliant streaks of white and red swirling through the black water.

He heard the footsteps before he saw the man.

’’ You always did enjoy the quiet places,’’ Minato murmured, more to himself than to Itachi.

He didn’t turn around,’’ I find it easier to think where it’s quiet.”

Minato came to sit beside him, as though he too were admiring the koi.

’’ Today, I was reminded of an old friend,’’ the Hokage began, his voice carrying a nostalgic, thoughtful tone to anyone who would be listening from the shadows. They both knew that the Uchiha compound had ears everywhere, but in this moment, they were alone.

’He was a man I trusted once. Clever, charismatic…dangerous, though I couldn’t see it at first.’’

Itachi’s lips curved into a smile, for just a moment.” I know the type,” he said knowingly, “Such men leave a lasting impression, don’t they?’’

”some impressions are more like scars,” minato said softly. “Others are warnings were too foolish to understand until it’s too late.”

Neither spoke, only the koi rippled through the water.

’’Are you concerned that this old friend may be troublesome?” Itachi asked, his voice light and mild, as though he were recommended a brand of tea.

”I’m afraid he’s past the stage of troublesome and has become something entirely different.’’ The man’s words lingered in the air. “The problem is… he’s very skilled at disguising his work as providence. Misfortune. Poor timing.”

Itachi hummed, the vibrations rumbling in his chest. “I imagine, to confront such a man openly, would prove rather difficult. Especially if he still holds influence over certain…circles.”

”Nearly impossible,” Minato agreed, “My old friend has no shortage of…loyal companions. Those who owe him more than just friendship.”

Itachi looked once more to the koi. “Debt of such nature is difficult to repay, even harder to break.”

Minato’a faint smile held no warmth. “Sometimes, even the most loyal realise the tide has turned. That the cause they once served no longer resembles what it promised to be.”

Faint laughter broke the silence, both men reminded that merely hours ago the Uchiha grounds had been swarmed by partygoers.

”I suspect,” Itachi said carefully, tenderly selecting each word. “That some debts can be repaid another way, discreetly.”

”A kindness in the darkness,” minato said wistfully.

Itachi finally turned his head to the man sat next to him, meeting his piercing gaze. “And should your friend’s shadow begin to fall where it shouldn’t, would you wish to be made aware?”

”I would expect nothing less from a man of your sensibilities.”

”I owe my clan everything.” Itachi whispered, his voice carried by the wind.

”And your country too,” Minato stood up, the sir thick with unspoken words between them. “I’ll be leaving for Gion in two days, you’ll forgive me if I say goodbye now, and happy birthday once again.”

”Safe travels, Lord Hokage.’ Itachi replied.

’’The pond truly is beautiful this time of year, I hope it stays that way.”

”I’ll see to it personally.” And with that, the Hokage melted into the night, leaving itachi alone on the bench with nothing but the koi and the moon.

Ichiraku Teahouse 

Ino led her younger sister to a quiet corner in the garden of the Ichiraku, seating her on a wooden bench beneath the shade of a sprawling tree. Sakura felt hot — far too hot — and began fanning herself with her hands, feeling as though she were melting.

“Ne, Sakura-chan, how do you feel?” Ino asked, pulling a hand fan from her obi to cool the newly debuted novice.

“Better now I’m outside,” Sakura sighed in relief as a cool breeze passed over her. Even through the white makeup, the flush in her cheeks was visible. Ino chuckled kindly as a maid arrived with two cups of iced barley tea.

“Sake and those heavy kimonos are the perfect recipe for overheating. Be glad I planned your debut for autumn and not summer.”

Sakura said nothing, choosing instead to carefully sip the cold tea, mindful not to disturb the red pigment on her lips. The drink was refreshing, its faintly bitter aftertaste cutting through the lingering sweetness of sake.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. Mother appeared before them, a cup of tea in her own hand and a proud smile on her face. She placed an encouraging hand on Sakura’s shoulder, leaning down to meet her gaze.

“No matter the past, Sakura — you’ve done well to make it this far. And further you shall go.”

Ino nodded in agreement, shooting her a playful wink.

“Thank you, Mother. I’ll do my best to bring honour to the Senju name,” Sakura replied, bowing her head in respect.

“The Will of Fire burns strongly in you… for someone so full of water,” Mother murmured with a knowing smile. She straightened, took her leave, and vanished back into the teahouse.

After a few more minutes in the shade, Ino ushered Sakura to her feet.

“We’ve a busy day ahead, little sister.”

And so they went — visiting perhaps twenty teahouses and Okiya. At each, a maid would open the door, and Ino would politely request to see the mistress. When she arrived, Ino would say, “I’d like to introduce my new younger sister, Sakura.”

Sakura would then bow very low, murmuring, “I beg your favour, please, Mistress.”

The routine was always the same. Ino would chat briefly with the mistress, then they’d take their leave. Occasionally they were invited in for tea, which Sakura sipped with reluctance, not wanting to test the limits of her beginner’s skill in navigating a toilet while wearing full kimono.

After nearly four hours, Sakura’s legs ached and her back stiffened beneath the weight of her attire. Every step took effort, but Ino seemed unfazed, leading her cheerfully through the bustling streets.

“Come on, Sakura! It’s your first day! you can’t be tired yet,” Ino teased, linking arms with her and giving her a playful tug.

By Sakura’s guess, there were perhaps thirty first-class teahouses in Konoha and over a hundred of lesser repute. They couldn’t visit them all. Instead, Ino chose about fifteen where she was a familiar presence. As for Okiya, though there were hundreds in Gion, Ino had meaningful ties to only a precious few.

When the sun finally began to set, the last introduction was made. Sakura longed to go home, slip into a bath, eat, and sleep for hours. But Ino had other plans.

“Sakura,” she called out as the novice turned, fatigue dulling her senses. “We’ve some time before the evening’s events. Go home, have a bath, you’re sweaty and your makeup’s melting. I’ll come collect you in about two hours.”

Back at the Okiya, Aunty helped her out of her layers and took pity on the exhausted sixteen-year-old by letting her nap for an hour. When she woke, Aunty informed her, with a hint of reverence, that Mother had granted her permission to use the family baths — an immense privilege. Not even Aunty or Karin were allowed to bathe there.

Blinking away her fatigue, Sakura hurried to the baths. A maid had prepared them, and the novice scrubbed herself clean, soaking in the steaming water until she felt like herself again.

Once dressed and freshly painted, Sakura felt the unmistakable flutter of excitement deep in her stomach. For years she’d watched Karin — cruel and dazzling — get dressed for evenings out, and lately Hinata too. At last, it was her turn.

That night’s event was a banquet at the Nara International Hotel in Gion. Mother had told her that banquets were stiffly formal affairs, rarely lasting more than two hours. The guests would sit shoulder to shoulder in a U-shape around the reception hall, with trays of food laid before them.

Entertaining geisha would move gracefully through the open centre, pouring sake and chatting idly. As a junior apprentice, Sakura’s role was simpler: follow Ino like a shadow and, when introduced, bow and say, “My name is Sakura. I’m a novice, and I beg your indulgence.”

Most people barely acknowledged her. Few spoke a word.

Near the banquet’s end, sliding doors opened to reveal a small raised platform for performance. Ino and another geisha performed a delicate fan dance — a story of two loyal women reunited after years apart.

Most of the men continued chatting, but Sakura was entranced. Ino’s fan became an extension of her arm, her movements fluid and effortless, her face serene. She made it look so easy.

As expected, the banquet ended precisely at the two-hour mark. Back on the streets of Gion, Sakura took in her unfamiliar surroundings — a world apart from Konoha, though it lay within the same district.

Konoha was a time capsule of old courts and ancient traditions. Gion glittered with modernity: rickshaws, a few daring automobiles, and glowing fluorescent signs that spilled coloured light onto the dark streets. The air was thick with life. Ino kept a firm grip on Sakura’s elbow as the crowds thickened. To ward off a yawn, Sakura pinched her wrist hard. Ino guided her to a street vendor tucked behind a line of rickshaws.

“One coffee with extra honey, please,” Ino said, slipping a coin from her obi.

The vendor handed her a steaming cup of dark liquid. Ino passed it to Sakura.

“Here — careful, it’s hot.”

Sakura inhaled. It smelled rich, earthy, and bitter. She waited for it to cool, recalling Ino’s warning about never blowing on drinks in public.

By the time they squeezed into the back of a rickshaw, the coffee had cooled enough to sip. The taste was strange — nothing like tea — but oddly satisfying.

“Ino-san,” Sakura whispered, feeling a warm alertness creep into her veins. “What is this drink? I don’t feel as tired anymore.”

Ino laughed softly, leaning in.

“Coffee. Imported from the Land of Wind. It keeps you awake. Don’t tell Lady Tsunade I gave you any — she says it’s improper for ladies of our standing.”

Sakura smiled into her cup, a spark of rebellious pleasure flickering in her chest as the rickshaw carried them deeper into the glittering night.

There next stop was an informal party at in the Koimura Teahouse, Sakura would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to it. Informal parties were where the real geisha magic happened.

The party, as Ino explained to her along the journey, was held by the chairman of the National Theatre Association. He knew every important geisha in nearly all the geisha districts in the Land of Fire, of which there were perhaps seventeen at the time.

Ino said that although he would be cordial when first introduced to her, she shouldn’t expect him to say much else to her. Sakura’s only duty was to look alert and pretty.

”Just be sure not to let anything happen to make you look bad,” she warned, as the pair entered the Teahouse. 

A maid showed them to a room on the second floor, Ino knelt and slid open the door, Sakura could see eight men sat in cushions around a table, with four geisha. Both ladies bowed and went inside, and went to greet the other geisha first, as ino had told her was customary, and then the host, and afterwards the rest of the guests.

”Ino-san!” Said one of the geisha. “You’ve come just in time to tell the story of Kondo-san the wig maker.”

“Oh dear, I’m not sure I remember it all, come to think of it I’m not sure I really want to remember it all.” Ino and the rest of the room laughed as though the blonde had told some precious joke.

Ino led her around the side of the table and the two positioned themselves to the side of the host, “Chairman, please allow me to introduce my new younger sister,”

That was her cue to introduce herself, “My name is Sakura, please grant me your favour and call upon me next time you are in Konoha, sir.”

The chairman didn’t even look at her, he merely flicked his cigarette into the ashtray and kept his small beady eyes on Ino.

“What’s this nonsense about Kondo-san and a wig then Ino-san? All the girls keep blabbering in about it and not one of them will tell me the story.”

”Honestly Chairman, I wouldn’t know.” Ino said.

”Which means,” another geisha chirped, “that she’s too embarrassed to tell it. If she won’t I suppose I’ll have to!”

The men seemed to like this idea but Ino only sighed, playfully swatting at the other geisha.

”Perhaps Ino-san just needs a cup of sake to calm her nerves,” the Chairman said, grabbing an empty cup for her.

“Well, this fellow Kondo-san,” the other geisha began, “ was known to be a master wig maker. Ino went to him for years, obviously she always has to have the best of everything, just look at her.”

Ino made a mock-angry face.

“During a performance,” the geisha continued, “ a wig maker is always backstage to help with the costume change. Often while a geisha is taking off a robe and putting another on, something will slip here or there, and then suddenly… a naked breast! You know, these things happens. Anyway-“

“All these years I’ve been working in a bank, should have been a wig maker!” One of the men shouted.

”There’s more to it than just staring at naked women. Anyways, Ino-san is always so proper and goes behind a screen to change-“

”Let me tell the rest of the story,” Ino cut in. “You’re going to give me a bad name. I wasn’t being prim, Kondo-san would always leer at me during costume change so I had a screen brought in. I’m surprised he didn’t manage to burn holes through it with the intensity of his gaze.”

“Why not just give him a little glimpse, eh? Couldn’t hurt.” The chairman said, lighting another cigarette.

”Hm, you’re right chairman, I never thought of it like that, how about you give us all a peek now? Show us how it’s done-“ she teased, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Sakura couldn’t help but giggle. Just when the room began to settle, the chairman stood up and began to untie the sash of his robe.

”I’m only doing this,” he said to Ino, “if I get a glimpse in return…”

”Why, chairman I never made such an offer.”

”That isnt very generous of you,”

”Generous people don’t become geisha,” Ino said, “they become the patrons of geisha.’’

The chairman looked awfully red in the face as he sat down muttering to himself. Sakura was relieved he had given up; although everyone else seemed to be enjoying huis spectacle, she felt embarrassed.

”Where was I? Oh yes, I had the screen brought in for some privacy. One day as I was rushing back from the toilet I couldn’t find him anyway. I began to worry, I needed a wig for my next entrance. Soon we found him sitting on a box near the wall looking awfully pale and faint. I wondered whether the heat had gotten to him, he had my wig next to him and the moment he saw me he rushed to fit it, then later that afternoon, he handed me a note he’d written…” Ino’s voice trailed off.

”Well? What did it say?” One of the men asked.

Ino laughed nervously, covering her eyes in embarrassment. Everyone in the room broke into a fit of laughter.

”Alright, I’ll tell you what he wrote!” Said the geisha who had begun the story, “It went along the lines of: ‘Dearest Ino. You are the most wonderful geisha in Konoha. After you have worn a wig I cherish it, keep it safe in my workshop and smell the glorious scent of your hair throughout my day. But today when you rushed to the toilet, I hid myself by the door. The beautiful tinkling sound, more wonderful than the rain during drought-“

The men were cackling so loudly the geisha had to wait for them to settle before she continued on.

“More lovely than a waterfall, made me hard and stiff where I myself tinkle.”

”He didn’t say it that way!” Ino added, her voice mixing into the room.” He wrote, the sound, more lovely than a waterfall, caused me to bulge and swell at the knowledge your delicate body was bare…”

Of course, everyone laughed, and Sakura pretended to laugh too but the truth of the matter was that she was dining it hard to believe that these men- whi had paid so considerably to be there, among the most beautiful women wrapped in elegant and expensive robes- really wanted to hear the same sorts of stories children in Nishimoya would tell at the beach. 

Sakura often feared she would feel out if her depth in an intellectual conversation about history or kabuki or literature, and while there were such parties in Konoha, it just so happened that her first was a sillier one.

All through Ino’s story, the elderly man sat next to Sakura rubbed his splotchy face, no doubt exacerbated by the sake. He looked at her a long while and said, “What is wrong with your eyes? Surely I haven’t drunk that much?” 

He certainly had drank that much, within a moment he seems to have forgotten what he had said to her- or perhaps he never expected a reply- because he then asked for her age. Sakura told him she was sixteen.

”You’re the oldest sixteen year old I’ve ever seen. Here, take it.” He said, and handed her his empty sake cup.

”Oh, no, thank you, sir.” She replied. “I’m only a novice…”

That was what Ino had taught her to say but the old man didn’t listen, he just held the cup in the air until she took it, and then filled it high with sake. Sakura wasn’t supposed to drink as a novice, it was improper as novices were supposed to appear innocent and childlike, but she couldn’t well disobey the man.

“Go on, drink up, the first of many!”

Sakura gave him a smile and rather than drinking it she instead she to barely wet her lips with it to appease the man. Sakura lunched her lips to tightly shut that she nearly sprained her mouth, once she felt the liquid against her skin she out the cup down while reaching for the handkerchief in her sleeve.

Feeling very relieved when she patted her lips with it. The old man didn’t even notice, too busy hungrily eyeing the cup of sake before grabbing it and pouring it down his throat, before standing and announcing he needed to visit the toilet.

It was expected for an apprentice geisha to walk a man to the toilet and back, but that was hardly expected for a novice to do. When there wasn’t an apprentice, usually the man would walk alone or a geisha may accompany him, but the old man just stood and stared at Sakura until she realised he was waiting for her to stand.

She didn’t know her way around the Teahouse but the old man did. She followed him along a winding corridor. He stepped inside while she rolled the door shut behind him. She heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs but thought nothing of it. 

Soon he had finished and they made their way back. When they entered the room, Sakura saw that another geisha had joined the party, along with an apprentice. They had their backs to the door so she couldn’t see their faces until she had walked around to where she had sat before.

Words couldn’t grasp the shock she felt when she realised the geisha was none other than the woman she wanted to avoid most in the world. It was Karin, sat opposite her smilingly wickedly, with Hinata sat beside her.

Chapter Text

                                                                                     Book II- The Rise

Karin smiled when she was happy, and she was never happier than when she was about to make someone suffer.

That was why she wore such a beautiful smile in her face when she said: “Goodness, a novice! What a tragedy, I really mustn’t share the rest of this story, I might embarrass the poor thing.”

Sakura looked nervously towards Ino, hoping the blonde would excuse them to leave, but Ino looked back at her with an anxious glance. She must have realised that leaving Karin alone with these men was like turning away from a burning building, it was better to stay and do damage control.

”Really, I don’t think there’s anything worse than being a novice. Don’t you agree Hinata?’’ Karin said.

Hinata was a full-fledged apprentice now, she sat there as still as a statue, hardly meeting her older sister’s burning gaze. Sakura spied the little wrinkle at the top of her nose and knew this situation was making her uncomfortable.

” Yes ma’am,’’ she said, hiding behind her dark hair.

” Such a testing time in life,” Karin went on. “I can still remember his hard I count it… novice, what’s your name?”

Thankfully Sakura didn’t need to reply, Ino had beaten her to it.

” Well of course you’d think being a novice is difficult Karin, we all remember you were more awkward than most in your time.”

’’ I want to hear the rest of the story,’’ one of the men said.

“And embarrass the poor novice? Well, I’ll only tell the rest if you promise not to imagine her as you listen. Be sure to picture some other girl instead.”

Karin was as devilish as she was beautiful. The men certainly wouldn’t have imagined Sakura before when hearing the story,  it now it would be nearly impossible for them not to.

“Hm, let’s see where was I? Oh yes, I couldn’t quite remember the girls name, I suppose I ought to give her one different to keep you from confusing her with this poor girl. Tell me novice, your name?”

”Sakura, ma’am.” Sakura could feel her face hot from nerves, she was surprised her makeup wasn’t melting off her face and dripping down onto her kimono.

’’Sakura, how lovely! Somehow it doesn’t suit you. Well, let’s call the novice in this story ‘Sakara’. Now then one day o was walking along Shiji Avenue with Sakara, on our way to her older sisters Okiya. There was a terrible wind, the sort that shakes the windows, and poor Sakara had so little experience with kimono.” Karin continued.

”Sakara was no heavier than a left, and those big sleeves can be such a bother, they’re just like sails honestly. Well, as we were crossing the road , she disappeared. I heard a faint ‘ah…ah’ nose from behind me- my voice isnt high enough, you- novice. You try do it!”

Well, what could she do? She had no other choice but to do as the serpent woman commanded.

” No, no! Much higher… she’s not very bright is she?” Karin said, causing the men to erupt in laughter, Sakura could feel her cheeks burning from shame.

”Anyway, I turned around and poor Sakara was being blown backwards to the street a full block behind me, with her arms and legs flapping around in the wind she looked like a beetle on her back. I nearly ripped my kimono from laughing so hard, but then all of a sudden she stumbled right into the road just as a car zoomed along. Thank heavens she was blown onto the hood! Her legs flew up…and then if you can picture this, the wind blew right up her kimono, and…well, I don’t need to say the rest.”

’You certainly do!” One man said.

” Come now, surely you have an imagination?” She teased. “Her kimono blew right up over her hips. Obviously she wanted to protect whatever dignity she had left, so she flipped herself around, legs spread wide open with her lady parts pressed right against the car’s windshield, straight infront of the driver’s face...’’

The men were in full blown hysterics by now, bowing over clutching their sides as they laughed. The noise was so loud the room shook. The chairman rapped his empty sake cup against the table like a gun as he laughed.

” Why can’t anything like that happen to me?” He said.

”Really, chairman, the girl was just a novice. It’s not as if the driver saw anything. I mean, can you imagine looking at the private’s of this girl across the table?” Karin was talking about her, of course. “She’s no different from a baby!”

”Girls, well some of them, start getting hair when they’re only eleven.’’ One man said.

”How old are you novice?”

”I’m sixteen ma’am,” Sakura said as politely as she could muster. “ But I’m an old sixteen.”

Already the men liked this, Karin’s smile hardened a bit.

”Sixteen? How perfect, and of course you don’t have any hair…”

”Oh, but I do! A great deal of it actually…” Sakura said as she went to pat her head.

It was a clever thing to do, for the men laughed harder at her line than they did through all of Karin’s story. Karin laughed too, trying to deflect that the joke had been on her. As the laughter began to die down, Ino and Sakura excused themselves snd took their leave.

Within a moment of being out in the hallway, they were joined by Karin and Hinata.

”Why, Ino-san.” Karin said, “this evening has just been too much fun! We must entertain together more often!”

” Yes it was certainly something, I just can’t wait for what the future holds!”

After this, Ino gave Sakura a very satisfied look. She was relishing the thought of seeing Karin destroyed.

Autumn- Senju Okiya

That night after taking a bath and getting changed into her evening robes, Sakura was stood in the formal entrance with Aunty, waiting for mother to return to the Okiya. Aunty was asking her all sorts of questions about her first day, when Karin walked in through the door.

Normally Karin was never back so early, Sakura realised very quickly that the older woman had returned to confront her. She wasn’t even wearing her signature cruel smile, instead her lips were punched together, looking almost ugly. 

The geisha swiftly drew her palm back and slapped Sakura across the face. The sharp string radiated through her cheek and she stumbled backwards in shock. Clutching her cheek with both hands, she saw Aunty and Karin begin to argue, because the next thing she heard was:

”If this girl embarrasses me in public again, I’ll be happy to slap the other cheek!”

”How did I embarrass you?” Sakura shouted.

”Your little comment about hair, you knew perfectly well what I meant, but instead you made me look like a fool. I’ll return the favour soon, Little Sen, I promise.” 

Karin’s anger seemed to dry up and she stormed back out of the Okiya into the night.

Mother was very interested to hear what had happened when she returned. She sat in Mother’s office with a cold cloth pressed to her cheek as Aunty bustled about the room muttering in thinly masked fury. Mother drank her sake in silence.

”Tsunade-sama! You must put an end to Karin’s poor behaviour. She cannot be allowed to go around striking members of the household! Surely yo-“ Aunty began pleading.

”Quiet Shizune!”

”Sakura, come show me your cheek.” Mother beckoned her over. She gently took the cloth from the girl and began to inspect her cheek for any lasting marks.

“Tomorrow I’ll send a maid to bring an ointment for your face, and I’ll deal with Karin in my own time.” Mother said with finality, aunty looked like she wanted to say something but a sharp glare from mother stopped her.

”You’re both dismissed, go.”

The next day she told Ino who- if she was surprised- hid it well.

”Surely you couldn’t known she wouldn’t have appreciated your little comment, no matter how funny it was.” Ino said to her, pushing a small sweet bun in her direction. The two were sat in the geisha’s garden enjoying a small pot of tea, warming them on the brisk autumn morning.

“But Ino-san, what will happen next time we run into her?”

“I’ll tell you what will happen, we will pay our respects to the host and leave to go elsewhere. Sure it’ll be a bit surprising to see us leave somewhere we’ve only just turned up to, but it’s better than giving Karin another chance to humiliate you. And if we run into Karin it will be nothing short of a blessing.”

” A blessing, really?” Sakura muttered under her breath.

” If Karin forces us to leave a few teahouses, well we just go to some parties. You’ll be known around Konoha much faster that way too.”

Ino’s reassuring words helped calm sakura’s pounding heart. As the two ladies set out into Konoha that evening, Sakura expected that once she was back home she would take off her makeup and find her skin glowing with the satisfaction of a busy evening socialising.

The first party they dropped in to was hosted by the most peculiar stunt actor Sakura had ever seen. Though he was a young man no older than twenty five, he had the strangest bowl cut hairstyle and such bushy eyebrows she almost mistook them for caterpillars. The actor in the next few years would grow to become quite famous but more so for the string of scandals that began to follow him around.

Sakura found the man rather odd until she noticed him glancing at her every so often throughout their stop. She had lived so much of her life isolated in the Okiya that she was ashamed to admit she relished in the attention. For the two hours they were there, Karin hadn’t shown up. It seemed as though they hadn’t needed to worry.

Their next stop was a party hosted by the chancellor of Konoha University. Ino began speaking with a man she hadn’t seen in some time, leaving her to sit at a table on her own. Sakura looked around for people to introduce herself to and found a group of men on a table near her, she knelt beside them and was halfway through her greetings when she heard the door slide open.

she expected to see a maid delivering another round of sake, but there in the hallway knelt Karin and Hinata.

“Chairman, good heavens! Is your wristwatch accurate?” Ino said.

”Very. I set it every afternoon by the clock at the station.”

“I’m afraid Sakura and I have no choice but to be rude and excuse ourselves. We were due elsewhere half an hour ago!”

Ino grabbed Sakura and the two made a speedy exit, just a moment after Karin had entered. As they were leaving the Teahouse, Ino pulled her into a quiet corridor. In the hazy darkness she couldn’t make out her features, only her long blonde hair. If she couldn’t see Ino then Ino couldn’t see her, she let her face sag in disparity. It seemed she would never be free of Karin.

”What did you say to that awful woman earlier today?” Ino said to her.

”Nothing at all ma’am!”

”Then how did she find us here?”

”I didn’t know we would be coming here myself, I couldn’t possibly have told her.”

ino was deep in thought for a moment.

”Tenten knows about my engagements but she would never dare… we will just have to go to a party nobody would imagine us to attend. An old violinist whi made his fortune in kumogakure, Naga Torumi, is in Konoha this evening. He had a recital earlier this afternoon and is having a gathering this evening. I don’t want to but at least Karin won’t be there.”

The two of them walked across to shiji avenue, inside the Teahouse a young made showed them to the reception room. The violinist was sat in the centre of the room, chatting to his guests. Some men were drinking sake and others were in the midst of a game with two geisha. The violinist spied Ino and after they spoke for a while he asked her to put on a dance.

sakura didn’t think the man was actually interested in the dance, but that he just wanted his guests to Stop playing games and drinking and instead pay attention to him. Just as the maid brought a shamisen to hand to one of the geisha-even before ino had taken to the floor-the door slid open…and you know who was there.

They were like leeches that couldn’t shake their grip. Lost dogs. It was Karin and Hinata.

The way Ino and Karin smiled at one another, you would’ve mistaken them for sharing a private joke. But Sakura couldn’t miss the hostility in their exchange. Ino’s eyes were furious throughout her entire dance performance. Karin’s obnoxious voice reverberated through the room, no doubt she was relishing in her victory over finding us.

Once Ino finished dancing she didn’t even bother returning to the table, she went straight to the host and said:

”Thank you so much for permitting us to drop in! I’m afraid it’s so late… Sakura and I must excuse ourselves now…”

Karin’s wicked grin made Sakura feel sick, she looked like a lion satisfied with her kill. 

at the bottom of the stairs, Ino stopped. At last a young maid rushed into the entrance hall to see them out- the very same maid who had shown them in earlier.

”What a difficult life you must have as a maid.” Ino said to her, “Probably you want so many things and yet have so little money. So do tell us, what will you do with all your new funds?”

“I haven’t earned anything ma’am,” the maid pleaded but Sakura could see her gulp nervously, she was lying, and poorly at that.

”Just how much did Karin promise you?”

The maid said nothing, dropping her gaze to the floor. Sakura’s eyes widened with realisation and she understood Ino’s line of thinking. It was inky many months later they discovered that Karin had bribed one of each maid in every first-class Teahouse in Konoha. They were asked to call Yoko-the phone operator for the okiya- whenever she and Ino arrived at a party.

Of course, they didn’t know about yoko’s involvement at the time; but Ino was spot on for guessing that the maid in this Teahouse had the means to inform Karin some way or another.

The maid couldn’t even bring herself to meet Ino’s eyes, the geisha scoffed in disgust and turned to Lesbe. Once they left the Teahouse, they could hear Karin’s voice coming from the window above them, echoing in the narrow alley way.

“Yes, what was her name?” Karin said to someone.

”Sakumo?” One of the guests guessed.

”No, no, it was Sakura!” Another corrected.

“I think that’s the one,” Karin said, “ but really, I mustn’t tell you this…it would be so embarrassing for her and she seems like such a kind girl…”

”She’s very pretty.” One man said.

”And such beautiful eyes,” said one of the geisha.

“You know what I heard a man say about her eyes the other day?” Karin said. “He told me they were the colour of a rotten cabbage.”

”Rotten cabbage… I’ve never heard a colour described in such a way before.”

”Well I’ll tell you what I was going to say about her,” Karin’s voice was practically dripping with malicious glee. “You must promise not to repeat it,she has some sort of disease, her breasts look just like an old hag’s- droopy and wrinkled- really it’s disgusting! I saw her in a bathhouse once…”

Sakura and Ino had stopped to listen , but when they heard this, Ino took her by the hand and they began marching in the opposite direction. Ino stood for a moment, a great sorrow in her eyes.

“If that woman has found us here, then there’s nowhere in Konoha she won’t be able to follow us to… you might as well go back to your Okiya tonight Sakura-chan, just until I come up with a plan.”

Senju Okiya

The Senju Okiya was silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves outside and the distant chime of a wind bell. A single lamp burned in Tsunade’s office, casting long shadows across the room. The paper doors were closed. The air was thick.

Karin knelt on the floor, her chin lifted in defiance. She had been summoned without explanation, but she could guess. And she fully intended to brazen it out.

Tsunade sat behind her low writing table, sleeves rolled back, her expression carved from stone. A stack of letters lay beside her — reports from patrons, hostesses, even a court official. All of them naming Karin. All of them carrying tales of vicious rumours whispered into eager ears.

Tsunade’s silence was a blade. Karin tried to fill it.

“Is there something you wished to discuss, Mother?” she asked smoothly, though her voice had a faint edge.

Tsunade did not look up from the letter she was reading.

“I’ve spent my evening hearing about a certain geisha of the Senju house dragging the name of her own apprentice sister through the mud,” Tsunade said at last, voice like ice. “And do you know what every report said, Karin?”

Karin’s throat tightened, but she kept her smile sharp. “I’ve no idea, Mother.”

Tsunade’s eyes lifted. There was no warmth in them.

“They named you.”

Karin felt a prickle at the nape of her neck. “Gossip travels quickly in this city,” she said lightly. “Surely you don’t intend to believe every rumour that reaches your doorstep—”

“I don’t believe rumour, girl. I believe the word of patrons who have funded this house for decades.” Tsunade’s voice cracked like a whip. “And what’s more — you’ve insulted not only your own apprentice sister, but the Senju name. You bring shame to this Okiya when you drag another of our house through the streets like a stray dog.”

Karin’s confidence faltered. Her mouth opened, then closed.

“Tomahina-sama trained you better than this,” Tsunade went on, rising to her feet. The force of her presence filled the room. “You may think yourself untouchable because you’ve charmed a few old men and kept your earnings high, but this house existed long before you, and it will endure long after.”

“Tsunade-sama, I—”

“You what? Thought no one would notice? Thought because she’s only an apprentice you could tear her down without consequence? You forget your place.”

Karin’s hands clenched in her lap. Her face flushed.

“I won’t have a member of this household behaving like a jealous street girl,” Tsunade snarled, coming around the table. “Mark my words, Karin — one day you’ll push it too far, and the Senju name will cast you out. I’ll see to it personally.”

For the first time in years, real fear flickered in Karin’s chest. Tsunade had never spoken to her like this. Never threatened expulsion. This was different. This was dangerous.

She lowered her head.

“I… apologise, Mother,” she murmured.

But inside, another feeling curdled beneath the fear. Not remorse, fury. How dare that pink-haired little wretch become the reason she was being humiliated like this. How dare Ino interfere. And how dare Tsunade side with them.

It wasn’t over.

Karin’s lips formed a careful, humble curve. “I will be more… supportive in future.”

Tsunade stared at her for a long moment, then returned to her seat.

“See that you are,” she said coldly. “And pray I don’t hear your name whispered alongside hers again.”

She picked up another letter, dismissing Karin without another word.

Karin rose, bowing low.

“Yes, Mother.”

She left the room, the paper doors sliding shut behind her. In the dim corridor beyond, her mask slipped — her jaw clenched, eyes burning.

Let them all play their games. She would not be cast out so easily. And Sakura… Sakura would regret every step she ever took in this house.

“Little girl,” Karin thought darkly, “your turn will come.”

And she vanished into the shadows.

After the paper doors slid shut behind Karin, for a long moment, the office was still. The only sound was the soft scrape of Tsunade’s sleeve as she picked up her cup of sake and downed what little was left.

A soft knock came at the side door.

“Enter,” Tsunade said without looking up.

Shizune slipped inside, the worry on her face plain as day. She carried a small tray with a fresh pot of tea, though both of them knew neither would touch it.

“I heard you raised your voice,” Shizune murmured. “I thought—” she hesitated. “I thought she might have struck Sakura again.”

Tsunade sighed heavily, rubbing her temple.

“No. Not this time. She’s too busy poisoning her name to bother hitting her.” She gestured wearily to the pile of letters at her side. “Word of it’s spread from one end of the teahouse district to the other and I’m up to my neck in it all.”

Shizune set the tray down and knelt by her.

“I don’t understand why you let her stay,” she said softly. “You know what she’s like. She’s driven half our girls out of this house. Maki, Suzume, even Aoi… gone. Not to mention that terrible business with poor Hatsuoki, and her destruction of Ino’s kimono. And yet still you let her carry on.”

Tsunade didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the flicker of the lamp flame, and for a moment she looked older than her years.

“Because,” she said at last, her voice low, “for all her filth, that woman keeps this house alive.”

Shizune’s mouth tightened.

“She’s poison, Tsunade-sama. Money or not. One of these days, she’ll ruin us. And the Senju name with it..”

Tsunade gave a humourless laugh. “She’s already ruined half of it. But until I can replace what she brings in, I can’t cut her loose. The okiya would crumble. The debts we carry… the patrons we still owe favours to…” she trailed off, her fingers curling around her empty cup.

“The Senju line has grown so thin, Masuru-san warned me this day would come- I never listened of course. I should have,” Tsunade chuckled bitterly.

“And now it’s Sakura who will be ruined next,” Shizune said quietly. “You’re going to lose her too, you realise.”

“No,” Tsunade said, and for the first time there was steel in her voice. She turned to look at Shizune, her gaze hard. “That girl is the future of this house. Karin knows it. That’s why she’s clawing at her.”

Shizune’s brow furrowed, surprised.

“I’ve been watching her, Shizune. There’s something in her I haven’t seen since… well. Since myself.” A ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “And one day soon, when the time’s right, I’m going to take that girl in as my heir. Make her a Senju in name, not just in house. And when that happens…”

Tsunade’s voice dropped to a dangerous murmur.

Karin will be gone.

Shizune let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

“You’ve already decided.”

“I decided the first time I saw that girl.” Tsunade poured herself another cup of sake. “Now I just have to keep her in one piece long enough to secure a Danna to bring back some life to the Okiya.”

Shizune hesitated. “She won’t wait quietly, Tsunade-sama. Karin’s not the kind to accept being replaced.”

“I’m counting on it,” Tsunade said, downing the sake in one smooth swallow.

The lamp flickered again, and for a long moment neither woman spoke.

Finally, Tsunade set the cup down with a click. Nodding towards Shizune who stood up and left the room.

The door slid closed with a soft click as Shizune left. Silence settled heavy in the room, broken only by the faint hiss of the oil lamp. The papers on Tsunade’s desk fluttered in the draft from the open window.

She sat alone for a long moment, sake cup loose in her hand, staring at the warped reflection of the flame in its surface.

Damn that woman.

Karin’s smug, painted face swam behind her eyes. The sound of her voice, so saccharine in public and vicious in private, clung to her ears like a sickness.

“You’ll lose her too, you realise.”

Shizune’s words echoed in the quiet.

Tsunade tipped the cup to her lips — but it was empty.

She laughed under her breath. “I’ve already lost half of them.”

Her gaze flicked to a faded scroll half-buried beneath the ledgers. A list of names. Geisha who had once filled this house with laughter, with music. All gone. Driven out, one by one, by Karin’s venom.

Maki. Suzume. Aoi.

Names she hadn’t spoken aloud in years.

She closed her eyes, and the weight of memory pressed against her.

Twenty years earlier.

The garden lanterns cast gentle light across the Okiya’s courtyard. Tsunade, no older than twenty, knelt with perfect posture before an old woman in ceremonial gold robes, her face gaunt, lined by time and sorrow. Masuru Senju, last blood descendant of Hashirama.

Her pale eyes studied her like she saw through to the marrow of her bones.

“You think this house is strong,” she said, voice like dry paper.

Tsunade had scoffed. She remembered the way pride swelled in her chest as she gestured to the bustling okiya behind her — eight accomplished geisha, four promising apprentices, a steady stream of invitations from the wealthiest clans in Konoha.

“Stronger than it’s ever been, Lady Masuru.”

But the old woman shook her head. “Mito Uzumaki’s curse runs strong. Every generation weaker than the last.”

Tsunade’s jaw had clenched at the mention of that name. That geisha. She’d grown up with the stories, but she’d never believed in ghost-women’s curses or bitter wives.

Masuru had leaned closer, lowering her voice. “It won’t come for you in your prime, girl. It waits. It waits until you grow complacent. Until the rot sets in from within.”

She’d laid a withered hand on hers, heavy with some terrible pity.

“It won’t be the men who undo you. It will be one of your own.”

The memory blurred, giving way to another.

A younger Karin.

Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Pretty in a striking, fox-like way, with clever eyes and a shy smile she hadn’t yet sharpened into a weapon. She’d clung to the edges of the other girls’ conversations, eager, uncertain.

Tsunade had thought there was promise in her, once.

But even then — even then — there had been something in the girl’s gaze when someone else drew praise. A flicker of hate. Of envy.

She remembered walking past the practice room one evening and seeing Karin alone, digging her nails into a shamisen string until it snapped. Her lips moving in soundless curses.

“I’ll be better. I’ll be the one they want.”

And then the disappearances had begun.

Maki first, weeping as she left under cover of night. Then Suzume, driven out by slander. Aoi, shamed into silence. One by one, until only Karin remained, and Tsunade, too proud or too desperate to stop her, had let it happen.

And now Sakura.

The girl with eyes too much like Mito’s. Too much like herself.

Tsunade’s eyes snapped open.

Masuru’s warning felt like a hand on her throat now.

The rot’s already here.

She stood, moving to the window, watching the flicker of lantern light along the alleyways of Konoha. Somewhere out there, Ino was working, plotting, trying to outpace a shadow that had been festering in this house for years.

Tsunade’s hands curled into fists.

“You’ll have your day, Karin. But one day, the Senju name will cast you out like the trash you are. And I’ll be the one to see it done.”

She let the words settle in the room like a vow.

Senju Okiya

It had been a week. A long, dragging, lifeless week.

Sakura sat in the Okiya’s small practice room, the scent of old tatami mats and camellia oil hanging heavy in the air. She plucked another clumsy note on the shamisen, wincing at the sharp twang. No one was there to correct her. Aunty had been too busy running errands for Mother, leaving the house as quiet as a shrine in the dead of winter.

If she wasn’t practicing, she was sent down to the silk merchant to fetch fabric swatches or to the apothecary to pick up ointments for the older women. Anything to keep her inside during the evenings.

Because Karin was out there.

And until Ino figured out how to stop her, she had forbidden Sakura from attending any more parties. The weight of it made Sakura’s chest ache.

She sighed, setting the shamisen aside, and rested her chin on her knees.

Was this all she’d worked for? All those years of scrubbing floors, of bowing and smiling and biting her tongue — just to be trapped inside like a caged bird while Karin spread lies about her?

A knock at the door startled her. Aunty poked her head in.

“Sakura-chan, Ino-san’s messenger is here. She wants you at her townhouse.”

Sakura’s heart leapt as she scrambled to her feet, hastily smoothing her robes. At last.

Ino’s private residence was quiet too, save for the delicate clink of porcelain. She was seated by the window in a soft robe of silver-grey, brushing out her long blonde hair. Sakura knelt politely, though she lowered her gaze less than she should.

“Ino-san…” Sakura began, her voice betraying her nerves. “When… when will I be able to go out again? I’m falling behind the other novices. People will forget my face.”

Ino gave her a rueful smile, setting down her comb.

“I know, Sakura-chan. Believe me, I’m trying. I’ve spoken to every okiya mistress I dare, even bribed a few of those gossipy maids, but Karin’s grip is too tight. Every time we move, she knows.”

She hesitated then, something uncharacteristic flickering in her blue eyes.

“And it gets worse,” Ino admitted. “My danna—Jiraiya-sama—has requested I attend the Hokage’s autumn party tomorrow night. At the main house.”

Sakura’s stomach dropped.

“You mean at the Hokage’s estate?” she asked softly.

Ino gave a tight nod.

“I can’t refuse. My danna’s commands are not optional.”

There was a long, tense silence.

Then Ino sighed and poured them both tea. The scent of roasted rice leaves filled the room.

“But… I’ll speak to Kushina-sama while I’m there.”

Sakura’s eyes widened.

“Kushina-sama? You mean…”

“My older sister in every way but blood,” Ino said fondly. “She was one of-if not- the most esteemed geisha in the world before she married Lord Fourth. Even now as being supposedly ‘retired’ she still holds more sway in this country than half the council. If anyone can shield us, it’s her.”

Hokage Province-

The last of the guests had finally left. Paper lanterns bobbed gently in the evening wind, their light catching in the dark curve of the garden pond. The teahouse room attached to the Hokage estate was dim now, a single lamp burning low, scent of sandalwood lingering in the air.

Ino sat slouched, uncharacteristically careless, her hair half-unpinned and a cup of tea cooling in her hands. Across from her, Kushina lounged back against a velvet cushion, one long leg tucked beneath her, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as ever.

“You’re exhausted,” Kushina said again, voice low, but without much teasing this time. “Your eyes give you away.”

Ino let out a breath and set her cup down. “It’s been… a long season.”

Kushina tilted her head, watching her for a moment. “This isn’t about work, is it? It’s that girl. The pink-haired one. Sakura.”

Ino smiled despite herself. “Of course you noticed.”

“I notice everything,” Kushina muttered, taking a sip. “Now tell me what’s really going on.”

And Ino did. She spilled it in one long, miserable confession — Karin’s obsession, the whispered rumors, the bribed maids and teahouse spies, the constant humiliations, and Sakura’s world shrinking to the walls of the Senju Okiya. How every time they stepped out, Karin was already there, waiting.

“She’s trying to ruin her before she’s even had a chance to build a reputation,” Ino finished bitterly. “And I can’t figure out how she keeps finding us. It’s like we’re trapped in a city she owns.”

face had darkened as she spoke. When Ino finally fell silent, the older woman tapped a fingernail against her cup in thought.

“You want my advice?” Kushina asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The redhead leaned forward, resting her elbows on the low lacquered table. “You’ve been playing Karin’s game by her rules, Ino. That was your first mistake.”

Ino raised an eyebrow. “And what would you have done?”

“I’d stop chasing teahouses and start claiming space she can’t touch.” Kushina’s grin returned, sharp and wolfish. “Bring the girl here. Into the Hokage province.”

Ino blinked. “You mean… move her?”

“I mean work from here,” Kushina corrected. “Attend events held on government land. At Minato’s gatherings, or the Daimyō’s residence when he visits, or the Shogunate lodges. Karin’s poison tongue won’t mean a thing within these walls and I certainly won’t allow her to set foot near my parties, not that she’d ever be able to attend. She isnt from a noble house and Lady Tsunade hardly brings her here anyway.”

“She wouldn’t have the opportunity,” Ino murmured.

“Exactly. And neither would anyone else.” Kushina sat back with a satisfied hum. “You should’ve come to me sooner.”

Ino gave a wry smile. “You’ve always liked adopting strays.”

Kushina laughed. “I like promising girls with more guts than sense. And I know talent when I see it. Tsunade does too. Don’t think I haven’t heard her talking about that little Sen. ‘A spark worth tending,’ she called her.”

Ino’s expression faltered. “You really think she’ll protect her?”

“Oh, darling…” Kushina’s gaze turned sharp, dangerous in its certainty. “Tsunade isn’t going to just protect her. One day, she’s going to make that girl a Senju.”

Ino’s breath caught.

“I’ve known Tsunade a long time. When she finally casts Karin out—and she will—she’ll need someone new to carry the name. Someone young, clever, and loyal. Mark my words, it won’t be one of those simpering cousins or puffed-up noble daughters. It’ll be your pink-haired stray.”

She reached over and covered Ino’s hand with her own.

“You’ve done well keeping her alive this long, but it’s time to be clever. Bring her here. Start showing her to the right people. I’ll open the doors. You get her through them.”

Ino swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “Thank you… truly.”

Kushina gave a crooked grin. “Don’t thank me yet. The girl’s got a hard road ahead. But so did you, remember? And look where we are now.”

A shared smile passed between them — old, unspoken understanding between women who knew what it meant to survive in Konoha’s gilded, merciless world.

“Well then,” Kushina said, raising her cup in mock toast. “To strays who bite back.”

Ino clinked her cup against hers. “To strays.”

Senju Okiya-

The rain tapped a steady rhythm against the paper screens, soft and persistent, blurring the outlines of the garden beyond. In the dimming light, Tsunade sat at her desk, a brush in hand, rereading a letter for the third time.

The handwriting was neat, elegant — Ino’s.

Tsunade-sama,

I am sure you remember my dearest friend Hatsuoki, and what tragedy befell her at the hands of Karin’s wickedness. I cannot allow things to continue as they are. Sakura’s name, the Senju name, is being dragged through the mud and the Okiya’s reputation alongside it. 

I request permission to take her to the Hokage province. I believe Kushina-sama would welcome us.

— Yamanaka Ino

Tsunade’s lips pressed into a thin line. She’d known this would come, sooner or later. A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” she called.

The screen slid open and Sakura stepped inside, bowing low. Her pale grey kimono hung a little loose, hair pinned simply. She looked tired. No, restless.

“You summoned me, Tsunade-sama?”

“I did,” Tsunade said, setting the letter aside. “Fetch your flute.”

Sakura blinked. “My… flute?”

“Yes. You won’t keep your skills sharp moping around this house. I need to sort out my correspondence, you need to practice your breathing. Go on.”

Sakura ducked her head and hurried to retrieve the instrument. When she returned, Tsunade was already pouring herself a cup of sake, parchment and ink set neatly before her. The room settled into a kind of rhythm. Sakura sat cross-legged near the window, raising the flute to her lips. The first notes were a little thin, but gradually softened into something clean and mournful, threading through the warm, heavy air.

Tsunade worked. Drafting clan orders. Approving appointments. Writing letters in a firm, unhurried hand. Occasionally, she glanced over at the girl, noting how the tension in Sakura’s shoulders slowly unwound as the music steadied her. It was a domestic, oddly intimate scene — the Lady of the Okiya and her apprentice, one carrying the weight of a household and the other trapped within it.

The rain eased. Evening crept closer.

Another knock.

“Come,” Tsunade called.

Aunty appeared, behind her trailed Ino, clearly having been caught in the rain, the droplets in her hair looked like tiny crimson beads that caught the last of the light.

“Tsunade-sama,” she greeted with a bow. “Might I have a word?”

Tsunade’s face looked severe as she gestured to the cushion across from her. “Sit.” Aunty also perched in the doorway, looking at Sakura with a puzzled look.

Sakura lowered her flute, but Tsunade waved a hand. “Keep playing, girl. This won’t take long.”

Sakura obeyed, though she cast a curious glance at Ino as the older woman knelt before Tsunade, her expression carefully schooled.

Tsunade didn’t ask pleasantries. “I read your letter.”

Ino inclined her head. “And your answer, my lady?”

A pause. The distant sound of the flute hung between them.

“I’ve half a mind to handle this the old way,” Tsunade murmured. 

Ino’s lips twitched. “You’d have a riot at your doorstep.”

“Good.” But then Tsunade sighed. “We do this quietly. Take her.”

Ino’s eyes flickered, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.

“You’ll have Kushina’s protection,” Tsunade went on. “And Minato’s ear. Karin won’t dare follow you across the threshold of the Hokage province.”

“And Sakura?” Ino asked softly.

Tsunade’s gaze sharpened. “You’ll watch her. Teach her how to move in that world. If she makes a fool of herself it’ll be your head, Ino.”

“I understand.”

Another moment passed. Then, Tsunade’s voice dropped to something lower, colder.

“One day,” she said, eyes narrowing, “Karin’s going to push it too far. And when that happens, the Senju name will cast her out. This house will need an heir. And I’ll not leave it to a snake.”

Ino’s throat bobbed. “I’ll make sure she’s ready.”

“See that you do.”

Tsunade leaned back and raised her voice. “Sakura.”

The girl lowered her flute at once, scrambling to her feet.

“Yes, Tsunade-sama?”

Ino stood as well, smoothing her sleeves. Her smile was small, but it reached her eyes.

“Go  with aunty and fetch your cloak,” she told Sakura. “You’re going out.”

Sakura blinked. “Out? To a teahouse?”

“No,” Ino said, her voice gentler now. “To the Hokage province.”

Sakura’s heart stumbled.

“What… why?”

“Because,” Ino said, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Sakura’s ear, “Lady Tsunade has the whole Senju estate in the Hokage province, and she wants you to make the most of it.”

Sakura swallowed hard, her throat thick, eyes burning.

“I—yes. Yes, Ino-san.”

Ino gave her a wink. “Good girl.”

Tsunade drained her cup, watching them with a face carved from stone, but a flicker of something — pride, perhaps — softened the lines around her mouth.

“Well?” she grunted. “Go on. Before I change my mind.”

Sakura  bowed low to Mother and smiled before she hurried out, her heart racing in her chest.

In the stillness that followed, Ino turned back to Tsunade.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Tsunade muttered, reaching for another letter. “Just make sure you come back with her reputation intact… and better yet, improved.”

Ino grinned, bowing once more.

“I intend to.”

And with that, she too was gone, leaving Tsunade alone in the rain-dimmed room, the faint scent of sake and chrysanthemum lingering in the air.

Chapter Text

Konoha - early winter

Sakura followed after Auntie who began rushing through the halls of the Okiya. 

“Now’s your chance to pack any personal items Sakura-chan!” The older woman said to her, pointing to her room, Sakura took off, skidding on the polished floors, while Shizune went to the closet to fetch a cloak for the girl. 

Inside her room, Sakura hastily threw stuff into a small bag that had been put out for her. Scanning her room, she spied her hairbrush, some small hair accessories she had acquired and her flute. By the time she had stuffed them into her bag, aunty was waiting by her door. 

“Hurry Sakura, the carriage is here! It’s started snowing, you’ll need to set off soon if you want any chance of getting to the province today.” 

Sakura craned her neck to the sky and saw the powdery snowflakes fall, like leaves fluttering off a branch. 

Mr. Shiranui and two of his assistants were loading heavy leather trunks onto the back of the carriage. Sakura looked at Aunty in confusion but the older woman just smiled and wrapped her with a winter cloak, a simple grey wool cloak with the Senju insignia on the breast.

Sakura could hear footsteps behind her, she turned to see Ino and Mother approaching, both deep in hushed conversation with one another. Mother nodded towards Aunty, who bundled her into the carriage after giving her a tight hug.

”Make us proud Sakura-chan, you’re destined for great things. The Hokage province is a completely different world, you must - under no circumstances- disobey Ino-san, there every misstep holds much greater consequences.”

”I will follow her orders fully,” she responded fearfully, holding onto the older woman’s sleeve, not wanting to let go.

Through the window she could see the snow begin to intensify, aunty waved to her before shuffling back to stand under the roof of the okiya, shielding herself from the flurry of snowfall. Ino’s conversation drew to a finish and the geisha, shivering from the chill, tightened her fur coat around her and rushed to the carriage.

Snow began falling in heavy clumps, blurring the world into a pale, grey smear beyond the small frosted window of the Senju carriage. It clung to the brown lacquered roof, and the storm winds screamed through the narrow streets of Konoha as the carriage wheels crunched and slid along the road.

Inside it was warm. A small iron brazier had been secured to the floor, filling the compartment with a gentle, steady heat. Thick cushions lined the carriage and a stack of blankets were neatly folded in the corner. 

Ino sat with one leg folded beneath her. Around her shoulders, she wore a great fur coat the colour of cream. She pulled a blanket off the pile and wrapped it around her legs, even with the fire and the fur, the cold seeped in.

“You’re quiet,” Ino said, glancing at her. “I thought you’d be chattering away by now.”

“I was just…” Sakura hesitated. “I keep thinking about why Mother agreed to let me come.”

Ino sighed, leaning back against the cushions. The brazier’s glow caught in her pale hair, turning it to spun gold. “It’s…not as straightforward anymore. Lady Tsunade faces trouble on many fronts and Karin’s behaviour is just the tip of it all.”

“I didn’t think she’d even noticed what Karin was doing until now.”

“Oh, she noticed,” Ino said, her voice edged with bitterness. “Everyone did. But Karin’s made herself too valuable to the okiya. There was a time they had eight geisha under the Senju roof. Eight, Sakura. And four apprentices besides. One by one, they left. Some retired, some were run out, a few disappeared. All because of her.”

Sakura swallowed. “Why didn’t Mother stop her?”

“Because Karin brings in as much coin in a year as four of them combined. The council won’t question her as long as the money flows, and the Okiya survives because of it. Tsunade-sama’s hands have been tied for years.”

There was silence for a time, the storm’s howl muffled by thick curtains. Sakura could hear the steady clop of the horses, the jingle of harness bells.

“So what changed?” she asked softly.

Ino’s gaze was distant, but there was a spark of something fierce in it. “You. For the first time in years, Tsunade sees a future for the Senju name beyond Karin’s coin. A way to clean the slate. You’ll debut properly, find yourself a good Danna — someone with enough standing and wealth to replace what she’s lose by casting Karin out. Then, when the time’s right, Tsunade will adopt you fully. You’ll carry the Senju name. And Karin can rot in some back alley for all I care.”

“That’s why she’s  allowed you to come with me. Only a Danna of considerable wealth would be able to finance you and your Okiya, there’s no better place to make that connection than here in the Province, and anyways should she adopt you- which she will- you would already have the introduction to the council and court.” Her tone was icy, sharp as the storm outside, but softened when she added, “It’s a burden, Sakura. But it’s also a chance.”

Sakura let the words sink in, feeling a strange mixture of apprehension and pride.

“And the Hokage province?” she asked after a moment. “What’s it like?”

Ino’s face lit faintly, a small smile playing at her lips. “Another world. It was built for the old clans, you know — so the heads could be close to the Hokage’s ear, their estates cluster around his manor. It’s still that way. Every family’s compound is huge, with walled gardens and private teahouses. The Nara have their forest, the Hyūga their training halls. In summer, the Uchiha host boat parties on their lake — wine, music, and some of the best food you’ll ever eat. The Hokage and Kushina-sama hold dinners in the old hall, and there’s always something happening. You’ll be staying at the Senju estate. Lady Tsunade’s given her permission.”

“What about you?” Sakura asked.

“I’m not a Senju,” Ino shrugged. “I’ll stay at Jiraiya-sama’s estate. It’s fine. It’s always been that way.”

Sakura nodded, though a faint unease tugged at her. Living alone in the Senju estate was a far cry from the bustling Okiya. The carriage rocked again, snow rattling against the windows like tiny pebbles.

Ino reached out, brushing a lock of pink hair from Sakura’s face with a rare, sisterly tenderness. “Keep your wits about you. Because if you think Karin’s the worst this world has to offer, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Sakura swallowed hard, the warmth of the carriage suddenly feeling less comforting. Outside, the storm howled on.

Hokage Province - Winter

The storm had lessened by the time the Senju carriage reached the gates of the Hokage Province. Snow still drifted down in fat, heavy flakes, but the wind had quieted, and now the streets lay muffled under a thick white blanket. The great cedar gates opened with a heavy creak as the carriage passed through, flanked by torchlight that cast long flickering shadows on the snow-packed road.

Sakura pulled aside the thick curtain, peering out into the night. The province wasn’t like the rest of Konoha. Here, the streets were broader, lined with towering maples and ancient pines heavy with snow. Row after row of immense compounds sat behind stone walls and grand wooden gates, each estate marked with its clan sigil painted or carved into the gateposts.

On her right, she glimpsed the dark, dense Nara forest so thick with ancient trees that it seemed a black pit even under snowfall. A shiver ran through her, though whether from cold or nerves she wasn’t sure. In the dark mass of trees she swore she could see movements, rubbing her eyes tiredly she chalked it up to a trick of the mind.

Beyond it came the stately Hyūga estate, all pale wood and clean lines, and then the vast compound of the Aburame with its heavily curtained windows and eerie stillness. The Uchiha manor was next, grand and severe, its gate marked with the crimson and white fan crest. Her stomach turned slightly at the sight.

It was another ten minutes before the carriage finally slowed.

Ino shifted beside her, the fur of her stole brushing Sakura’s arm as she leaned forward to pull back the curtain. “Here we are,” she murmured.

The Senju estate was enormous. The outer wall alone stretched the distance of the Teahouse district, the gates a pair of towering lacquered doors adorned with the carved symbol of the Senju.

“This is Mother’s home? It’s like a palace!”

Ino laughed at the wide-eyed girl, “Don’t forget, this was the residence of the First and Second Hokage, it’s fit for emperors.”

The doors opened, and the carriage rolled through.

Inside, Sakura could hardly breathe for a moment. The grounds were magnificent, sprawling courtyards dusted with snow, still ponds edged in stone, lanterns hung from the bare branches of ancient maples, their orange light flickering on the icy paths. In the centre stood the main residence, a grand structure of dark wood and ivory plaster with sweeping tiled roofs, its upper floors looming into the snowy night.

As the carriage came to a stop beneath the covered entrance, footmen in thick winter cloaks moved to open the door.

“This is your stop, the staff have been expecting you. They’ll help you unpack.” Ino said, her voice softer now. “I’ll come back in an hour. Settle in.”

“Ino…” Sakura hesitated. “Thank you. Truly.”

Ino’s expression softened, her pale eyes warm for a fleeting moment. “You’ll be safer here. Make the most of it, Little Sister.”

Sakura stepped down from the carriage into the snow. A half dozen servants bowed deeply as she passed, each murmuring “Welcome, Sakura-sama.”

It made her face burn with shame, she didn’t feel deserving of such status and formality. She wasn’t a Senju, just a mere apprentice.

A kindly-looking older woman, her hair streaked with silver and bound in a neat bun, stepped forward. She wore a rich but simple indigo kimono with the Senju crest embroidered at the collar.

“Welcome to the Senju estate, Sakura-sama, Lady Tsunade informed us you would be coming today. ” the woman said with a gentle smile. “I am Kanna, the head of staff. I have served the Senju household for many years. It will be my honour to attend you.”

“Thank you,” Sakura managed, bowing low in return. “I… I’m grateful for your care.”

Kanna’s smile deepened, and she gestured for her to follow.

They crossed a wide courtyard, snow crunching beneath their feet, and entered the main house through a pair of grand doors. Warmth wrapped around Sakura instantly, the air inside heavy with the scent of winter plum blossoms.

The interior was no less grand, polished cedar floors gleamed under silk-draped lanterns, scrolls of calligraphy and ink paintings lined the walls, and rich woven mats cushioned each step. It was beautiful… but so very empty. The vast rooms echoed with silence. Each step the pair took echoed in the endless empty halls of the estate.

Kanna led her down a long corridor to a set of double doors carved with spirals. “This is to be your room, Sakura-sama.”

The doors opened, and Sakura gasped.

The chamber was spacious, far larger than any room she’d ever slept in and a far cry from the cramped communal maids room she had slept in for years. A great lacquered bed sat against the far wall, heaped with thick silk quilts in hues of soft blue and pale gold. Delicate screens painted with misty mountain scenes shielded a small sitting area, where a fireplace glowed beside a low table set with tea. One wall was entirely taken up by a window that overlooked a snow-covered garden, the branches of a plum tree brushing against the glass. Sakura felt her feet take her to the window, pressing a finger to the glass she shuddered at the cold.

Within moments, footmen arrived carrying her trunks and bundles of belongings. Maids slipped into the room, unpacking silken robes, folding linens, and placing her hair ornaments neatly on a dressing table. Sakura stood there, feeling utterly out of place and yet, for the first time, important.

“I… thank you, everyone,” she said, bowing. “Truly. You honour me.”

The servants murmured their gratitude and withdrew quietly, leaving her to take it all in.

An hour passed in a strange, dreamlike hush.

When Ino returned, her cheeks pink from the cold, she grinned at the sight of Sakura bundled in a soft, fur-lined robe. “Well, don’t you look like you belong here already.”

“It’s enormous,” Sakura murmured, still half in awe.

Ino laughed, looping her arm through Sakura’s. “Come on. Jiraiya-sama’s expecting us for dinner. You’ll want to eat well — tomorrow, we start the real work.”

Sakura gave a nervous smile, allowing Ino to lead her out into the snowy night once more. And for the first time in days, the fear that clung to her eased, if only a little.

The warmth of Jiraiya’s estate was an sanctuary against the cold night. His home wasn’t as grand or imposing as the Senju estate, but it had a charm all its own. The main residence was a handsome timber house with wide verandas overlooking snow-dusted gardens and the distant gleam of the river beyond the trees. Lanterns glowed warmly at every doorway, and the air smelled of cedar smoke and roasted chestnuts.

A footman led Sakura and Ino through to a cosy dining room with shoji screens painted with ink-drawn dragons and pine boughs. A brazier crackled in the corner, and the table was already laid with an array of steaming dishes; simmered duck in miso, braised daikon, rice, pickled plum, and a pot of warm tea.

Jiraiya was already seated, half lounging on a cushion in a thick indigo robes, his hair unbound and gleaming silver in the lamplight. He looked up as they entered and grinned broadly.

“Well, well — if it isn’t my favourite Yamanaka flower and her little apprentice,” he boomed, rising to his feet.

“Ino-hime,” he teased, bowing with an exaggerated flourish, which made Ino roll her eyes and smirk.

“You’re insufferable,” Ino shot back, but there was no real venom in it.

“And you love me for it,” Jiraiya chuckled, gesturing for them to sit.

Sakura bowed low. “Thank you for having me, Jiraiya-sama. I am honoured to receive such hospitality.”

“No formalities between us,” he said easily, waving a hand. “I’ve known Tsunade since she was just a bit older than you, and I don’t stand on ceremony in my own home. ‘Jiraiya’ will do.”

Ino shot her a look, and Sakura took the hint. “Jiraiya-san,” she corrected shyly, and he grinned.

“Much better. Now — come eat. Snow like this calls for good company and food that sticks to your ribs.”

They sat, and the meal began. Conversation drifted between bites — Jiraiya telling ribald funny about winter festivals past, making Ino groan and scold him while Sakura laughed in spite of herself. There was a kindness to the old toad’s eyes, the crinkles at their corners deepening when Sakura smiled.

“You remind me of her, you know,” he said at one point, eyes glinting as he poured her a cup of tea. “Tsunade. When she was young. Same stubborn soul. Same fire behind the eyes.”

Sakura flushed and ducked her head. 

“She’s a hard woman, and she’s fierce but she loves her own. You’ve got more people rooting for you than you realise, girl.”

Ino scoffed lightly. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re three bottles into your sake tomorrow night and telling the Hyūga matriarch she’s aged like fine pickled radish.”

“I’m charming, and she knows it,” Jiraiya retorted with mock indignation, making both women laugh.

The dinner was simple, warm rice, savoury duck, tender greens, and chestnut sweets with ginger tea to finish. It wasn’t fancy but it felt like home. 

As they finished their meal, a servant entered and bowed.

“Forgive the intrusion, Jiraiya-sama. A message from the Hokage, your presence is requested immediately.”

Jiraiya sighed. “Duty calls. You ladies relax — the fire’s hot and there’s still more snow to come.”

He patted Sakura’s shoulder fondly as he passed. “Rest up. Tomorrow is a big day.”

And with a wink, he was gone.

Ino rose and gestured for Sakura to follow her into the informal lounge. The room was smaller than the dining chamber but warmer, with woven rugs and a roaring fire set into the stone hearth. Cushions lay scattered about the low table, and the window showed the thick snow still falling outside.

Ino curled up on one of the cushions, reaching for a pot of  lemon infused green tea left on the table. “Alright, listen up,” she said, her tone shifting to something quieter and sharper.

“Tomorrow begins very early. A maid will prepare you a bath just after dawn, and I’ll come over to help you pick a kimono. You’re incredibly lucky that Lady Tsunade sent you with a selection from the Senju collection — you’ll wear one of those.”

Sakura’s eyes widened. “The private collection?”

Ino nodded, lips tight. “Yes. She means to present you properly. This isn’t a holiday, Sakura. You’ve been brought here because the situation in the Okiya is dire. Karin’s actions are destroying the Okiya and with it the Senju name. If you want to destroy her once and for all you must succeed here, failure is not an option!”

Sakura swallowed, nerves curling in her belly. “I understand.”

“You will debut fully once you turn eighteen, as is traditional, that gives us two years, and when you do, you’ll need a Danna. Someone wealthy enough to support the Okiya so Tsunade can finally be rid of Karin. That’s the plan.” Ino’s voice turned bitter. “Lady Tsunade should have cut her loose years ago. But the money… it always buys a little more rope.”

Sakura was quiet a moment. “I didn’t realise it was that bad.”

“It’s worse,” Ino said, leaning forward. “But you, you’re her way out. If you succeed, Tsunade can rebuild. You’ll be adopted into the clan, the next generation of apprentices brought in, and Karin cast out. For good.”

Sakura drew a breath, steadying herself. “I won’t fail you, Ino-san.”

Ino smiled then, a real one, and reached over to squeeze her hand. “Good. Because tomorrow, we go before the Hokage.”

She poured them both tea. “It’s a great honour. Kushina-sama personally invited you, but you must still show proper respect. This isn’t the Okiya. These are the people who run the Nation. One misstep…”

“I understand.”

“The ceremony will be at the Uzumaki shrine. You’ll prepare and serve matcha in the old way. It’s more than a ritual — it’s politics in tea. Watch Kushina carefully. She was my older sister once, but now she stands beside the Hokage. She’ll want to see if you’re worth the trouble we’re taking.”

Sakura’s throat felt dry, but she nodded firmly. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’d better,” Ino murmured, though there was affection in it.

They sat in silence a moment, watching the snow.

“The Hokage Province will keep you safe from Karin,” Ino said quietly. “But it’ll throw you into deeper waters, Little Sister. Watch yourself.”

Sakura nodded, feeling the first flicker of genuine fear.

The snow fell thick outside, and the fire crackled on.

The dawn came grey and snow-heavy over the Hokage Province, a hush lying over the world like a heavy blanket. Sakura was roused before first light by a soft knock at her chamber door. Maids entered with steaming buckets of hot water and delicately perfumed oils. The room smelled of rose and honey as she bathed, skin pinkening in the warmth while outside, the snow still fell in thick, silent flurries.

By the time Ino arrived, radiant in a deep sapphire winter kimono with embroidered cranes in silver thread — Sakura was seated at the dressing table, her hair half-done by a pair of silent, efficient maids. They had styled her hair similarly to how Lady Tsunade’s own two low pony tails sat, though they braided her two pony tails and weaved pearl hair pins into the strands.

“Good,” Ino said briskly as she entered, waving off the staff. “Up, bathed, and presentable. I’d expect no less.”

She looked over the racks upon racks of kimono sent from the Senju collection, running pale fingers over silken sleeves and intricate embroidery. “She certainly sent some real treasures.”

At last, she selected a deep green kimono, almost black in the dim light, with cascading waves of pale-pink blossoms and the Senju crest embroidered discreetly at the collar. “This one. It’s elegant, refined, perfect for an introduction.”

Sakura let the maids dress her, layer by layer, the weight of the silk a steady pressure against her shoulders. Suddenly very grateful for all the practice aunty made her do, walking up and down the Okiya in full apprentice regalia had built up her strength and confidence.

When they were finished, Ino stepped back to inspect her.

“Good,” she murmured. “You’ll do.”

They left the Senju estate together in a small carriage, drawn by a pair of white horses with crimson tassels. The province was a world of white and grey, grand clan estates rising from the mist like silent, sleeping beasts. The Nara forest was a dark blur to their left, great pines thick with snow, and ahead lay the Uzumaki Shrine — an elegant, ancient structure of white wood and orange banners.

The shrine grounds were empty but for the soft tread of servants and two figures waiting by the entrance.

One was a tall woman with long, blood-red hair, wearing the formal robes of a clan mistress — Lady Kushina Uzumaki herself. Beside her stood a man with golden hair and sharp, hawk-like eyes: the Hokage.

Sakura’s stomach tightened.

The carriage drew up, and Ino stepped down first, bowing deeply. “Ino Yamanaka, in attendance.”

Sakura followed, bowing low. “ Sakura, apprentice of the Senju Okiya, humbly presents herself.”

Kushina’s face softened, though she did not smile. “Rise, Little one. We’ve heard much of you.”

The Hokage said nothing, his gaze unreadable, and gestured them inside.

The Uzumaki Shrine’s inner chamber was a warm cocoon of polished wood and flickering lanterns. A brazier glowed at the centre, and the air smelled of incense and winter plum. Sakura’s heart pounded as she took her place on the tatami mats before the low table. The implements for the tea ceremony had already been set — the glossy tea caddy, the bamboo whisk, the jade-green bowl.

Ino sat to one side, perfectly poised, while Kushina and the Hokage took seats opposite.

A single nod from Kushina.

Sakura’s hands trembled only slightly as she began, each movement painstakingly precise, the measured scoop of matcha, the pour of hot water, the rhythmic whisk until the tea frothed to a delicate green foam.

She presented the bowl first to the Hokage, bowing low, then to Kushina.

The silence stretched as they drank, and then Kushina spoke.

“Nicely done,” she said softly. “You were taught with care.” Sakura immediately noticed the Uzumaki woman’s accent, no doubt from the Land of Whirlpools.

“I was, Kushina-sama,” Sakura replied, voice steady.

Another sip, and then Kushina’s gaze sharpened. “You’ve been brought here for a reason, child. Do you understand what it means to wear the Senju crest?”

Sakura hesitated, then nodded. “To protect its name. And to honour it’s history.”

“Good,” the Hokage spoke at last, his voice a low rumble. “You’ll find this province less forgiving than Konoha. Here, a mistake isn’t whispered about. It’s a matter for the council.”

Sakura bowed her head. “I will not shame my house.”

Kushina’s expression softened slightly at that. “I believe you won’t.”

She set the bowl down. “You’ll remain under Ino’s supervision while here. Now you’ll start to meet a great many people, starting with the Uchiha mistress, Lady Mikoto, at the lakeside estate.”

At the name Uchiha, Sakura felt her stomach clench, but she managed a calm nod.

When the tea ceremony was finished, Kushina rose. “Welcome to the Hokage Province, Sakura.”

And with a final, piercing look, the Hokage and Kushina withdrew, leaving Sakura and Ino alone.

Ino let out a quiet breath. “Well,” she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips. “Not a bad start.”

Sakura exhaled shakily. “I… think my heart stopped beating halfway through.” Ino chuckled understanding.

The two began walking back to the carriage, arm in arm. Ino helped her climb the steps into the carriage and slammed the door closed. The carriage lurched forwards as ino wrapped a blanket around Sakura and her own legs.

She reached over after a moment and gave Sakura’s hand a squeeze. “You did well, but you have much to learn still. Now come on. We’ve got a long winter ahead of us.”

And together, they stepped out into the snow.

The snow had fallen steadily through the day, soft flakes spiralling down from a slate-grey sky. The Senju estate, grand and sprawling like a sleeping palace, seemed to hold its breath beneath the winter storm.

Sakura sat curled on a leather sofa in one of the estate’s many rooms, watching the snowfall through tall glass windows. The fire crackled nearby, the only sound besides the distant murmur of staff moving like ghosts through the halls. The moment she returned to the estate, the maids swarmed her, helping her out of her ceremonial kimono and into a lighter and more comfortable set of pink cotton robes, still respectful attire should Ino drop by unannounced but casual enough that she didn’t feel uncomfortable. While her new outfit soft and lighter she was much colder without the layers of fabric and found herself reaching for a wool blanket from the basket near the fireplace.

It felt like days had passed since she’d arrived yet it had barely been twenty-four hours.

Her head spun when she thought back: Karin’s cruel words, the slap across her cheek, the nights spent stewing in the Okiya with nowhere to go. Then the sudden upheaval, the carriage ride through the storm, the enormous estate waiting for her like a grand, empty theatre with no audience. Ino’s sharp guidance, Jiraiya’s boisterous warmth, and this morning’s tea ceremony before the Hokage himself. It all blurred together, too much, too fast.

She sipped her tea, the cup warm against her fingers.

Why me? she thought.

She was no one. Just a girl abandoned by her birth family, raised behind paper screens and lattice doors, who’d only ever dreamed of a chance. Yet now — she wore the Senju crest.

The household staff bowed and called her Sakura-sama. She sat at tables where the Hokage himself was served.

A flicker of guilt twisted in her chest. So many of the other apprentices in Konoha, Hinata would have killed for this. And yet here she was. Alone.

Setting her cup down, Sakura rose and crossed to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered gardens. A sudden, fierce determination surged through her. If they’re giving me this chance, I’m going to survive it.

And so, she returned to her room and grabbed her cloak before stepping outside into the winters gardens.

The Senju Estate- Winter

The grounds stretched far beyond what she’d imagined. Quiet hallways paneled in dark wood, rooms filled with priceless paintings and ancient weapons, and empty chambers whose only inhabitants were dust and memory. The household staff moved with quiet precision. Maids in simple grey and white, a footman polishing a suit of armor older than any of them, the head housekeeper — a kind-eyed woman named Mizue — pausing to bow and murmur, “Sakura-sama.”

It unnerved her.

She wandered the winter gardens, following stone paths edged by sleeping plum trees and frozen koi ponds. A tall grove of pines shielded a small shrine to the clan’s ancestors, where incense still burned despite the storm. She paused there, her breath fogging in the cold, staring up at the names carved into ancient stone: Hashirama. Tobirama. Masuru. Tsunade. The weight of it all made her small in a way the Okiya never had.

And still, she knew: she was being watched. By ancestors, by staff, by unseen eyes from the other estates. At last, her steps brought her back to her chambers and a message waiting on a silver tray.

“Lady Mikoto Uchiha requests your company. The Uchiha estate, sundown.”

Her stomach twisted.

The afternoon snow thickened as the Senju carriage pulled up to the looming gates of the Uchiha compound. Sakura glanced out at the dark lacquered wood, the tall stone walls flanked by crimson banners bearing the fan-shaped crest. Even in the snow, it felt oppressive and certainly beautiful, yes, but in the way an ancient shrine was beautiful: quiet, unmoving, a little frightening.
Ino leaned over, adjusting her fur collar. “We’re to meet Lady Mikoto shortly,” she murmured. “Be polite. Bow deeply. She was always quiet, but since Lord Fugaku passed, she’s grown rather… peculiar.”

Sakura blinked. “Peculiar?”

Ino’s mouth quirked. “ Grief does not treat people kindly, especially widows. You’ll see.”

The gates opened soundlessly, and the carriage slid into the compound, past rows of snow-covered cypress trees and silent footpaths. The estate seemed unnaturally still, like a painting where no one moved. Sakura took great care to walk as softly as she could, each noise the pair made echoed jarringly along the hall.

The receiving room was as cold as the snow outside, despite the fire’s steady warmth. The walls were dark, covered in panels of deep red banners and navy silk, hung with ancient tapestries of forgotten wars. Candles flickered against painted screens of great Uchiha ancestors, their stern faces staring down. Sakura noticed that all the depictions of the Uchiha ancestors had deep red eyes, she could feel them burning a hole into her.

Sakura slowly followed Ino’s lead, kneeling on a silk cushion, her posture rigid and tense. It felt hard to breathe in the Uchiha compound, her lungs were burning with each laboured breath. The compound was suffocating, as though someone had placed a boulder on her chest.

A sliding door creaked open, and Lady Mikoto entered.

She wore layers of dark blue and midnight black, her hair long and unbound, dark eyes unreadable. Despite her beauty, something about her seemed unmoored as though her spirit no longer fully occupied the world. Ino bowed deeply, voice soft and measured.

“Lady Mikoto, may I present to you my younger sister — Sakura of the Senju Okiya. I humbly ask that you allow her to carry your favour during her stay in the province.”

Mikoto tilted her head, a slow, birdlike movement. Her gaze lingered on Sakura, and then she murmured, almost to herself, “Senju… There’s a Senju in the house.”

Ino didn’t flinch, though Sakura’s stomach tightened.

Mikoto blinked, then gave a small, elegant nod. “Yes. A Senju girl. It’s been a long time, many years since I saw Masuru-san.”

A dreadful, awkward silence stretched. Ino smiled, brittle and tight. “We are most grateful for your time, Lady Mikoto.”

Mikoto’s gaze drifted away. “Yes. I have lots of time. Always time to give for making new acquaintances.” She gave a soft, breathy laugh, not unkind, but distant.

They moved to make polite conversation, as protocol demanded. Ino asked after Mikoto’s health, after the snow damage to the Uchiha gardens, about a new set of scroll paintings Ino had heard rumour of.

Mikoto answered softly, her words slow, occasionally repeating them.

“The snow. Yes. The garden suffered greatly. The garden always suffers in the cold.”

“The scrolls… beautiful. Old things. Very old.”

Sakura kept her head bowed, hands folded in her lap. The conversation felt less like talk and more like a ceremony, a rote performance of civility in a house long unused to joy. While the older women spoke, Sakura’s gaze wandered. The room was steeped in deep colours, floor cushions embroidered in crimson, ancient wood carved into patterns of cranes and flames. Scrolls of battles long past. Masks of old warriors. A heavy, ancestral air hung thick in the room.

It was like stepping into the past — an imperial, darker time clinging to the compound like ivy. She felt like an intruder. A fragile, modern thing in a house of ghosts.

At length, Ino rose with a graceful bow. “You have our deepest gratitude, Lady Mikoto. We won’t trespass on your time further.”

“Time,” Mikoto echoed faintly. “Yes. Time goes, and it returns.”

Sakura stood, bowing low. “Thank you, Lady Mikoto.”

Mikoto did not respond. She was already gazing at the fire as though lost in thought. She smiled a watery smile to the pair as an Uchiha servant escorted them to the door.

Once they were outside, Sakura took in deep lungfuls of air, finally feeling as though she could breathe freely. Ino shot a concerned glance at her, so the apprentice smiled weakly as the two clambered back into the carriage.

”Ino-san, that was awful! That place- Lady Mikoto, I couldn’t even bre-“

”Yes,” Ino cut in, her lips tightly pressed together. “You’ll feel better once we get away,”

The warmth of Jiraiya’s estate was a pleasant contrast to the oppressive chill of the Uchiha compound. Sakura sat on a thick cushion, her freshly refilled cup of plum tea cradled in her hands, listening as the crackle of the hearth softened the edges of the evening. The snow had finally stopped after hours and hours, the moon was out tonight, it’s pale glow reflecting off the gleaming snow.

Dinner had been just what she needed after her evening, not just the food but the relaxed setting and warm company. The meal itself had been lively, with Jiraiya coming to join the ladies halfway through, bringing with him stories of the Hokage’s daily struggle with paperwork and the chaos snowfall brings — but now, a hush had settled over the room.

Ino had taken her place beside Sakura, and across from them, Jiraiya’s expression had turned notably grave. He set his cup down, his brow furrowing.

“I’ve received word,” he began, voice quieter than before, “that you, Sakura, have been formally welcomed to attend this year’s Winter Solstice Ceremony. Lord Hokage himself told me this afternoon,”

Sakura’s eyes widened, her back stiffening.

”Lady Tsunade receives an invite to each event, as is expected for the heiress of a founding clan, she hardly ever attends given how busy Konoha keeps her. This year, she wrote to Lord Hokage that she would have you attend in her stead.” Jiraiya finished.

“The Solstice?” she murmured.

Ino let out a slow breath, glancing toward Jiraiya as though confirming it. “It’s an ancient tradition,” she explained. “The great clans gather on the tallest hill in the Nara forest at sunset. The shortest day of the year marks the beginning of the dark months and the end of the harvest season. After watching the sun fall, a great bonfire is lit, and then there’s a formal dinner. It’s one of the most important nights in the province’s social calendar. The solstice marks the beginning of the Winter festivities.”

Jiraiya’s gaze was steady as he spoke next. “This isn’t a festival though. It isn’t a garden party. It’s a gathering of old blood. These clans are the bones of the Nation. Mistakes aren’t forgotten, and missteps aren’t forgiven. You are not Senju by birth, but you will be there as a representative of their name — the name of Hashirama, Tobirama, Masuru, and Tsunade herself. That carries weight whether you like it or not.”

Sakura swallowed hard, lowering her gaze respectfully. “I understand, Jiraiya-sama.”

Ino leaned in, her tone softer but no less firm. “You’ll need to learn about the noble clans before the ceremony. Who they are, what they value, what alliances exist between them. A stray word, the wrong greeting, it could offend someone you won’t even realise has power over your future.”

Sakura nodded, heart thudding.

Ino began listing them, counting each on slender, ringed fingers. “The Nara clan are sharp as blades. Their lands cover the Nara forest itself. They trade in technology and logistics, and their head, Shikaku, is one of the Hokage’s most trusted strategists. His son, Shikamaru, might appear lazy, but don’t be fooled. The Nara move quietly, and their reach is long.”

Jiraiya gave a grunt of agreement.

“The Aburame,” Ino went on, “are private. They control the northwestern provinces. Known for their affinity with insects and for valuing discretion above all. Avoid personal questions. They dislike unnecessary chatter.”

“The Sarutobi clan,” she continued, “are close to the Senju. The late Third Hokage was a Sarutobi — a great man, and Masuru-sama’s final danna. He mentored Tsunade after Masuru passed. Their current head, Hiruzen’s son Asuma, isn’t as involved in politics, but visits every few years with his family.”

She ticked off another finger. “The Inuzuka are warriors with a long history stretching back to the imperial days. They prize strength, loyalty, and family. Be polite, but don’t mistake them for fools because of their more… primal manners.”

Then came a long, almost reluctant pause.

“The Hyūga,” Ino said finally, “are old. As old as the Uchiha. Insular, proud, and unbending. Their head, Hiashi, is difficult to please and even harder to impress. You’ll be polite, agreeable, and never, ever look him directly in the eye unless addressed.”

Sakura hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “And… the Uchiha?”

At once, the air in the room shifted. Jiraiya’s face darkened, his brow twitching. He exchanged a glance with Ino — a silent conversation passing between them.

Ino gave a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Lord Madara isn’t in the province currently,” she said curtly. “He won’t be attending the Solstice. Only Lady Mikoto will be there, and perhaps her youngest son, Sasuke.”

Jiraiya’s voice, when he spoke, was gruff. “It’s best to keep interactions brief.”

He met Sakura’s gaze then, and the weight in his eyes startled her. The hearth crackled softly, the winter wind rattling against the shoji screens. And in that small room, the ghosts of old wars and buried blood feuds pressed close. The Solstice was coming. And Sakura would have to be perfect.

Sakura set down her cup and spoke hesitantly.

“Ino-San, Lady Mikoto, she was so strange. It felt like she wasn’t really… there. And when you introduced me, she just—” Sakura trailed off, uneasy. “It frightened me a little.”

Ino sighed, her expression softening. She sighed softly as she moved closer to the fire.

“She unsettles everyone,” Ino admitted, cupping her own tea. “She wasn’t always like that. Years ago, Lady Mikoto was the jewel of the province; beautiful, caring, witty. Lord Fugaku’s death changed her, it isn’t easy to recover from the death of a spouse.”

Sakura hesitated. “How did he die?”

Ino glanced around out of habit, though they were alone save for Jiraiya quietly tending the fire.

“Some years ago,” Ino said quietly, “there were rumours of unrest in the Uchiha compound.”

“Whispers of the clan’s military ambitions, of them plotting against the Council. The Uchiha clan have always been the nations greatest strength, but also a dangerous liability. No one dared speak it aloud, but everyone knew something was brewing, it was at this time Fugaku-san was leading the clan in Lord Madara’s stead. Then the Hokage summoned Madara back from his travels.”

“Travelling?” Sakura’s brow furrowed.

“Of a sort,” Ino murmured. “He’d been away for many years, floating around the great nations, ever since… well, ever since the troubles in the Land of Grass began. Madara was always ambitious, ever since he was a child. Secretly, everyone was relived when Madara left, men like him only come around once every other century- the sort of men that carry something so ancient within them, that they become an unstoppable force like the emperors of old.

He always said the province was never enough for him, it was too small, too plain and already conquered. So he set out and never looked back, ‘off searching for his empire’ we used to joke, In his absence, Fugaku-san took charge over the clan and by extension the police force and the military and that’s when the problems began. Unrest in the Uchiha always means danger. Madara is the only person alive who can control them.”

She took a long sip of tea.

“Shortly before his return, Fugaku was found floating in Uchiha Lake. Then days later Madara returned and took control over the clan once more. Officially, it was an accident. Too much sake, a stumble, the cold water. But everyone knew it wasn’t an accident. No one dares say who did it. No one ever will.”

Sakura shivered, the warmth of the room doing little to chase off the chill in her spine.

“So the Uchiha revolt… was it real?”

Ino gave a brittle little smile. “We’ll never know for certain. But you don’t summon Madara Uchiha in secret for a trifling squabble. And the timing was… convenient. Fugaku gone, the unrest vanished. Mikoto shattered. Madara more powerful than ever.”

A log cracked in the fire. Sakura drew her knees up, watching the flames. Sakura’s gaze drifted to the shadows dancing in the corners of the room, her heart thudding.

Some years ago, a man drowned in the lake.

And no one said a word.

She wondered how many secrets floated beneath those waters still.

Uchiha Military Outpost - Natsu

The wind howled over the walls of the Natsu outpost, tugging at the trees that clung to the mountain’s edge. Itachi stood alone in the courtyard, the snow crunching softly beneath his boots as he brought a cigarette to his lips. The ember flared briefly in the darkness, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw and the tired set of his eyes.

The air was bitter, clean, sharp enough to sting the lungs. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke coil and vanish into the night. The taste of smoke lingering on his tongue as he flicked away the ash. He didn’t usually smoke. It was a habit he’d picked up years ago, and half abandoned. But tonight, with the sky heavy and the cold gnawing through his uniform, he needed something to anchor him.

Footsteps approached. Heavy, deliberate. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Itachi.”

Madara’s voice broke the stillness, deep and commanding. Always the same, whether in council, on the battlefield, or here in the quiet dead of night. It carried the weight of centuries. He could feel his uncle stand beside him, looking straight forward.

Itachi said nothing. He drew on the cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

“There’s a meeting at dawn. Minato’s sent word for my return.” Madara’s tone was clipped, unreadable.

Itachi inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. He knew Madara disapproved of the cigarettes. The old man considered it a vulgar, undisciplined habit. But as ever, he said nothing about it. Perhaps it was beneath him. Or perhaps, Itachi thought darkly, it was a test.

Madara lingered a moment longer, his gaze unreadable in the moonlight, then turned and walked away, his cloak trailing through the snow. Itachi closed his eyes, and the cold around him blurred, becoming another winter, another lifetime ago.

He was ten years old, standing at the threshold of the Uchiha estate, watching Madara prepare to leave the Land of Fire. The air then had smelled of smoke and distant snow. His father’s hand rested heavily on his shoulder.

“You’ll go with him,” Fugaku had said, his voice low and tight. “You’ll watch, and you’ll listen. You’ll learn what you can, and you’ll tell me everything.”

Itachi hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t needed to. The look in his father’s eyes told him it wasn’t a request.

Madara had crouched before him, ruffling his hair with a rare, almost indulgent fondness. “The future of this clan isn’t in old men’s hands, boy,” Madara said. “It’s in yours.”

And so they left.

For months, Itachi travelled with him: across the borderlands, through war-torn provinces, to courts and encampments where power shifted with the seasons and men bartered lives like coin. Madara spoke to generals and nobles, drank with outlaws, and brokered alliances with warlords who held territories larger than the entire Fire Province.

At night, around small fires, Madara would talk of things Itachi had never heard before. “The Hokage’s lands are too small, too tame,” he’d say. “We could be so much more. A clan like ours wasn’t made to kneel to lesser men.”

And Itachi believed him. 

He wrote letters home, dutifully recounting Madara’s travels and dealings, as his father had ordered. At first, it felt like a small betrayal — then, a duty. But as the months passed, and Madara’s plans grew grander, darker, something in Itachi shifted.

When he finally returned to the province, Madara continuing eastward to pursue further alliances, the Uchiha compound felt changed. Smaller, suffocating. Fugaku sat taller in council, his words loud and proud. But beneath the surface, the household was splintered. Whispers in corridors, arguments behind closed doors. The clan was dividing, the old loyalties fraying.

Fugaku’s ambition had stoked the fires of unrest, but he lacked the vision to control them. He promised the elders power, promised the younger men glory  and yet, every decision he made fractured them further.

Itachi saw it clearly, even if his father could not. And in that clarity came another decision.

He began writing to Madara instead.

Warning him of the discontent brewing in his absence, of the factions forming against him, of Fugaku’s growing desperation. The replies were rare, brief, but Itachi knew they were read. Madara began keeping him closer, ensuring he remained his eyes within the province.

For years, Itachi walked that thin line. Between loyalty and survival, between blood and duty. By the time he turned eighteen, Fugaku was weeks away from open revolt.

Rumours churned through the province like wildfire. Elders whispering of betrayal, younger men eager for a fight. The Hokage’s council sensed it too. Minato summoned Madara home under the guise of diplomacy, but it was clear to everyone what it truly meant.

Itachi had already been given his task.

A letter arrived that morning.

No seal, no signature. Only the faint scent of old ink and blood clinging to the paper.

“The farmer does not wait for the blight to claim all his fields before taking the sickle to his crop. You know what must be done.”

Itachi folded it once, slid it into the inner pocket of his cloak, and said nothing.

By evening, the clouds had thickened over the Uchiha compound, a low mist curling along the narrow streets like something alive. Lanterns glowed dimly behind shoji screens. Conversations were hushed. Every face that passed him wore the same expression: tight, watchful, wary.

A clan devouring itself.

He saw it in the way men averted their eyes, in the sudden silences as he passed. Mothers clutching children close, young men with their hands resting too comfortably on the hilts of their swords. Fear had settled over the Uchiha like a sickness, and Fugaku had been its cause.

In his blind, grasping ambition, his father had undone them.

The factions he’d created, the lies he’d spread, the promises he’d made — they hung around the compound like funeral cloth, and Itachi could feel the weight of it pressing against his chest. It was too late now to undo the damage. The old ways were crumbling, and if left unchecked, they would drag the clan into ruin with them.

That night, Itachi went to his father’s chamber.

The house was quiet. His mother slept lightly, one hand resting over the cover, her breathing soft in the dark. Fugaku sat at his desk, a single candle burning low, shadows sharpening the lines of his face.

He looked older than Itachi remembered. The months of scheming, of forcing the clan to choose sides, had worn him thin. But there was still pride in his eyes when he looked up.

“Itachi,” Fugaku said, surprised. “What is it?”

“I have news,” Itachi answered, his voice steady. “About him. The compound has ears.”

Fugaku’s gaze sharpened. The old paranoia flickered to life, and for a moment, Itachi saw a ghost of the man his father had once been — shrewd, ruthless, capable.

“Where?” Fugaku asked, rising to his feet.

“The lake.”

A heartbeat’s pause. Then Fugaku nodded, reaching for his cloak.

Mikoto stirred in the futon. “Where are you going?” Her dark eyes immediately focusing in her husband and then trailing over to see her eldest son.

“Water,” Fugaku murmured. “Go back to sleep.”

She made a faint sound of protest, then settled again.

They left the house in silence.

The compound was still. Snow had begun to fall, a light dusting over the roofs and walkways. Their footsteps crunched softly as they made their way down the narrow path toward the lake at the southern edge of the estate.

Itachi walked a few paces ahead, his expression unreadable. He could feel the letter against his chest, a phantom weight. Fugaku was tense behind him. He felt it in the way the man’s steps slowed as they neared the water, how his gaze flicked left and right, hunting for unseen threats. They reached the small pier, the wooden boards dusted with snow. The lake stretched out before them, dark and silent, the far shore lost to mist.

Fugaku stopped.

Something in the air shifted.

“Itachi,” he said quietly, “what is this?”

Itachi didn’t turn. He kept his eyes on the water, on the faint shimmer of the moon reflected there. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Do you remember,” Itachi asked, his voice soft, “when you told me a leader must be willing to bloody his own hands to protect the clan?”

Fugaku’s expression hardened. He took a careful step closer. “This isn’t the way, son. Whatever Madara’s told you—”

“I watched you,” Itachi went on, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I watched you tear this clan apart. Turn brother against brother. Whisper lies. Fan the flames of revolt. You’ve made us weak.”

“I did what was necessary,” Fugaku snapped. “To keep our people free. You think Madara would do any different? He’d drag us into his wars. Use us as pawns in his games of empire.”

“Madara is a tyrant,” Itachi agreed. “But you… you’re a fool.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. The wind rippled over the water. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Fugaku’s voice was low, rough with something like desperation. “I’m your father.”

“I know.”

Itachi moved.

Fugaku tried to reach for his sword — a half-second too slow. Itachi’s hand closed around his wrist, spun him, and drove him back toward the edge of the pier.

Fugaku stumbled, cursing, and then Itachi’s other hand was at his throat, forcing him down.

The water was freezing, a shock even through the thick winter clothes. Fugaku thrashed, striking out blindly, but Itachi held him firm, forcing his head beneath the surface.

Bubbles broke the water. A muffled shout, garbled and wet.

Fugaku’s hands clawed at Itachi’s arms, the old strength still there, the desperate refusal to die. But Itachi had long since stopped fearing him.

He held his father down as the struggles weakened, as the bubbles slowed. Until the lake was still again.

Then, with a final effort, he pushed the lifeless body away, letting it sink into the black water.

The faint ripples swallowed the last traces of Fugaku Uchiha.

Itachi stood there a moment longer, his breath clouding in the night air, the snow falling soft around him.

His hands were numb.

Without looking back, he turned from the lake and walked into the darkness.

In the morning, the clan would whisper of an accident.

A slip on the ice, a drunken fall. No one would speak of murder. Not openly.

Madara would say nothing, but when their eyes met in council, there would be the faintest trace of approval.

And Itachi would carry the weight of this night for the rest of his life.

Chapter Text

Hokage Province - Winter

The little bell above the shop door chimed softly as Sakura and Ino stepped into the jeweller’s. The warm glow of lamps reflected off rows of delicate hairpins and combs, each one inlaid with pearl, jade, and glimmering gemstones. A faint, pleasant scent of rose hung in the air. Sakura lingered near a case of lacquered kanzashi, admiring one shaped like a crescent moon, the silver shimmering pale and cold under the light.

Ino strode ahead, her long hair swaying behind her in a neat, silk-wrapped fall. “We’ve only got a little time. I need to find you something decent for tonight or you’ll be the only girl there in last season’s hair sticks.” Ino appeared at her shoulder, holding a pair of combs adorned with pale blue glass beads.

“These suit you better,” Ino said, her tone gentle but firm. “Something understated, and delicate but still faithful to the winter theme. You know the geisha back in Konoha have been going wild over the glass bead hair pins, it’s all the range.”

Sakura nodded, sensing the passion beneath her sister’s words. She let Ino pick out her hairpins and some other items to be worn tonight, she gazed at the shopkeeper wrapping them carefully in silk, handling the delicate pieces with practices ease.

As they stepped back into the crisp winter afternoon, Ino pulled her cloak tighter. The streets of the town bustled with preparations: banners fluttered, stalls sold roasted chestnuts and sweet red bean cakes, and children darted between their elders, bundled in bright scarves. The town beyond the Hokage’s province was alive with the early hush of winter. A bright morning sun crept between the roofs of quiet houses, and a light frost glittered across the cobblestones as Sakura followed Ino down the narrow streets. The air smelled of chilled earth, and Sakura tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she glanced at the pale sky above.

Sakura hurried after her, nerves coiling in her stomach. The words ‘tonight’ rang loud in her mind. She’d been told about the Winter Solstice gathering for almost five days now, but the knowledge of what it meant settled heavier with each passing hour. It wasn’t a party. It was a ceremonial gathering, a festival older than the Hidden Province itself — and for the first time, Sakura would attend not as a child or a guest, but as an apprentice representing the Senju name.

Ino glanced at the lowering sun and quickened her pace. “Listen carefully, Sakura. When we get back, you’ll bathe, and the hairdresser Lady Tsunade personally employs will come. No rouge tonight, just a little lip tint and pale powder.”

Ino laughed at her little sisters nervous face.

”Don’t look so sour Sakura, I’ll be there too. It’s your first proper party here but the first is always the scariest, you’ll do fine!’’

Sakura kept stride beside her, heart beginning to quicken. She’d entertained before, in tea houses and banquets, but this… this was a different kind of gathering.

“It’s just such a change from Konoha, I used to think the Okiya was grand but- everything’s different now. Ancient traditional parties, all the politics, just how big and ceremonial everything is- I’m not surprised Mother chooses to avoid it.” Sakura lamented.

Ino’s voice softened. “Lady Tsunade might not spend much time in the province but once she was appointed heir to the clan she spent years here, rubbing shoulders with the clan heads and partaking in these traditions. This is your future, you understand? Every woman there will be watching you, every man assessing you. This is the first time they’ll truly see you as Tsunade’s heir, not just another apprentice. You don’t have to outshine anyone, but you have to carry yourself like a Senju, you’ve got the reputation of two Hokage resting on your shoulders. Understood?”

Sakura swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good girl.”

”What’s the plan for this evening then? Once we’re at the party.” Sakura asked.

“An hour before sundown,” Ino went on, “we go to the Nara compound. There’ll be formal greetings with the clan heads, first we have to make introduction with the Nara’s themselves. Lord Shikaku is pleasant enough and Lady Yoshino is a good friend of mine, we’ll have to watch out for the Hyuga’s though, Lord Hiashi is especially bitter during the winter months and his heir Neji- well despite being very stupidly handsome- that’s about as far as his good qualities go.

From there, carriages take us into the forest. There’ll be a fire, monks chanting sutras. It’s ancient. One of the few rites left untouched by politics.”

Sakura muttered, not impressed. “Sounds like something out of a story book.” 

Ino’s expression softened. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see. Like stepping out of time.”

The Senju estate was a quiet rush of activity when they returned. Bath water steamed in the private rooms.

Sakura had been ushered into the steaming water which has an odd green tint to it.

”Kanna-san?”

”Yes, Sakura-sama. Is the temperature to your liking?” The old lady put down the stack of towels she was carrying and made her way to the brass tub Sakura was sitting in.

”Its wonderful but- why is the water green?”

Kanna smiled and went to grab a jar from one of the medicine cabinets under the sink. “We put green tea extract in the water, it helps brighten the skin Sakura-sama.”

”You know, there’s really no need for such formality Kanna-san,” Sakura pouted, as a maid came to scrub her back while another began detangling her hair. “I’d feel much better if you just called me Sakura!”

”Of course, Sakura-sama.” Kanna teased as she left the bathroom, leaving Sakura sulking in the tub. 

The hairdresser arrived with her box of combs and brushes, setting to work on Sakura’s damp hair with deft, careful fingers. Despite the decades of experience the hairdresser had, it didn’t stop Sakura from feeling tender headed as though her scalp had been burnt. Ino was pottering around the room with two maids flicking through kimono. Ino had already picked out a grey kimono some days ago for her to wear but at the last minute decided against it. Claiming the pale blue hair beads they picked up today would clash with the grey.

The hairdresser pulled Sakura’s hair into a half-up, half-down style. The top half of her hair was tightly braided and wound into a bun that was pinned with the pale blue hairpin and the rest of her hair was kept loose down her back. Some weeks before she arrived here, Aunty had given her a haircut and her hair now fell to the middle of her back. 

“Ino-san, what’s the current styles for hair length?’’ She asked.

”Hm?’’ Ino turned away from the kimono racks. “Well, plenty of lower class geisha have had their hair short for the last decade, the Depression hasn’t been too kind. But in Konoha it’s still the same as always, any length from shoulder to mid back. As long as there’s enough hair for the style of their Okiya it’s not an issue.”

”Does the Senju Okiya even have a signature hairstyle? I know Mother wears her hair low but Karin does all sorts with hers.”

”Yes- and no. Did you ever notice that purple diamonds that Lady Tsunade has on her forehead?”

”Yes!” Sakura exclaimed, nearly bumping into the hairdresser. “Lady Kushina has one too! Does it mean something?”

“ I’m sure you’ve heard of Mito Uzumaki? She was the common ancestor between the Senju and the Uzumaki and without her, Lord First wouldnt have created Konoha. So many of the traditional Senju practices and traditions are just variations of Uzumaki teachings, which is why both Tsunade-san and Kushina-sama have the same seal on their foreheads, it’s a shared tradition. Over the years they’ve developed their own style, wearing the hair loose or in a low ponytail or the half-up half-down style you’re wearing now are typical of Senju but you’re also able to wear any Uzumaki style too. As for Karin, well she’s always done whatever she wanted.”

”I wonder what lies shes spreading about me back in Konoha,” Sakura glowered, the bitterness and anger dripping from her words.

”It will do you no good to waste time thinking about her, Lady Tsunade has dealt with Karin, now-“ Ino stopped infront of a black kimono with silver and red cherry blossoms and a silver obi. “I think we’ve found the one ladies.”

”Are you sure, Ino-sama? I thought you wanted a more subtle kimono?” One of the maids spoke up.

Sakura craned her neck to look at the kimono, she wasn’t sure what the issue was. The kimono looked suitable enough, the cherry blossoms were small and dainty and the silver obi was more of a light grey. It was only when they plucked it off the rack and turned it around that Sakura gasped. On the back of the kimono was the Senju crest, almost as wide as the shoulder span of the robe, hand embroidered in the most light-catching silver thread. It would put all eyes on her, every step she took would shine light onto the Senju symbol on her back.

Ino meant to make a statement, Sakura was sure of it, and what better what to do so than with a geisha’s shield, her kimono.

Hokage Estate

The first light of dawn seeped through the paper screens of the Hokage war chamber, casting long, fragile shadows across the polished wood floor. The air was cool and crisp, thick with the scent of ink and the faint aroma of brewing tea. Outside, the gardens lay still, the early morning chirp of birds filled the silent and tense room.

Around the heavy oak table sat the province’s most powerful leaders: Madara Uchiha, shrouded in his dark robes like a storm cloud; Minato Namikaze, the calm yet weary Hokage; Shikaku Nara, eyes sharp and calculating; Kakashi Hatake, relaxed but watchful; Asuma Sarutobi, his usual smirk replaced by a grave expression; Hiashi Hyūga, regal and cold; Neji Hyūga, seated beside his clan’s head; and Jiraiya, the seasoned diplomat with a mischievous glint behind his tired eyes.

Minato broke the silence with a measured breath. “The war in the Land of Grass has dragged on too long. Their harvests have failed, and refugees strain our borders. We need a plan and fast.”

Shikaku’s fingers tapped the table rhythmically. “The refugee situation is dire. Another month of fighting and our villages will be overwhelmed. The towns near the border have been drowned with refugees, we simply don’t have the resources for all of them and our own citizens. I urge peace talks. If the conflict spreads, we won’t withstand the consequences.”

Kakashi nodded in agreement, his one visible eye narrowing. “If the Land of Rivers falls next, we’ll have enemies on two fronts. Not to mention another food supplier out of the game. I recommend sending envoys to broker ceasefires immediately.”

Madara’s voice cut through the room, low and authoritative. “Peace is a luxury for the weak, we have a golden opportunity here. The Uchiha have come prepared. Our landholdings have increased — vast farmlands now feed not only our country but many starving nations.”

Hiashi’s gaze was icily steady. “We Hyūga stand for the stability of the Land of Fire , not for the private interests of any clan.”

A flicker of a smirk curved Madara’s lips. “How very noble of you. But when famine comes clawing at your gates, Hiashi, you’ll find your principles make for a poor meal.”

A heavy silence hung between the leaders.

Asuma’s tone was sober. “The Land of Wind relies heavily on us for food. We are their only food source nowadays.”

Madara glanced towards Jiraiya. “You’ve spent time among the Wind. What’s your counsel?”

Jiraiya’s mouth curled into a somber frown. “The Kazekage’s desperate. His country’s starving, his armies restless. He’ll bargain with whoever feeds his people.”

Madara let the words hang before continuing smoothly. “And if the Land of Waves topples next, as it surely will, where will we be then? An alliance with the Kazekage, his armies in exchange for our grain — it strengthens our hand before the inevitable.”

The room thickened with unease.

”The Uchiha have fed the starving nations, we have done what no other clan has bothered to do-“ Madara was cut off to a flurry of shouting, each voice layered over the next, creating a bubble of anger.

“You Uchiha just scheme away—”

“Feeding the starving isn’t grounds for a military alliance—”

“More soldiers won’t solve this—”

Madara rose, the movement sharp, his dark robes whispering against the floor as he crossed to the window. The dawn cast pale gold across his silhouette. He let the moment stretch before speaking again.

“Lord Hokage-“ madara turned to the blonde. “It’s no secret an alliance with the Land of Wind is needed should we want an end to this war once and for all, why wait?”

Minato’s voice was firm, his eyes steely. “We must secure the Land of Wind’s alliance on our terms. The Kazekage is ill, and his heir, Gaara, will soon lead. I intend to open talks with him instead. A younger, more progressive leader.”

Madara’s smile was thin and unreadable. “A delicate game, Hokage.”

“One necessary for peace,” Minato replied crisply. “And for our survival.”

Neji’s voice was calm but firm. “This tension threatens to fracture us. We ourselves arguing as though we are in opposition to one another. The people, the clans—they watch closely. Resolve this before division tears us apart.”

Madara’s chuckle was dark. “Passion from a boy still learning his place.”

Minato did not respond, his expression hardened.

The room grew tense again as the leaders weighed their words carefully, each aware of the precarious balance of power.

”Gentlemen, gentlemen! “ jiraiya began, his easy tone diffusing the tension. Jiraiya broke the silence with a playful smirk. “ It’s clear we aren’t getting anywhere like this.If we continue we will be at each other’s throats by midday, why not take some time out, freshen the mind and ease tensionse. My home. Wine, good food — perhaps a geisha’s charm to soothe our nerves. Madara-san you’ve been away at the border for so long, surely a night of relaxation can bring some much needed productivity to our council?”

Madara raised his head slightly in acknowledgment, his eyes glinting at the mention of geisha.

”Perfect, let’s get through the Winter Solstice tonight and then tomorrow evening we’ll convene at mine.” Jiraiya beamed, wiggling his eyebrows at Minato who just sighed.

Shikaku gave a rare chuckle. “I for one welcome the distraction. These maps and reports have me seeing ghosts.”

Madara remained still, his face unreadable as he rose from his seat. “We adjourn. Prepare for the days ahead.”

As the leaders filed out into the soft light of dawn, the weight of impending decisions hung heavy — the war would rage on, alliances would be tested, and in the shadows, plans would unfold.

Nara Compound

By the time they stepped into the Senju carriage, the sky was deepening into dark blue, it was barely a few hours after midday but the darkness was rapidly approaching. Sakura shuffled in her robes, the obi was exceptionally heavy and the weight of the Senju crest on her back didn’t help either. She looked towards Ino who, as usual, looked perfect. The older geisha had this confidence about her that Sakura envied, Ino never looked out of place or felt out of place, she was perfectly built for this world. Sakura only wished she had half as much confidence as her older sister did.

”Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?” Sakura asked, her voice quiet.

Ino glanced at her before tutting, “Now Sakura, it really isn’t the time to be getting philosophical. We’ve arrived. Save your question for later, we have a ceremony to attend to.”

Ino was right, Sakura took a deep breath and focused. Now was not the time to be doubting herself or her abilities, she was a fighter, a survivor. 

The Nara compound gates stood open, flanked by tall stone lanterns. Beyond them, the wide courtyard had been swept clean, and servants lined the path, heads bowed. Ino led Sakura forward with practiced ease, pausing to exchange bows and formal greetings.

Clan heads clustered in quiet groups: Hiashi Hyūga with his nephew Neji at his shoulder, Ino was right, Neji was handsome. Sakura could feel her cheeks heat up when she looked at him. He looked like how she imagined dashing noble lords to be. His long hair silky smooth and his pristine white robes made him look ethereal. Close by was Shikaku Nara in long dark robes trimmed with fur, Kurenai from the Yuhi clan in her silks, Hana Inuzuka standing like a hawk amongst lesser nobles. Even the Hokage himself arrived, smiling and quietly dignified.

Sakura felt eyes on her, measuring, judging. She kept her gaze low, steps graceful.

When the sun hovered on the horizon, the carriages arrived — black lacquered things with the clan crests painted in gold on the sides. One by one, the guests boarded. Sakura and Ino shared a carriage with Shikamaru and his mother Yoshino, who gave them polite nods.

“May I present Sakura of the ancient house of Hashirama Senju.” Ino began.

Sakura bowed low, holding the pose just a breath longer than custom dictated. “It is my honour to stand among the descendants of the Land of Fire’s oldest bloodlines. May your fortunes be as enduring as the roots of your forests.”

A few murmurs rose at that, and Shikaku’s gaze lingered. “Well spoken,” he said at last, though his voice was clipped, his manner measured. “You carry your family’s name with grace.”

“Thank you, Lord Nara.”

Yoshino spoke, breaking the formality with a grin. “And don’t let my husband’s sour face fool you — any girl brave enough to show up to a Solstice gathering wearing Senju colours in this political climate has my respect.”

Sakura smiled, a flicker of warmth amidst the tension. “I was taught that courage grows quickest in harsh winters, Lady Yoshino.”

”Yes, it certainly does! Gods Ino you certainly know how to pick them, it feels like an age since we last saw you.”

”You know how busy it can be Yoshino-chan, between here, Konoha and my travels with Jiraiya-sama I barely have a moment to myself.” Ino sighed dramatically, Shikaku rolled his eyes at this.

”You work far too hard! This lazy runt doesn’t work hard enough,” Yoshino said while swatting at her husband with her hand. Shikaku shuffled away muttering something about ‘troublesome women’.

”And you’ve taken on a new younger sister! She’s certainly the prettiest of them all.” Sakura blushed at hearing this and bowed in thanks.

”Yes, Sakura is quite the gem. Lady Tsunade certainly has an eye for the rare ones.”

”Oh certainly, I would expect nothing less from Tsunade-san.’’ she said to Ino before turning to the apprentice.” Sakura-san how is Tsunade-san these days? I feel like we haven’t seen her in years even though she was only here some months ago.” Yoshino asked her.

Truthfully Sakura didn’t really know, she had written to Mother a number of times but the most she received were short responses from Aunty giving her general updates on Konoha and the Okiya.

”Very well, Yoshino-sama, but dreadfully busy. The Okiya and clan duties keep her very occupied, she has sent me here in her stead and wishes everyone good fortune.” She said, keeping her response short and sweet. Yoshino nodded understandably.

”You know Sakura, you really do have the most wonderful eyes. I’m sure you hear it often but I can’t stop staring at them!” 

Sakura chuckled politely, “They say a Senju’s gaze carries the memory of old forests and first life, perhaps you caught a flicker of it.”

Ino’s lips twitched in approval as yoshino gushed over how poetic Sakura was, much to the annoyance of Shikaku.

“If you troublesome women have quite finished,” he nodded towards the window, they had arrived at the apex of the hill.

They clambered out of the carriage into a clearing surrounded by ancient trees, branches bare against the bleeding sky. A lake shimmered nearby, dark and still as glass. At the clearing’s center stood a great pyre, wood piled high. Around it, rows of monks in saffron robes stood with their hands pressed together in prayer. The carriages emptied. Guests took their places in a great ring around the pyre, facing west. The air was sharp with cold, but no one spoke.

Sakura followed Ino dutifully as they went to stand next to Jiraiya who was besides the Hokage and Kushina. Sakura began to shiver in the cold, everyone was silent save for the monks. 

And then — the sun touched the horizon.

A hush fell.

Sakura felt something loosen in her chest as she watched the last light spill in gold over the land. A fading ray of light against the midnight blue skies. The branches of the trees were black against it, like ink strokes on parchment. She held her breath as the light became no more. She understood, in that moment, why the old clans gathered here. It wasn’t about politics or appearances. It was about time. About the turning of the earth, the unrelenting cycle of light and dark, death and rebirth.

It felt holy.

Somewhere behind her, monks began chanting — low, steady sutras that vibrated in the air, a sound older than memory. Servants approached with long torches, setting the pyre ablaze. The flames leapt into the growing dark, sparks rushing like fireflies.

They moved to the edge of the gathering as the flames roared to life, the warmth a welcome balm against the chill. Sakura felt something settle in her chest — an ancient, silent understanding that stretched beyond words. The fire, the forest, the gathered clans — it was all one great, breathing entity, and for the first time, she felt her own place within it.

She closed her eyes, letting the chant wash over her, the sound of crackling fire and distant wind merging with the beating of her heart. In that moment, she was not merely a geisha-in-training. She was Sakura Senju, a thread in the vast, unbroken tapestry of their world.

The clans stood in silence as the sutras rolled on. It was a memorial, Ino had said. For those lost in the year past. For the nameless dead of the war in Grass. For ancestors and old gods.

Sakura bowed her head, a sudden, unexpected ache behind her ribs. She felt as though she was witnessing somethung bigger than herself, as though all the secrets of the universe were revealing themselves to her, if only she had the courage to look closely.

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the world bathed in dusky hues of violet and indigo. Lanterns glimmered along the narrow paths of the Nara forest, their flickering light trailing like fallen stars amid the trees. The carriages had arrived, taking the guests back to the Nara compound.

The compound was different to the others she had seen. Whereas the Uchiha and Senju estates were tall structures that towered imposingly, the Nara compound was all one level and filled with warm earth tones and neutral wood panels. It actually felt like a home with soul and the steady thrum of life. 

Ino leaned in, her breath visible in the cooling air. “This is your moment, Sakura. Hold your head high. Remember, you’re a Senju, maybe not officially or by blood but that doesn’t matter to anyone here. Every glance, every word you give tonight, carries the weight of your name.”

Sakura nodded, the knot of nerves in her stomach tight but steady. 

“You look radiant,” Ino murmured, adjusting a strand of Sakura’s hair. “They’ll remember you.”

The two stepped forward, approaching the gathering dignitaries. The first to greet them were Asuma Sarutobi and his wife Kurenai. Asuma inclined his head politely, his expression neutral but not unfriendly.

“Ino-san,” he said. “You honor us.”

“And you, Sarutobi-sama,” Ino replied smoothly, gesturing to Sakura. “Allow me to present Sakura of the Senju okiya.”

His gaze settled on Sakura, appraising and sharp. “A Senju, hm? The years have been unkind to your house, but the blood endures. My father, Lord Third, was very close to both Masuru-san and Tsunade-san, I hope to make your acquaintance further, it’s what the old man would have wanted.”

Sakura dipped into a graceful bow. “The roots of our tree run deep. Even in winter, they endure beneath the frost. And thank you Sarutobi-sama, I am certain I will find support in your clan just as my predecessors did.”

For the briefest of moments, a glimmer of approval flickered in Asuma’s eyes.

Kurenai broke the tension with a warm, booming laugh. “Ha! I like her already. A girl with backbone. Ino, you always did have good taste in your little sisters.”

Sakura smiled at the woman, grateful for the levity. “Thank you, Kurenai-sama. It’s an honor to be here.”

Ino steered Sakura toward the next group — the Hyūga. Hiashi and Neji stood apart from the others, dressed in pristine white, their expressions cool as moonlight. Hiashi’s gaze swept over Sakura and Ino with the detachment of a hawk observing prey.

”Lord Hyūga,” Ino said, catching the man’s attention. “I trust you are well.”

”Quite, I see you have a new shadow.” Ino’s eye twitched at his dismissive tone but she did well to hide it, Sakura was not nearly as poised, struggling to fight the urge to kick him.

”Yes Lord Hyūga, I am Sakura of the Senju Okiya.” She said, bowing reluctantly.

“Senju,” Hiashi greeted coolly. “Your clan’s presence has long been… absent from these gatherings.”

Sakura could feel his piercing gaze, she felt like an ant under the microscope, Hiashi’s pale eyes sent shivers down her spine.

“I am here to amend that, Lord Hyūga,” Sakura said, her voice even. “The Senju roots run deep still.”

A faint arch of his brow, then a dismissive nod. “We shall see if the younger branches bear worthwhile fruit.”

Ino tensed beside her, but Sakura only bowed. “I welcome the chance to prove myself.”

Neji’s gaze flicked to her then, the barest glimmer of something less cold — not warmth, but perhaps interest. He inclined his head politely. “Welcome to the province, Sakura-san.”

Before more could be said, the twi men walked away..

Sakura exhaled quietly, her pulse steadying. Ino leaned in. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let them rattle you.”

“I won’t,” Sakura murmured, and meant it.

The remaining introductions passed more smoothly — minor clan heads, merchants, diplomats — until finally, as the evening softened into wine and warmer conversation, a voice piped up behind her.

“You’ve got the most incredible eyes, you know.”

Sakura turned, startled, to find a young man, probably a year or two older than herself, with sun-bright blonde hair and a wide grin. He was dressed plainly, black and orange kimono robes with no design or pattern, but there was an ease to him, a warmth that contrasted with the stiff formality around them.

“I’m Naruto,” he added, offering a hand without ceremony.

Sakura blinked, then took it. “Sakura.”

His hand was warm and much larger than hers, it covered hers easily and she found herself smiling at the stranger.

“You’re with the Senju, right? I’ve never met a geisha from the Senju clan before, except for Granny Tsunade but she doesn’t count!.”

She allowed herself a small, amused smile. “I’d be more surprised if you had. We tend to keep to Konoha.”

Naruto grinned. “Well, their loss. Seriously though, your eyes — they’re like… like old poems talk about, you know? Those trees that stay green no matter the season.”

Sakura tilted her head, warmth kindling in her chest. “Senju trees are stubborn that way,” she said softly. “They endure, evergreen.”

”Yeah! Exactly, evergreen!” Naruto bubbled, he was rather loud but Sakura couldn’t find it in her to care. His blue eyes shone bright like the summer sky.

From behind her, she heard someone summon Naruto, he grinned at her sheepishly before excusing himself.

“Sakura, there you are! You’re not in the middle of something are you?” Ino asked, Sakura shook her head and Ino gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “Good. Now, the performances.”

God- the performance.

The one part that Sakura had been dreading the most, she and Ino weren’t the only geisha in attendance, there were actually quite a few. It was customary for geisha to put on a performance and this year it was a dance. Ino and two other geisha were to dance while Sakura played the flute and another geisha played a small hand-held drum. Sure, she had practiced her flute piece but it would be her first time playing the flute in such an important setting.

As the first notes of a flute drifted through the pavilion, all eyes turned to Sakura. She stepped forward, heart beating fiercely, and lifted the instrument to her lips. The melody was a lullaby, soft and haunting, a thread of silver weaving through the evening air.

Her fingers moved with practiced grace, each note a silent prayer, a story told without words. She felt the eyes on her — not just observing, but listening, connecting. For a fleeting moment, she was no longer the nervous apprentice but the proud bearer of her clan’s soul.

Ino rose gracefully and began her dance, accompanied by the other geisha — fluid, precise, a shimmering contrast to the solemnity of the flute. The geisha’s movements told stories of seasons, renewal, and the balance between strength and beauty.

As the dance ended, Sakura descended from the small stage, her cheeks flushed with a mix of relief and pride.

That was when Naruto appeared again.

He approached with a wide, easy smile, his bright blue eyes full of curious warmth. “Wow Sakura-chan! That was amazing! I didn’t know geisha could play the flute like that.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by his directness. “Thank you, Naruto-kun, the flute is a Senju specialty. I find it hard to believe you run in this circle but know so little of geisha,”

He scratched the back of his head, a bit sheepish. “I mean, I know a little about geisha, but I never actually spoken to one properly. They’re always so stiff and formal or busy entertaining old men at parties. What’s it really like?”

Sakura hesitated, then found herself intrigued by his genuine interest. “It’s- well it’s a path of discipline and respect, a way to honor our ancestors. Sometimes it feels like you’re a piece of living history.”

Naruto’s eyes grew wide. “Sounds tough. But you make it look… otherworldly.”

A faint smile tugged at Sakura’s lips. “It is. Sometimes the weight is heavy, but the moments like these—when you connect with others through music or dance—they remind me of the beauty in it all, the purpose and the importance of geisha.”

Naruto nodded, leaning in a little closer. “I get that. I’m always trying to prove I’m more than just a prankster. Like you, trying to show who you really are.”

Sakura felt a warmth beyond the firelight, a flicker of understanding. She gestured toward the tea set laid out nearby. “Would you like to see a tea ceremony? It is another way we honor tradition and build connection.”

His smile grew broader. “I’d love that.”

As she prepared the tea, carefully and deliberately, Sakura felt a surge of confidence. This was more than a performance — it was a chance to forge bonds, to represent the Senju spirit not just with skill but with heart.

Naruto watched every movement with awe, his usual bravado softened by genuine respect. His blue eyes followed every precise movement of her delicate hands.

When she handed him the delicate cup, their fingers brushed briefly. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them — the firelight, the gentle steam rising, and a promise of friendship, perhaps more, born in the quiet spaces between words.

Naruto took the cup with both hands, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Sakura-chan. This… this is beautiful. I never knew tea could be so important.”

Sakura smiled gently, feeling a rare ease settle within her. “It is not just tea, Naruto-san. It is respect, mindfulness, and connection. Each movement and gesture carries meaning—honoring those who came before and those who share this moment.”

He nodded thoughtfully, eyes shining with curiosity. “You make it sound like a kind of magic.”

She laughed softly. “In a way, it is. Magic woven from tradition and care.”

Naruto grinned. “I’m glad I asked. I want to learn more about all this—about geisha, your clan, and the stories behind it.”

Sakura’s heart lifted. “Perhaps one day I can tell you.”

He smiled warmly. “I’m all ears.”

Before the moment could stretch too long, Ino reappeared, her elegant presence drawing Sakura back to the flow of the evening.

“Come along, Sakura,” Ino said with a knowing smile. “There are many more faces to meet, and it’s time for a few more introductions.”

Sakura nodded, her nerves steadier now, bolstered by the brief but genuine connection with Naruto.

They moved together through the gathering, Ino guiding her to greet the remaining guests. Each introduction was a test, a chance to present herself as the Senju’s worthy heir.

As the evening deepened, conversations grew livelier, and Sakura found herself more comfortable engaging. She asked questions, shared small stories of her training, and listened with genuine interest to those around her. Ino’s dance performance became the evening’s centerpiece, celebrated with applause and murmurs of admiration. Sakura’s flute melodies still echoed softly in her mind, the memories steadying her.

Hours later, the party had grown to a close and Ino and Sakura walked out arm-in-arm, trailing behind Jiraiya who had gone on ahead, the three of them deciding to walk the short distance to Jiraiya’s estate.

The streets of the province were quiet, softened by a light mist that clung to the cobblestones and curled around the paper lanterns swaying in the midnight breeze. Sakura walked beside Ino, the chill of the night brushing against her flushed cheeks, her hair still pinned in its elaborate style. The air smelled faintly of burned incense and pine smoke from the great bonfire, and somewhere in the distance, a shamisen’s mournful notes carried through the darkness.

Neither of them spoke at first. The exhaustion of the evening — the formalities, the ceremony, the faces and names, and the weight of being watched — hung between them like a veil.

Sakura finally broke the silence. “I… I think I managed well tonight.”

Ino glanced at her, a small, proud smile tugging at her painted lips. “You were flawless. No stammering, no awkward silences, and you even made Shikaku Nara smirk. That’s a miracle in itself.”

Sakura gave a breath of laughter, hugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It was easier than I thought… once I remembered who I was.”

Ino’s gaze softened. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re a Senju. You have nothing to fear from anyone in those rooms. You belong there, Sakura.”

They rounded a bend where the lanterns grew sparser, and the night deepened around them. Sakura hesitated for a moment, then spoke, her voice low. “Naruto-san… he was kind. A little loud, a little reckless, but kind.”

Ino chuckled under her breath. “That’s one way to describe him.”

Sakura tilted her head, studying her friend. “You know him?”

“Oh, Sakura,” Ino grinned wickedly, stopping beneath a lone lantern and turning to face her. “Did you really not recognise him?”

Sakura frowned. “Recognise him?”

Ino leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “That’s Uzumaki Naruto.”

Sakura blinked, confused. “Uzumaki…?”

Ino raised a brow. “As in, the Hokage’s son.”

The words hit Sakura like a blow. She felt her stomach dip, her breath catching in her throat. “You’re lying.”

Ino laughed. “I swear on the Senju name. That loud, sunny boy you poured tea for is Minato-sama’s only child.”

Sakura stared at her, utterly gobsmacked, her mind racing to recall every word, every glance from earlier. The boy’s friendly grin, his open curiosity — and not once had he hinted at who he truly was.

“I had no idea,” Sakura whispered, a flush of mortification and disbelief colouring her cheeks.

Ino nudged her shoulder with a sly smile. “Don’t look so scandalised. He’s always like that — refuses to act like the heir of a nation. He hates the formality of these gatherings, so he blends in and talks to whoever he pleases. It drives the elders mad.”

Sakura ran a hand over her face. “I almost told him he was loud.”

“And kind,” Ino added pointedly. “Which he is. He’s rough around the edges, sure, but Naruto’s good to people.”

Sakura shook her head, a stunned smile pulling at her lips. “I can’t believe I spoke to the Hokage’s son like that. I can’t believe I spoke to Kushina-sama’s son like that.”

Ino gave a soft, approving laugh. “And you handled yourself like a proper Senju, which is probably why he liked you. You’re a lot like Tsunade-san, you do know she and Jiraiya-sama are his godparents?”

Sakura just groaned, the web tightened further. It really did unnerve her how everyone was connected.

They continued walking, the estate gates now in sight. The warmth of familiarity settled between them, and Sakura felt something unexpected — a strange lightness, a giddy little thrill in her chest.

“I suppose,” Sakura murmured, “it’s a good thing I didn’t spill the tea.”

Ino burst into laughter, linking her arm through Sakura’s. “It’s a very good thing.”

The two of them disappeared into the mist, their laughter chasing the night away.

Jiraiya’s Estate - Winter

“Sakura! Wake up!”

Rubbing her eyes groggily, she looked around and didn’t recognise her surroundings. This wasn’t her bedroom at the Senju estate.

”Earth to Sakura!” The voice called out, stiffly turning her head she saw Ino shaking her awake.

”Ino-Chan…what time is it?” Sakura yawned and stretched her arms out above her head.

She was wearing plain grey sleeping clothes, after rubbing her eyes further she realised she was in one of the spare rooms at Jiraiya’s home. 

“Nevermind the time! I just got word — Jiraiya-sama’s hosting a gathering tonight at his estate for the war council. And guess what? He’s summoned us.” Ino’s enthusiasm was usually contagious but Sakura was so tired she couldn’t do much more than yawn.

Sakura blinked, startled. “Tonight? But—”

“Don’t even start,” Ino grinned. “This is good, Sakura. Half those men you met at the Solstice will be there. You’ll get to properly acquaint yourself — talk to them without all the ceremonial stiffness. And no elders breathing down our necks.”

Sakura’s stomach fluttered. She wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves.

Regrettably, Jiraiya’s party was the day after the Winter Solstice. Ino had promised her the day off and Sakura planned to make the most of it  with lots of sleep, a hot bath and perhaps some light reading. Instead she was woken at the crack of dawn to make her way back to the Senju Estate to prepare for a day of activity.

”No more green bath water Kanna-san! I feel like I’m swamped by matcha.” Sakura called out to the amused woman.

”We can do pink next Sakura-sama, rose and hibiscus?” Kanna joked. Sakura’s eyes widened.

”Actually, that sounds quite pleasant.” Sakura said, scrubbing at her arm with a washcloth.

”Are you sure you don’t want any maids here to help you bathe Sakura-sama?”

Sakura just chuckled and waved the older woman away. Kanna was always so focused on sakura’s well-being it reminded her a little of Aunty.

Once out of the tub and bundled into a fluffy bathrobe, she sat at the table in the lounge and munched on a rice ball. The best part of living in the estate alone was she could walk around wearing whatever she wanted with no concerns over modesty and appropriateness. Back in the Okiya, mother was a stickler for being properly dressed and had all the maids be fully dressed for the day by the time they sat down for breakfast in the mornings. It was a nice change to be able to wander around in a bathrobe.

”Would you like some tea, Sakura-sama.” A maid asked her.

Sakura smiled kindly and put her rice ball down. “No thank you, Nanami-san, some water woukd be lovely though.”

Sakura had made it her mission to learn the names of every member of staff in the household. It was a tall order, there were ten maids, three footmen, five groundsmen, two cooks and a scullery maid, five housekeepers and a pair of washwomen. And that was just the reduced staff number, Kanna told her that once the Senju Okiya had been bustling, full of guests and clansmen with a while army of servants, now it was just Sakura and her household.

Within an hour of sunset, Sakura and Ino made their way to the party. Jiraiya’s estate was lively when they arrived, warm light spilling through the paper screens and the low thrum of laughter and conversation carrying through the night air.

Inside, the mood was nothing like the formal solemnity of the Solstice gathering. The war council had shed their uniforms and political masks for silk robes and loose hair. Jiraiya himself greeted them at the door with a broad, inebriated grin.

“My loveliest of flowers!” he boomed, swinging an arm around Ino’s shoulders. “Just what this dreary gathering needs.”

Sakura bowed neatly. “It’s an honour to be invited, Jiraiya-sama.”

He winked at her. “Keep those manners, girl. They’ll serve you well.”

Within the main salon, screens had been drawn back to reveal a low, polished table set with fine sake, lacquered dishes, and trays of delicacies. Cushions had been arranged in a half-circle, where men of influence reclined.

Sakura entered alongside Ino, both adorned in their formal okiya finery. Ino’s silk kimono was the palest lavender, embroidered with wisteria and falling petals, while Sakura’s was a dusk-blue patterned with silver cranes. Her hair was swept up in an elegant knot, the only ornament a slender ivory comb.

The room quieted for a moment at their arrival. Ino stepped forward with easy grace, bowing deeply. Sakura followed, her hands folded properly in her lap, head inclined in perfect deference. She felt the weight of a dozen gazes on her — some appraising, some curious, others unreadable.

The men murmured greetings. Minato Namikaze, the Hokage himself, sat at Jiraiya’s right. His presence lent the gathering an unusual gravity — and hinted at the conversations likely to follow when the entertainment ceased.

“Shall we begin?” Jiraiya said, gesturing toward the raised platform at the room’s far end. “I believe some music is in order before we drown ourselves in drink.”

Ino swept into a graceful bow and moved to the center of the room. Sakura settled herself on the platform, retrieving her flute from its silk wrap. As Ino took her place, Sakura drew a breath, the slender instrument cool against her fingers.

The first notes she played were soft, curling through the room like mist. It was a haunting melody, an old Konoha lullaby reworked into something languid and bittersweet. Ino moved with it, her sleeves trailing like smoke, each step precise yet fluid. The men watched in silence, the usual bravado subdued in the face of such craftsmanship.

Sakura allowed herself to forget, for a moment, the sharp eyes upon her. The music became a shield, a thread she could follow through the gathering’s undercurrents.

When the final notes faded, polite applause stirred the air. Ino bowed and withdrew to the side. Sakura replaced the flute, bowing low.

“Well done,” Minato said softly, his voice carrying just enough for them to hear.

Jiraiya clapped his hands. “Now then — drink, talk, and cards! I intend to make Shikaku-san part with half his estate before the night is through.”

A ripple of dry chuckles followed.

Sakura resumed her place at the edge of the room, as a serving girl replenished the sake. Ino, more practiced at such gatherings, slipped easily into conversation with Asuma and Hiashi. Sakura drew a careful breath and stepped forward as Kakashi Hatake, his face half-hidden as always, beckoned her with two fingers. Sakura knew all about Kakashi Hatake, brilliant, child prodigy, military legend, one of the nations most sought after bachelors. Both Ino and even Mother had tried to catch his eye before, to no avai.

“Senju-san,” he said lazily, eyes crinkling. “Or do you prefer Sakura-hime these days? Like Tsunade-hime used to.”

She offered him a composed smile. “I fear I’ve never been a princess of any kind, Hatake-sama.”

“Mm. Pity. I’d quite like to see a princess try to outwit Shikaku at shōgi. Would you?”

“I’ve no head for strategy,” she replied demurely. “Only for polite conversation and poorly composed poetry.”

“Now that I doubt,” Kakashi murmured. “A woman who plays flute like that has a clever mind somewhere behind those fierce eyes. Tell me  what’s the most interesting thing you’ve heard tonight?”

Sakura allowed herself a measured pause, as though weighing an innocent reply.

“That Shikaku-sama once lost three games in a row to a street gambler and has not touched dice since.”

Kakashi barked a laugh, startling a few of the men.

“Is that so, shikaku?” Kakashi called over his shoulder.

Shikaku snorted, raising his cup. “A clever woman always knows which stories to keep and which to spend, Hatake. Mind your tongue, or she’ll have your secrets next.”

The room rippled with low amusement. Sakura felt a thrill beneath her skin, not fear, but something sharper. This was a dance she could learn.

A servant arrived with a tray of cards and shōgi pieces. Jiraiya waved a hand. “Come, Shikaku, I’ll match you a round, and then let the lady  test her skill.”

As the men gathered around the table, Hiashi Hyūga approached Sakura. His face, as ever, was carved from stone, pale eyes unblinking. 

“Sakura.”

She bowed deeply. “Hyūga-sama.”

“I had not thought to expect your presence here.”

“I was honored by Jiraiya-sama’s hospitality, as always.”

A pause, heavy as storm air. Hiashi’s gaze was not unkind, but it was calculating — measuring her, as one might an antique blade.

“You carry your family’s name with grace,” he said at last.

Sakura kept her hands folded properly. “It is my duty, Hyūga-sama.”

“And your flute playing — commendable. Tsunade-dono would be… satisfied.”

The faintest emphasis, a warning and acknowledgment both. Sakura inclined her head.

“I am grateful for your approval.”

Hiashi moved on without another word. She exhaled slowly, releasing the knot between her shoulders.

Before she could retreat to her seat, Neji Hyūga intercepted her. Unlike his uncle, Neji’s pale eyes held a gleam of something livelier — not warmth, precisely, but the kind of sharp amusement she recognised in Ino on her more dangerous days.

“Sakura-san,” he said smoothly. “I had not realised you played so well, your performance tonight was far superior to that of last night’s.”

“I’m pleased you think so, Hyūga-sama.”

“I wonder,” he murmured, lowering his voice. “Do you have a favourite piece or do you merely play what your patrons request?”

Sakura allowed a small, knowing smile. “It depends on the patron. Some prefer old lullabies. Others, war marches.”

Neji’s smile crooked. “And which would I be, I wonder?”

“Something in between,” she said lightly. “A soldier’s song, perhaps — with a few notes bent out of tune.”

His laughter was soft, genuine. “You may be sharper than you look.”

“Or better at pretending.”

Before he could reply, Jiraiya called out, “Sakura-chan! Shikaku’s demanding a game. Come show him how a Senju lady holds her own.”

Sakura approached the table, heart steady. Shikaku gestured for her to sit opposite him.

“A simple hand of karuta,” he said, dealing the painted cards. “No tricks.”

”My mentor taught me a lot about games,” and gambling, she thought chuckling inwards remembering all the nights in the informal lounge she and Mother would play cards and gamble petty change away.

She nodded, fingers poised. The game began — a swift contest of reflex and memory, as poems were read and matching cards snatched.

Shikaku was fast, but Sakura was faster. By the third round, she had taken two-thirds of the cards.

“Well now,” Shikaku said, sitting back. “Either you’re a natural, or you’ve been trained to swindle the Hokage’s men.”

”Tsunade-sama taught me a lot about games,” and gambling, she thought chuckling inwards remembering all the nights in the informal lounge she and Mother would play cards and gamble petty change away

Jiraiya cackled loudly, “Haha yes we all know about Tsunade’s reputation when it comes to gambling, thank heavens you’ve not inherited her terrible luck with it.”

Minato laughed aloud. “I’m afraid you’ll find no allies here, Shikaku. The girl is trained clearly.”

“Mm,” Shikaku grunted, his expression unreadable but not displeased. “She’s got a good head. Mind your tongue, Jiraiya, or she’ll have your secrets too.”

A ripple of chuckles followed. As the night wore on, the room filled with smoke and laughter, old tales of border skirmishes and rival okiya, of court appointments and assassins unmasked.

Then — a shift. The doors slid open with a whisper. Madara Uchiha entered.

The room stilled. Even Jiraiya’s easy grin faltered.

Madara’s presence was a shadow given flesh, his dark robes simple but exquisite, hair falling loose about his shoulders. He surveyed the room with the ease of a man who had owned it once, and might again.

Sakura’s heart jolted.

Their eyes met.

Black against green.

For an instant, recognition passed between them — not feigned, not polite. Memory and danger in equal measure.

Then Madara looked away, greeting Minato with a nod, taking the seat left for him at the Hokage’s left hand.

”Hokage-sama,” he said, his deep voice cold like steel. Looking around at the party, he acknowledged each man with the flick of his eyes.

Ino, who’d returned to sit beside her, nudged her shoulder gently. “Careful,” she murmured, only half-joking. “That man eats girls like us for breakfast.”

Sakura forced a breath and gave a small, careful smile. “I’ll be fine.”

They continued to perform. Ino danced again, and Sakura played until the guests loosened with wine. Madara said little, mostly observing from a distance, speaking occasionally with Minato or Shikaku in low, unreadable tones.

When the gathering finally began to break apart, the war council rising with lingering cups of sake and farewells, Sakura slipped out to the courtyard for air, the night cool against her flushed skin.

She didn’t hear the footsteps until he was infront her.

She looked up — and found herself face to face with Madara Uchiha.

Or rather, face to chest.

He was taller than she’d remembered, though perhaps she’d simply grown since their last meeting, and the years had only deepened the gravity of his presence. The dark fall of his hair framed his face like ink over parchment, his eyes gleaming in the half-light of the corridor. The air itself seemed to contract around him. Her heart punted in her chest so stringy she was sure he could hear, that he could taste her fear.

Sakura bowed, low and proper, though she could feel the pulse in her throat quicken.

“Uchiha-sama .”

“Hello again, little blossom,” he murmured.

His voice was quiet, but it carried across the air easily, smooth and unhurried, as though savoring a private joke.

Before she could rise fully, his hand lifted her face up to meet his gaze, long fingers tracing the line of her cheek before trailing to her mouth, his thumb brushing barely against her lips. Not a lover’s touch. Not tender. It was the measured, lingering appraisal of a man considering the value of a rare artifact, weighing whether it was complete… or flawed.

Sakura willed her spine to stay straight, her gaze steady, though a fine thread of cold threaded down her back.

Their eyes met.

His were fathomless, deep and old, a gaze that left her feeling as though she were being pinned in place — not in violence, but inevitability.

“You’ve grown,” he said, as if it mattered to him in ways it should not.

Sakura inclined her head, outwardly calm. “As time demands, Uchiha-sama .”

The air between them felt razor-thin.

Then, abruptly—

“Oi!” Jiraiya’s voice cracked through the hush like a thrown stone shattering glass. He rounded the corner with a sake cup in hand, the wide grin on his face not reaching his eyes. “Madara-san, forgive me — but I’ll be taking this one off your hands. Ino’ll skin me if I don’t get her outside.”

Madara withdrew his hand, gaze lingering on Sakura a moment longer before stepping aside.

“Of course.”

He moved past them without another word.

The moment he was out of earshot, Jiraiya’s grin dropped like a mask tossed aside. His eyes snapped to Sakura, sharp and unguarded.

“What the hell was that about?”

Sakura took a breath. “I…I don’t know jiraiya-sama.” 

“Well it seemed as though he knew you.”

Jiraiya stared at her for a beat longer, jaw working. His voice, when it came, was low.

“That man looks at warlords and Hokage like they’re tools. And you—” he gestured roughly in the direction Madara had gone, “—he looked at you like a lion eyeing a gazelle that just learned to walk on two legs.”

Sakura’s hands tightened slightly on the folds of her sleeve.

“Once- when I was a child, I met him by the side of the Kisame river. That was it I swear! I was just a maid then,’’

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“Go home, Sakura. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She bowed, tears filling her eyes as she choked out words. “Yes, Jiraiya-sama.”

And she left — the night air biting cold against her skin, the warmth of the estate left behind like the ghost of a warning.

The corridor was empty now. The scent of sakura petals lingered faintly in the air, sharp and clean against the musk of old wood and expensive sake. Jiraiya let out a long breath, the weight of it settling in his chest.

He turned his gaze down the hall where Madara had vanished, his expression grim.

What the hell was that?

He wasn’t a fool. He’d been around men like Madara his whole life — men who conquered by sheer will, who twisted loyalty and fear into chains. Men who didn’t notice girls like Sakura unless they meant to possess them. Not in the way of ordinary men chasing geisha for the night. No, Madara looked at her like she was a rare tool, a piece of art carved from blood and bone, something to set apart from the rabble and decide whether to keep or break.

And Sakura… she’d stood there, composed, chin lifted like a proper Senju ward. Graceful. Brave. But she hadn’t understood what it meant. Not yet. The way prey never really understands the predator circling until the teeth close.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, the warmth of too much sake long since burned off by cold instinct.

This wasn’t a good sign.

Jiraiya’s gut clenched. He thought of Tsunade — what she’d do if she knew, how it would break what was left of her if that monster of a man so much as breathed the wrong way in Sakura’s direction.

He ground his teeth, the old itch of battle creeping into his bones. Too many years playing diplomat, playing fool, keeping his head low while war brewed in corners no one wanted to look at. He’d made his peace with a lot of ugly things in his time, but this?

Not this.

Jiraiya turned, heading back toward the main hall, his steps heavy on the old floorboards. He’d let the girl go home tonight, let her sleep in ignorant peace for a few hours. But come morning, they’d talk. About Madara. About politics. About the unspoken rules of men like that — the rules that got good people killed.

He wasn’t sure what was worse — that Madara had noticed her, or that Sakura had survived it without understanding just how close to the edge she’d walked. And his courage like that wasn’t a deterrent, but just all the more encouragement men like Madara needed to pursue them further.

First, sleep.

Then he had a certain apprentice to visit.

Chapter Text

Senju Estate- Winter

“And it never occurred to you to mention that?”

Ino’s voice was sharp and booming as the geisha trembled with poorly masked fury.

Jiraiya sighed and rubbed his face with the back of his hand, if he had known the geisha would’ve reacted so poorly he would’ve never brought her along. They had been going round and round in circles for what felt like hours. Ino would question Sakura, Sakura would respond and Ino would shout.

“I—” Sakura began, but Ino cut her off.

“You met him. Years ago. You spoke to Madara Uchiha and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”

“I didn’t know who he was, I only knew his first name,” Sakura said quietly, hands tightening in her lap. “I was a child, Ino. I didn’t realise—”

“You still should have told someone,” Ino snapped, her voice cracking, far too loud for propriety. “You should have told me, or Tsunade-sama, or anyone—”

”It was a five minute conversation, it was hardly worth mentioning. What would you have me do, walk into Mother’s office and waste her time telling her about someone wiping away my tears!”  Sakura shot back, her voice sharper than she meant it to be, frustration surging hot beneath her skin. “It was years ago, and I didn’t understand. I thought he was just a kind stranger. I didn’t know what it meant.”

“You didn’t know what it meant,” Ino repeated, a bitter little laugh catching in her throat. “You think men care about crying girls? You think men in Konoha show no-good maids kindness?”

Sakura’s eyes flashed, anger rising sharp and hot in her throat.

“Oh, forgive me, Ino,” she snapped, her voice tight and trembling. “Forgive me for being a child and not interrogating the only shred of compassion I was given.”

Her hands fisted in her lap, knuckles white.

“ I didn’t know it was a crime to be comforted when I was crying! I didn’t know I was supposed to be suspicious of the first person who didn’t look at me like I was an inconvenience or someone they could profit off of.”

She forced herself to lift her chin, though her throat burned.

“Stop with the crap Sakura, you knew his name! You knew he was called Madara and the moment you made the connection between him and that clan you should’ve spoken up. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to put the pieces together since getting here! Its not exactly a common name!” Ino spat. “ Did you not learn anything when we spoke of Fugaku’s death, was Lady Mikoto’s trauma not enough for you? we all know it was his orders that got Fugaku murde-“

”That is enough from you, geisha!” Jiraiya barked, pushing himself off the wall and forcefully grabbing Ino by the elbow, yanking her back a step, she made a startled noise and dropped her head in shame.

The unspoken rules of the court hung thick in the air — you did not speak ill of the Uchiha clan, not even in whispers, not even behind closed doors. Ino skirted the edge of it, her words trembling just shy of slander.

“I’m sorry,” Sakura whispered, the weight of it pressing against her. Guilt. Shame. And underneath it, a sharp, helpless anger.

She hated this. Hated seeing Ino’s face twisted with fear and fury over something buried in the past. Hated being made to feel like a child again when she’d fought so hard to stand with grace.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” she said, voice breaking.

“Well, you did.”

The words landed like a slap.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ino’s blue eyes burned with fury and frustration.

Jiraiya finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face for the umpteenth time. He looked older than Sakura had ever seen him — not the playful man who laughed too loud at parties, but the politician who knew far too many secrets.

“Just—” he exhaled, lowering his hand. “Be careful, Sakura. We just want you to be safe.”

Sakura’s lips parted in response, but nothing came out. She bowed her head, eyes filled with tears threatening to fall.

Ino turned to Jiraiya, voice tight and imploring.

“Jiraiya-sama! Say something to her! Discipline her. She should be reprimanded for this. If Tsunade finds out she spoke to him and kept it—”

“She was a child, Ino. She still is. And she didn’t know he was an Uchiha.” Jiraiya’s voice was low but firm, cutting through the room like a drawn blade.

Ino stiffened, her pale lashes blinking fast. The sharp edge of her poise wavered, cracking in a way Sakura had never seen before.

“This will not end well,” Ino whispered, voice cracking.

Jiraiya didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They all knew it was true.

Without waiting for permission — a breach of every rule drilled into her from the day she entered the Yamanaka okiya — Ino turned and stormed from the room, her silk skirts hissing across the floor, hair flying loose in her wake.

The door slammed behind her. The silence that followed felt thick and suffocating. Sakura drew a shaky breath, her hands trembling against the fabric of her robe. She hastily rubbed the tears away and tried to look brave.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said softly. “He was just- well he was nice to me, he even gave me a coin for dango… Truthfully, Jiraiya-sama I wouldn’t even be here today if it wasn’t for the kindness he showed me. I didn’t think it was anything bad by not mentioning it.”

“I know you had no bad intentions Sakura.” Jiraiya moved to kneel beside her, dropping down with a grunt as he patted her on the shoulder. “None of us ever do.”

She risked a glance at him. His face was tired, the lines around his mouth deeper than she remembered.

“I wasn’t protecting a secret,” she said. “I just… it was so many years ago I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It always matters,” Jiraiya murmured. “In this country, with their clan, in this life — every damn thing matters.”

He sighed again, his broad hand briefly covering hers.

“But you’re not a bystander anymore, Sakura. And the games you’re partaking in, the parties, the ceremonies, it’s like walking along the cliffs edge. You cannot afford many mistakes..”

“I won’t make another.”

Jiraiya gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “No one gets through this without a few.”

They sat in silence a moment longer.

Then, with a grunt, Jiraiya pushed to his feet.

“I’ll speak to Ino. She’s not angry at you, you know.”

Sakura’s throat tightened. “She could’ve fooled me.”

“She’s scared,” he said. “That kind of fear makes you lash out at the people you care about most. It’s the ones we love that terrify us when they put themselves in danger.”

And with that, he was gone.

Sakura sat alone in the hush of the old estate, her pulse loud in her ears. Outside, the wind stirred the bare branches, and the world beyond the paper screens felt impossibly far away. She wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

The wind bit colder out here, whistling between the slats of the tall walls. Ino stood near the half-frozen koi pond, her back to the doorway, arms crossed tight around herself. The pale blue of her kimono shimmered in the weak winter sunlight, a picture of poise from a distance — but up close, her knuckles were white where they clutched her sleeves, and her chin trembled despite the rigid line of her mouth.

Jiraiya stepped out into the courtyard, sliding the door closed behind him with a firm click.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ino’s blue eyes refused to even turn his way.

Then Ino, without turning, said, “His attention will bring ruin to us all, Lord Hokage can barely control him, his own clan fear him and now he’s got his sight set on little Sakura.”

Her voice was cold, but beneath it, Jiraiya could hear the thin thread of fear.

“Nothing lasts forever,” Jiraiya said evenly.

“That isn’t the point.”

Ino finally turned to face him, pale hair whipping around her shoulders. Her eyes shone, too bright for the calm mask she was trying to wear.

“You should have punished her. She endangered herself, endangered me, she’s representing the Senju for gods sake! What will they say? ‘Tsunade’s heir has the Uchiha’s favour’ as if Tsunade hasn’t ruined her clan enough alrea—”

“Enough.”

The single word landed like a stone in a still pool.

Jiraiya’s voice wasn’t raised, but it carried weight — she knew mentioning her would end poorly. It was a tone Ino had heard before, rarely, and always at the worst moments: after bad news, before worse decisions.

”I’ll give you a minute to think about what you’ve just said.” The ice in his voice made Ino’s heart race

She stiffened, her mouth working soundlessly for a beat before she managed, “With all respect, my lord—”

“You’ll watch your tongue.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sharp. It was final.

And it reminded her, in no uncertain terms, just what she was. An entertainer he kept around, a pretty face to drape on his arm at gatherings, a symbol of his wealth and status. She would never have his respect or his admiration, and certainly not his love. All that was reserved for someone else.

“I’m not trying to dishonour anyone,” she said, more quietly now, the fight draining from her voice. “But I need to protect Sakura.”

“Sakura’s not in any immediate danger, Ino. Madara’s attention isn’t fatal, you know as well as I do there’s a whole slew of geisha out there who have entertained for him and have had no different an experience than they would have done entertaining for another man.”

“She will be if she gets herself tangled up with him. If he casts his favour on her.”

Ino shook her head, a sharp, frustrated motion.

“She doesn’t understand what kind of man he is. She’s still young enough to believe if she plays sweet, she can charm them and get on with her life. But we both know what happens to girls who don’t look over their shoulder.”

Jiraiya let out a long breath, his gaze steady.

“And you think screaming at her will fix that?”

Ino flinched.

“I— it wasn’t meant to be—”

“It was exactly what you meant it to be,” Jiraiya said, quieter now. “Don’t mistake your fear for righteousness, Ino. I don’t pay you to have a temper.”

The words weren’t cruel, but they were a reminder. Plain, inescapable.

Ino’s chin lifted a fraction. The old, indomitable pride of the Yamanaka clan flickered in her posture, though it was badly frayed.

“I only meant to protect her.”

“Then do it,” Jiraiya said simply. “But you don’t discipline her. That’s Tsunade’s job and you stick to yours. You advise. You guide. You nurture. And if you can’t do any of those things without tearing her down, then you’re not as good a geisha as you think you are.”

The silence stretched, brittle as thin ice.

At length, Ino bowed her head, not deeply, but enough.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Jiraiya’s expression softened just a fraction.

“She’s not a fool, Ino,” he said, his voice a little gentler. “She’s sharper than you think. The way she handled herself last night — most would’ve faltered. And you and I both know Madara doesn’t bother with courtesies unless something interests him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ino murmured.

“I know.”

Another pause.

“Go wash your face,” Jiraiya told her, one corner of his mouth twitching.

Ino gave a short, humorless laugh at that, and a crooked smile.

“Yes, my lord.”

And without another word, she turned and slipped back inside, the door closing softly behind her.

Jiraiya stayed a moment longer, gazing out over the pond.

The koi swam lazily beneath the thin ice, their movements ghostlike. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and muttered, to no one in particular, “Goddamn mess.”

And then he, too, went inside. It was too damn cold out here.

The hills beyond the Konoha province were rich with dark green trees and winding paths that led to hidden teahouses and secluded estates — the perfect places to disappear for a few days without raising questions.

The carriage rattled along the road, the wooden wheels humming over packed earth and snowy sludge as Ino sat opposite Sakura, arms crossed and blue eyes sharp. She hadn’t spoken much since they left the estate, tension thick in the small space.

“I’m not angry,” Ino said at last, voice taut. “My behaviour was appalling for a geisha and I should have behaved with more dignity, that being said, I am not the only one at fault,”

Sakura looked down at her folded hands. “I didn’t mean for—”

“I know,” Ino sighed. “Which is why I’m doing this. You need people. Not just me. Not just Tsunade-san and Kushina-sama. Not just men with their fat wallets.”

The carriage creaked to a halt.

”What are we even doing? You haven’t said a word.” Sakura questioned, Ino just smirked.

“Come on.”

They stepped out onto a shaded garden path leading to a private teahouse, its paper lanterns already lit though the sun was only just beginning to set. Though it was small, what it lacked in size it made up for in location. The Teahouse stood proud and majestic on top a hill overlooking a sprawling valley covered in shades of white snow. Laughter drifted from within — bright, giddy, alive.

Inside, a cluster of women gathered around low tables scattered with cards, dice, and small dishes of pickled plums and cups of wine.

“There she is!” a voice crowed, and a redhead burst from the group to tackle Ino in a hug. “About time, you cold-hearted pig.”

“Moegi,” Ino grunted, shoving her away with a fond glare. “Get off me.”

Moegi grinned at Sakura. “And you must be the famous Senju blossom. Ino’s been complaining about you for weeks.”

“I have not,” Ino shot back, swatting at moegi as though she were a fly.

“You have,” piped up a calm, lilting voice. Konan rose gracefully from her seat, offering Sakura a genteel bow. “Konan. A pleasure, Sakura-san.”

”Likewise, Konan-san!” Sakura bowed back, smiling at the beautiful blue haired woman.

The next figure to approach was striking — dark hair, sharp eyes, and a mischievous smirk. “Anko Mitarashi at your service,” she introduced herself. “If you want advice on surviving rich maniacal bastards and poisonous snakes, you come to me.”

“Ino told me about you,” Sakura admitted.

“Did she now?” Anko leered at Ino. “All good things, I’m sure.”

“Ino called you a menace,” Moegi chimed in.

Anko laughed, unapologetic. “Fair. Can’t say it isn’t true ”

Finally, a quieter presence made her way over. Rin, dressed in a simple lilac kimono, her hair pinned back in understated style. She didn’t speak at first, simply reached out, gently taking Sakura’s hands in hers.

“You’ve had a hard season,” Rin murmured. “It’s written in your eyes.”

Sakura blinked, throat tightening. “I don’t think it could’ve been any harder even if I had tried, I didn’t know it was obvious though.”

“We always notice,” Rin said softly. “We just don’t always speak of it.”

And in that moment, Sakura felt something uncoil in her chest.

The evening unfurled in bursts of laughter and sharp-tongued gossip, the weight of Konoha’s stifling courts left behind like a discarded cup. Sakura found herself drawn into a card game where Anko cheated shamelessly, Moegi told scandalous tales, and Konan quietly refilled her cup.

The teahouse lounge was thick with the scent of warm sake and spiced wood. Low lamps cast soft gold against the walls, and the floorboards creaked gently beneath the weight of easy conversation. The air felt warmer here, touched by laughter and the company of women who had long learned how to navigate a world built to cage them.

Sakura sat nestled between Moegi and Konan, her cheeks flushed from both the heat and the heady cup of plum wine Anko had pressed into her hand earlier. The evening had slipped into that comfortable hour where stories, scandal and secrets flowed freer than tea.

Anko leaned forward, her grin sharp and wicked as she swirled her drink.

“Did I ever tell you about the councilman who wept like a child when I dumped wine in his lap?” she asked, eyes glittering with mischief.

Konan snorted, nearly choking on her drink. “You mean Mitsuda? The one who still won’t look you in the eye at court banquets?”

Anko waved a dismissive hand. “No, no — different one. Mitsuda only cried a little. This one,” she jabbed a finger toward the ceiling as if plucking the man’s memory from the rafters, “told me I should be grateful for his patronage. That he was doing me a favour. So I did what any well-bred woman would — thanked him by ruining his best silk hakama.”

The table erupted in delighted laughter, Moegi clutching at her sides. “Anko-san, you’ll kill someone one of these days.”

Anko flashed a grin. “Hopefully someone worth the effort.”

Konan leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice though it was hardly necessary in the cosy, enclosed room. “Speaking of scandal… word is the Fire Daimyō’s wife has taken a geisha as a lover.”

That earned an intrigued murmur.

“Who?” Rin asked, arching a brow, though amusement tugged at her lips.

“Little Hiyori from the Nitta Okiya,” Konan smirked. “The one with the dimples. Voice like warm honey.”

“Oh, good for her,” Moegi beamed. “Men are nothing but trouble anyway.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Anko declared, raising her cup. The others followed suit, the light chime of porcelain against porcelain filling the room.

Sakura laughed; a real, bright sound that startled even her. There was something about these women, about this room where no one watched their tongues or measured their worth by the weight of a man’s name.

By the time the lamps were lit and the sky purpled with dusk, Sakura was laughing easily, her posture looser, her words quicker.

Ino watched it all with careful relief. This was what she’d wanted. For Sakura to remember who she was outside of the politics.

Later, as the night grew darker and the conversation settled, Konan leaned in toward Sakura. “Konoha’s courts are a shogi board, little one. But it’s not only emperors and generals who play. Learn to wield your own pieces.”

Sakura swallowed, nodding. “I’ll try.”

“No,” Anko grinned. “You’ll do it. Or we’ll kick your ass. Now Konan get some more sake in this cup of mine!”

The room erupted with laughter.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Sakura believed she might be okay.

Steam hung thick in the air, the scent of soap and rose oil curling around the private bathing room. Lanterns cast soft light over the water, making the surface shimmer like molten glass.

Sakura sighed as she leaned back against the smooth stone, closing her eyes and letting the heat work its way into her tired muscles. For the first time in weeks, there were no summons, no carefully measured words, no eyes watching her posture. Just warmth and steam and the comforting murmur of water.

A splash came from nearby, and Moegi’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Gods, I needed this,” she groaned, settling beside Sakura with a contented sigh. “If Rin nags me one more time about my posture I’m going to smash my head into the wall.”

Sakura laughed, the sound spilling out before she could stop it. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” Moegi grinned. “I haven’t yet because she’d be traumatised and poor Rin means well, but maybe one day...”

They both dissolved into giggles, the heavy tension Sakura had carried in with her easing out of her shoulders.

“I’m surprised the others didn’t want to join us in the baths, the water’s lovely.” Sakura mused out loud.

”Anko’s busy drinking all the wine as though it’ll expire soon, they’re just keeping an eye on her I bet.” Moegi replied, rolling her shoulders.

”She reminds me a lot of Mothe- I meant Lady Tsunade, she kept a bottle of sake in the top drawer of her desk,” Sakura chuckled, not missing the pang of homesickness in her heart. How strange it was that after all the had endured, the Okiya was where she called home.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Moegi said after a moment, her voice softer now. “I don’t know many girls who get on with their Okiya mother. Mine made me scrub floors with a toothbrush if my hair wasn’t pinned just right.”

Sakura’s smile faltered, replaced by something wistful. “ Lady Tsunade’s… different. She’s terrifying sometimes — and reckless with dice — but she took the time out to teach me, to train me. When I was living in the Okiya, she would gamble with me over petty change and she lost constantly. She certainly inherited Lord First’s love for the game but none of his success.”

Moegi’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Oh yes,” Sakura grinned. “She’d sit me next to Shizune-san, we’d pool together whatever coins we had and play for hours while they drank. Shizune-san used to let me win when Tsunade-sama wasn’t looking.”

“That’s brilliant,” Moegi snorted. “What happened if you got caught?”

”’ Oh Lady Tsunade would be furious if she caught us cheating, she’d give us tasks ‘as retribution’. It was chaos. Shizune once caught a snake in the kitchen because Tsunade caught her cheating .”

“You’re making that up.”

“I swear on my life,” Sakura grinned, leaning conspiratorially closer. “It was tiny, but Shizune screamed like it was a dragon. I laughed so hard I fell into a basket of potatoes.”

They both burst into laughter again, the sound echoing warmly in the enclosed room.

Moegi wiped her eyes. “You’re not what I expected, Sakura-chan.”

“Neither are you,” Sakura shot back. “I thought you’d be one of those graceful, silent types.”

Moegi made a face. “Gods no. I snore, I drink too much sake, and I cheat at hanafuda.”

“Perfect,” Sakura grinned. “We’ll get on fine.”

And for the first time in a long time, Sakura felt a little of the loneliness inside her shrink.

The next morning came in a blur of packing, goodbyes, and promises to meet again soon. Anko threatened to visit the Senju district just to raid their wine stores. Moegi made Sakura promise to write. Konan handed her a delicate paper crane, its wings tipped in blue ink.By midday, the carriage was rattling down the road once more, the snowy mountains shrinking behind them as they returned to the Hokage province.

Hokage Province - Late Winter

The Hokage’s residence wasn’t like the grand estates of the clans or the heavy, perfumed okiya where Sakura spent most of her childhood days. It was a lived-in, sun-drenched house, too large for just three people but filled with the easy warmth of a home where laughter and shouting were regular guests.

Kushina Uzumaki had little regard for the formalities expected of her station, which was precisely why both Ino and Sakura loved being summoned here. It meant a day of loosened obi sashes, honest conversation, and endless cups of spiced tea. The perfect way to ease back into life at the province after their short break.

Naruto was already waiting when they arrived, sprawled inelegantly on the tatami with a plate of steamed buns balanced on one knee.

“Oi, Sakura-chan!” he grinned, his fox-bright eyes crinkling with delight as she stepped inside. “Come sit! I saved the sweet ones for you.”

“You’ve eaten half of them,” Ino pointed out dryly as she knelt by the low table.

“Hey! It’s the thought that counts.”

Sakura laughed, the sound a little too loud but genuine. It was easy to relax here. Naruto had a way of folding people into his enthusiasm like stray threads woven into a larger, golden tapestry. With the slyness of a fix he threw his arm around her shoulder as greeting, his hand lingering on your for just a moment too long.

He launched immediately into a rapid account of his latest training disaster, waving his arms as he described nearly burning down part of the northern training ground. “And Kurama was no help — useless fox just rolled over and went back to sleep while the fence caught fire.”

“You named him Kurama?” Sakura asked, amused.

“’Course I did. Just like the kitsune in the stories.”

Ino snorted into her tea, and Kushina,  nearly colliding with a maid bustling in from the kitchen with a tray of pickled radish and steamed rice balls, swatted her son affectionately on the head.

“You’ll give Lord Minato a heart attack one of these days, you know that?”

“Tch. Old man needs the excitement.”

Kushina rolled her eyes but her fondness was obvious. The easy affection between mother and son made Sakura’s throat ache — not in jealousy, but in some deep, unspoken longing for something she couldn’t name.

In the corner of the room, Ino and Kushina drifted into a conversation about hair tonics and a new fan dancer at the Yamanaka okiya. Sakura half-listened, letting Naruto’s stories wash over her as she refilled her cup and stole another sweet bun.

Naruto leaned against the table, grinning like a boy up to no good.

“Oka-chan said you and Ino-san went away for a few days. How was it? Did you miss me?” he teased, a mischievous glint in his perfect blue eyes.

Sakura arched a brow at him, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“A little,” she admitted. “It was too peaceful without you making a scene somewhere.”

Naruto barked a laugh, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“C’mon, you know you love it.”

“Tolerate it,” she corrected, but she was smiling as she said it.

“Hey, Sakura-chan,” Naruto said suddenly, leaning in conspiratorially. “Do you know how to make ramen? Because if you do, you’re my new favorite person.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never learned,” she admitted with a smile. “But I can play you a lullaby on my flute while you eat?”

“Even better,” he grinned, slyly throwing his arm over her shoulders and rubbing circles with his thumb

Sakura giggled, a hand over her mouth.

For a time, the room was bright with warmth and simple, harmless joy.

The sky had turned to deep blue by the time Kushina insisted they stay for supper. The house smelled of stewed daikon and grilled fish, and the lamps cast pools of soft golden light against the wooden walls.

They were gathered in the dining room, plates half-filled, when the shoji door slid open and Minato stepped in — followed by another man.

A ripple passed through the room, the kind that had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with instinct. The air shifted, like a thread pulled too tight.

Madara Uchiha’s presence was a tangible thing. It seemed to soak into the floorboards, darkening the room’s edges.

“Ah,” Minato cleared his throat, his sheepishness plain. “Apologies — we were discussing border defenses, and Lord Madara graciously accepted my offer to stay for dinner.”

Kushina’s smile was sharp as a drawn blade, but her voice remained cordial. “The more the merrier, of course.”

“Minato’s generosity knows no bounds.” Madara inclined his head slightly. His hair spilled over his shoulders like a raven’s wing, his gaze unhurried as it swept the room  and caught on Sakura.

It wasn’t a lingering stare, not anything bold or impolite. And yet, it felt as though the world tilted for a breath, everything else receding.

His eyes, that were as dark as an old forest, as deep as the night sky — met hers. And in that instant, something in Sakura’s chest clenched.

A pull. A reach. A sensation like a hand brushing the edge of her soul.

Not hunger. Not desire.

Recognition.

Something ancient and wordless that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck lift.

She lowered her gaze at once, her stomach twisting, her pulse a rapid, protesting thing.

Naruto kept talking, unaware of the new current in the room. Ino’s fan snapped closed with a sharp flick. Dinner resumed, though the air was heavier, laughter a little more brittle.

And though neither spoke another word that evening, Sakura felt his presence like a shadow at her back. Even when he wasn’t looking, she was certain some part of him — old, cold, and endlessly patient — was.

Three days after the dinner at the Hokage residence, the Nara estate felt unusually loud.

The sun hung high over the gardens, a telltale sign winter was nearing its bitter end. A pitcher of cold tea sweated on the low table, and the sound of laughter rose up like cicadas in summer.

“Ha! Pay up, Shikamaru — again.” Yoshino Nara slapped her hand down, fanning her cards like a general laying out battle plans. “Honestly, what good is all that fancy strategy if you can’t win at cards, boy?”

“It’s too troublesome to try against you, okaa-chan.” Shikamaru sighed, leaning back on one hand. “I’d rather lose and get some peace.”

Ino chuckled, gathering up her own cards. “Coward.”

Sakura was kneeling beside her, sleeves tied back, half-drunk on the rare comfort of an afternoon with no formal duties. The company was easy — and for once, so was she.

“Alright, next round,” Sakura grinned. “This time let’s make it interesting.”

Yoshino raised a brow. “Interesting how?”

“Loser buys dango tonight!”

“Done,” Shikamaru muttered. “As long as it’s not me.”

The game resumed in a flurry of slapped-down cards and mock curses, the room humming with playful rivalry.

And then the soft sound of a door sliding open somewhere down the hall.

Sakura’s hand paused mid-play, a flicker of movement catching at the corner of her eye. Her gaze drifted, unthinking, toward the open doorway.

There, in the long corridor beyond, a pair of figures emerged from a side room. Shikaku Nara, hair pulled loosely back, his brow creased in thought. And beside him, taller, broader, shadowed even in daylight was Madara Uchiha.

They were speaking in low, unreadable tones as they walked past the open doorway, steps measured. But for the briefest moment, Madara’s head turned.

His gaze found hers.

And he smirked.

Not the polite, distant smile of a nobleman. Nor the indulgent one she sometimes saw exchanged across card tables and tea ceremonies.

A small, knowing curve of the lips — as though they shared a secret, one only he remembered.

And then — a wink.

Sakura’s breath hitched.

He didn’t stop walking. He didn’t break stride. Shikaku didn’t even seem to notice.

But Sakura’s blood ran cold.

Across the table, Ino’s eyes flicked to her, following the line of her gaze. She saw it too. The look. The wink. The thing that should not have happened.

Something cold and tight coiled in Ino’s stomach. But she said nothing.

Sakura forced herself to turn back, to focus on the cards in her hand though the shapes blurred.

“Sakura?” Yoshino asked. “Your play, dear.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, setting a card down with fingers that trembled just a little.

Ino didn’t touch her, didn’t speak, but her sharp, blue gaze never left Sakura for the rest of the game.

Later that evening, when the last card was played and the room emptied, Ino lingered.

“He’s everywhere lately,” she said quietly, her voice rough. “It’s not coincidence.”

Sakura said nothing. She didn’t have to. The look in her eyes spoke volumes.

Spring

One morning some weeks later, day broke, grey and damp, the scent of rain thick in the air. The garden paths glistened, and a faint mist clung to the tops of the tiled walls of the Senju estate. Spring was finally upon them 

Sakura sat alone in the main room, her flute in her lap, fingers ghosting over the cool, polished wood. The silence pressed in.

A knock came at the outer gate.

Moments later, one of the house attendants appeared with a letter. A single, cream-colored slip folded precisely, the Uchiha crest inked in red wax.

“For you, Lady Sakura.”

Her stomach dropped.

She broke the seal with careful fingers.

Sakura-san,

I would be honored if you would have tea with me tomorrow at the Uchiha residence. 

— Mikoto Uchiha

Sakura’s heart hammered. She read it twice more, as if the words might change.

A quiet dread settled over her.

“Sakura!”

She startled as Ino swept into the room, a travel satchel slung over her shoulder and irritation tight in her brow.

“I just got word — Jiraiya-sama’s off to the border provinces on some damn diplomacy mission and he’s dragging me with him.” Ino’s gaze flicked to the letter in Sakura’s hands, her expression darkening the instant she saw the crest. “What’s that?”

Sakura passed it to her wordlessly.

Ino read it and swore under her breath. “Of course. Of course they’d wait until we’re leaving. Bastards. The lot of them!”

She dropped into a crouch in front of Sakura.

“Listen to me,” Ino said, gripping her hands. “If anything feels wrong — if anyone so much as looks at you sideways — you go straight to Lady Kushina, do you hear me? Straight there.”

Sakura nodded, throat tight.

“Stay out of sight, keep your head down, and write to Lady Tsunade. Tell her everything. Don’t wait for my permission.” Ino’s grip tightened. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

They held the look a moment longer, friends, sisters by bond and more than that now. Ino exhaled.

“Good. Focus on your flute. Keep busy. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She stood and left without another word, the clatter of her sandals sharp against the stones.

And then Sakura was alone.

Again.

The Uchiha estate was a world apart from the Senju household.

Where the Senju lands were all open courtyards and blooming trees, the Uchiha estate loomed quiet and reserved behind high stone walls. The air felt cooler here, thick with something older than age — as though the past clung to the beams and eaves, watching.

Sakura arrived mid-morning, the escorting servant leading her through twisting corridors and shaded gardens. She clutched her flute case like a lifeline. Despite already having been to the Uchiha residence once before, it did nothing to calm her nerves. If anything, the previously feeling of suffocation she felt was playing heavily on her mind.

Lady Mikoto was waiting in a modest sitting room, a tray of tea already laid. She looked better than Sakura remembered. Her eyes clear, her hair pinned simply, and a gentle warmth in her smile.

“Sakura-san,” Mikoto said, her voice soft as worn silk. “Thank you for coming.”

Sakura bowed low. “It is an honor, Lady Mikoto.”

They took tea together, and slowly, the conversation softened. They spoke of the early bloom of the plum trees this year, of theatre performances Mikoto could barely remember attending, and of the future of Konoha. Sakura was pleased to note that Mikoto was far more lucid than before, and that oppressive air she felt before was nowhere to be found.

”How are you finding life here Sakura-san?”

Sakura put her cup down and smiled politely. “It’s certainly been an adjustment.” Mikoto chuckled.

”The Province is very different from Konoha, I wake up confused, wondering why the Okiya looks so different, and then I remember that… well that I’m not there anymore.”

“My youngest, Sasuke,” Mikoto murmured, pouring fresh tea, “has never seen the city. He’s hardly set foot in Gion let alone Konoha, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Sakura said gently. “Will he visit soon?”

“One day.” Mikoto smiled, a little sadly. “If the world lets him.”

It was almost peaceful. Almost ordinary.

Until the door slid open.

“Mother,” came a cool, detached voice from the doorway.

Sakura’s posture stiffened before she could stop herself.

Madara entered first, his presence dark and commanding despite the simplicity of his robes. A young man followed a step behind — tall, strikingly pale, with finely cut features and hair as black as lacquered ink. His eyes, however, were what caught her attention: dark, fathomless, with a glint of something sharp behind their careful indifference.

Handsome, undeniably so — in the same flawless way Neji had been, but where Neji’s beauty was serene and quiet, this boy’s felt cold. Icy. Like porcelain that might shatter in your hand if you held it too tightly.

And beneath that polished exterior, something cruel lingered in the set of his mouth, the slight downturn of his gaze. Not anger, something far colder.

“Sasuke-kun,” Mikoto said softly, an affectionate warmth in her voice that seemed at odds with the boy’s demeanor. “Come greet our guest. Sakura-san has come to take tea with me.”

He bowed shallowly.

“Sakura-san. Welcome to our home.”

Sakura dipped her head in return, schooling her features into practiced grace.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Sasuke-sama.”

He said nothing else, his gaze flickering over her like a blade grazing skin — quick, assessing, disinterested — before moving to sit beside his mother.

Madara’s gaze, however, never left Sakura.

“So,” he murmured, settling gracefully opposite her. “You play the flute.”

“I do, Lord Uchiha.”

“Excellent.” He gestured, and a servant slipped from the room, returning moments later with her flute case.

Madara’s gaze was heavy, not cruel, not lecherous but something else. As though studying the grain of rare wood, or the strokes of an old painting. He smiled. “Let us hear something.”

Sakura’s pulse stuttered in her throat, but her hands were steady as she lifted the instrument, closed her eyes, and began to play.

A low, sweet, mournful melody. A lullaby from the province of Grass, one Tsunade had taught her on a pleasant summer evening under the twilight sky. The notes carried through the room, thinning the air, until even Sasuke’s indifferent gaze sharpened.

When the final note faded, there was silence.

Mikoto clapped softly, her expression pleased. “Beautiful, dear one. You have such talent, you must come play for us again.” She rose with a sigh. “Please forgive me Sakura-san, I tire so easily these days.”

Madara stood to assist her, a fleeting tenderness in his touch as he led her toward her rooms. Sasuke trailed after.

But just before Madara followed, he turned.

“You play with feeling,” he murmured. “The music remembers what the heart forgets.”

And then he was gone.

Sakura’s skin prickled.

A servant appeared almost instantly. “Lord Madara invites you to join him and young Lord Sasuke for a game of cards.”

Her heart faltered — but what choice did she have?

“Of course.”

They played in the sun-drenched garden room, a quiet, polite affair. The garden room was long and open, shoji doors drawn aside to let in the heavy summer air. The scent of damp earth clung to the flagstones outside, and cicadas sang softly in the trees beyond.

A low table had been prepared, a simple deck of hanafuda cards spread in careful stacks.

Sasuke sat at one side, shoulders rigid, dark eyes darting between the adults without much interest. Madara took his place at the head of the table, reclining with the casual grace of a man accustomed to command. Sakura knelt opposite him, the silk of her sleeves whispering against the tatami.

“Have you played before?” Madara asked, a faint curve to his lips.

“A fair amount,” Sakura admitted. “It’s Lady Tsunade’s game of choice, though I claim no mastery over the game.”

“We’ll test that.”

They began to play.

At first, the conversation clung to polite nothingness. Sakura won a hand and Madara chuckled, Sasuke grumbled, and another round began. But soon — as the afternoon light shifted — Madara’s questions turned sharper. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… keen.

“Tell me, what’s your favorite piece to perform?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. Most patrons asked her to play what they liked, not what she preferred.

“A piece called Evening Rain,” she said softly. “It was written during the founding days of Konoha. It’s… quiet. A song meant to be heard when you’re alone.”

Madara regarded her, a card held loosely between his fingers. “A sentimental choice for one so young.”

“I don’t think it’s sentimental,” Sakura replied, emboldened by something in his gaze, not warm, but not unkind either. “It reminds me that the world existed before me, and it’ll go on after. There’s a kind of peace in that.”

For a moment, the lines around Madara’s mouth softened. Something in his expression flickered — a distant, almost reluctant fondness.

“Spoken like a true philosopher,” he murmured.

Sakura smiled, a touch self-conscious.

They played another hand. Madara took the next trick with practiced ease.

“Did you grow up in the Senju Okiya?” he

“For a number of years, I did,” Sakura said, eyes flicking down to the cards. “I was born and lived in my home country, The Land of Waves, until Lady Tsunade took me on.”

“And she taught you the flute?”

“She taught me everything I know.” Sakura hesitated, then added, “And I owe her everything.”

Madara studied her for a long, considering beat.

“Loyalty is a rare thing,” he said, voice low and almost… approving.

Another hand passed between them. Sasuke won this time, and for a brief moment, Madara’s face lit with something close to pride.

“Well done,” he murmured to the boy, who flushed faintly at the praise.

The conversation returned to Sakura.

“If you weren’t a geisha,” Madara asked, leaning in just slightly, “what would you be?”

The question caught her off guard. No one had ever asked.

“I… don’t know.” She laughed, a little nervously. “Perhaps a painter. Or a poet… Or a criminal, if I’m being honest. I wasn’t a very obedient child.” Her mind going back to all the beatings she had received for her behaviour.

Madara barked a rare, genuine laugh — sharp and dark and full of teeth. Even Sasuke blinked in surprise.

“A criminal, hm?” Madara smirked, eyes glinting. 

Sakura’s cheeks warmed, though her heart pounded. 

There was something about him in that moment. Still every inch the terrifying warlord, still a man who could end a life with a word but also a creature of ancient sorrows, of old glories, of stories told in firelight. It clung to him like a second skin.

And for the first time, Sakura felt the ache of his gaze not as a threat, but as a curiosity she couldn’t name.

The final hand was dealt.

Madara took it, of course, with an elegant flick of his wrist.

“Well played, Sakura.” His voice dropped, silk-wrapped iron. 

She bowed her head, throat dry. “You honor me, Lord Madara.”

His gaze lingered.

And then, with a flick of his sleeve, he rose.

“Come, Sasuke. Time for your studies.”

The boy muttered goodbye to Sakura before he followed.

As Madara passed, he paused beside her. One long, calloused hand brushed a stray lock of pink hair from her face, the touch careful, almost absent, like a scholar admiring the curve of a statue. His eyes met hers.

And then he was gone, his shadow trailing like a ghost through the halls.

Sakura sat there, heart hammering, unsure whether she’d just been tossed away… or chosen.

The Hokage residence was golden with late afternoon light when Sakura arrived, the shōji doors casting long, lattice-shaped shadows across the polished floorboards. She was met by a servant who wordlessly gestured her to the garden room, where Kushina was seated cross-legged on a cushion, a pot of tea before her and a brush hovering over parchment.

“There you are, sweetheart,” Kushina greeted her with a small, tight smile. “Come. Sit.”

Sakura folded herself neatly onto the mat, smoothing her sleeves as she’d done a thousand times, though her hands felt colder than usual.

“Well?” Kushina asked, pouring tea into two cups. “How did it go?”

“Lady Mikoto was in good spirits,” Sakura began carefully, voice even and polite. “We spoke about theatre and the gardens for a time. She asked how I was settling in.”

Kushina nodded but said nothing, waiting.

“Then Lord Madara arrived,” Sakura continued, eyes fixed on her cup. “With his nephew, Sasuke-sama. He… asked me to play my flute and invited me to join them for a card game.”

“And you did,” Kushina said, unsurprised.

“Yes.”

There was a brief pause, and then Kushina sighed, setting her brush aside.

“Listen to me, Sakura,” she said, her voice softer now, the familiar warmth returning. “When a great house calls, you go. You bow, you smile, you play your part. That’s the way of it. You’re a Senju girl, and more importantly, you’re an apprentice of the okiya. The clans expect courtesy.”

Sakura risked a glance up, finding Kushina’s blue eyes sharp, clear, and unflinching.

“But don’t mistake courtesy for friendship,” Kushina went on. “ You play your card games, you pour their drinks, you sing your songs. You don’t let them get too close.”

It wasn’t a warning of isolation — it was a lesson in survival.

“Yes, Kushina-sama,” Sakura murmured.

“Good girl.” Kushina reached for her tea. “Anything else worth mentioning?”

Sakura hesitated. A flicker of memory, Madara’s voice asking about her music, the warmth in his eyes when she spoke of melodies, the way the dangerous edge of him had seemed, just for a moment, to soften.

“Nothing important,” she said, her tone light.

Kushina watched her a beat longer, then nodded.

“Ino should be back in a week or so. Until then, you stay sharp. The Uchiha are not to be feared — but they are to be respected. And respected men are often the most dangerous of all.”

Sakura gave a small, obedient dip of her head.

“Yes, Kushina-sama.”

The evening sun filtered through the paper screens as Sakura settled into the low cushions of the  main room. Ino’s footsteps sounded in the hall before she appeared, cheeks flushed from travel and a flicker of concern in her sharp eyes.

“Ino-san,” Sakura greeted, rising to meet her in a tight hug. “You’re back.”

Ino wasted no time, sinking beside her and folding her arms. “Tell me everything. How was the Uchiha compound? Mikoto-san? I want details.”

Sakura laughed softly, the memory warming her. “It was… surprisingly peaceful. Mikoto-san is gracious, she was much more aware, like someone had shaken her awake. We shared tea. I was asked to play the flute for them.” She held up her hands as if still playing. 

“And the card games?” Ino’s tone sharpened, a spark of protective suspicion flaring. “You didn’t get caught up in anything dangerous, did you?”

“Just harmless fun,” Sakura assured her. “ Sasuke joined us. Sasuke… he’s hard to read. Handsome, but cold. Like there’s a shadow beneath his eyes.”

Ino’s brow tightened. “That’s the Uchiha for you. Wonderful to look at and apparently wonderful in bed too, but that’s where the redeeming qualities stop.”

She leaned forward, voice dropping to a grave whisper. “On our diplomatic mission, we heard stories—Itachi’s ruthless tactics in border skirmishes, you know he was trained by Madara himself? If the boy is dangerous, you can only imagine what Madara’s shadow looks like.”

Sakura’s smile faltered. “Lord Madara… he is a force, no doubt.”

Ino’s eyes locked with hers. “Be careful, Sakura. Don’t lose yourself trying to survive their game.”

Sakura nodded, the weight of the warning settling between them like a shadow. “I won’t.”

Dearest Sakura,

I trust you are well. The market  is lively with new arrivals—jewels, silks, and scents that would delight even the most discerning geisha. Shall we wander the stalls together? I await your reply eagerly.

—Moegi”

A small smile curved Sakura’s lips as she tucked the letter away.

The next day was lively and bright, the air crisp with the morning chill. Bundled in fur-lined cloaks and thick boots, the ladies made their way to a nearby village where the morning market was already in full swing. Stalls overflowed with everything from sparkling hairpins and embroidered slippers to tiny glass perfume bottles and silk handkerchiefs.

Sakura and Moegi darted from one vendor to the next, laughing as they tried on gaudy rings and sniffed floral oils.

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the bustling market as Sakura and Moegi wandered between stalls, laughter spilling easily between them. Moegi picked up a delicate silk fan, fanning herself playfully. “I swear, these vendors outdo themselves every season. Look at these patterns, they’d put the finest artists to shame.”

Sakura smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And the scents! I could get lost in the spice stall all day.”

They moved together through the lively crowd, stopping now and then to admire trinkets, sample sweets, or bargain with cheerful merchants. The easy companionship between them lifted Sakura’s spirits more than she expected.

Just as Sakura reached for a porcelain teacup painted with blooming cherry blossoms, Moegi’s eyes caught something—or someone—across the market street. She blinked once, then shook her head with a small smile.

“Ah, it seems we have company,” Moegi said with a teasing glance.

Before Sakura could turn, Anko’s familiar silhouette emerged from the crowd, striding toward them with her usual confident grace. She called out as she neared, voice light and warm.

“Moegi! Sakura! What a pleasant surprise to find you here.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Moegi, who raised a curious brow.

Anko turned to Sakura with a sly grin. “I wonder if you might indulge me with your company this evening...sometime around eight.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard but amused by Anko’s casual tone.

“Whenever you like,” Sakura replied, returning the grin. 

Anko winked, then with a last nod to Moegi, slipped back into the crowd as easily as she had arrived.

Moegi laughed softly. “Well, that’s mysterious. Shall we continue shopping?”

Sakura nodded, the warmth of the afternoon and the unexpected encounter lingering as they turned back to the colorful stalls.

After parting ways with Moegi at the bustling market, Sakura found herself turning over Anko’s invitation in her mind. The afternoon sunlight had faded into a cold, quiet evening as she made her way in the carriage through the narrow streets toward Anko’s estate just outside the province.

The faint scent of smoke drifted through the sliding doors as Sakura stepped inside the room Anko was occupying. The room was small but richly decorated with deep crimson silk cushions and dark lacquered shelves lined with delicate porcelain.

Anko lounged casually on a low divan, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she looked up from a hand-rolled cigarette. “You’re late,” she said, voice low and amused.

Sakura smiled nervously, smoothing the front of her kimono. “It’s hard slipping away from Ino-chan.”

Anko chuckled. “I know, she keeps a close eye on you that one does. You think it’s necessary?”

Sakura hesitated, then shrugged. “Sometimes I do. Especially when i’m in the province. I feel like I’m always taking a step forward with both my eyes closed and, well- just causing problems.”

Anko’s gaze softened slightly. “Sometimes you just have to sit in the mess. There’s a lot about our world that takes time to adjust to, it’s not easy.”

Sakura nodded, feeling the weight of those words settle on her. “I grew up thinking this world was all strict rules and cold faces. But then I got to know Lady Tsunade and Shizune-san. Tsunade-sama is… reckless and loud and always gambling or making bets and most certainly half a bottle of sake down. And Shizune-San keeps us in line, but with a smile.”

Anko raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a family.”

“More than I ever had before,” Sakura admitted. “Even the little things—like running errands with Shizune-san—felt like someone was watching out for me.”

Anko flicked ash into a brass tray. “That’s what a real Okiya should be. Not just a place to train geisha, but a home. You’ve got something good there. Don’t lose it.”

Sakura smiled, the tension easing from her shoulders. “What about you? You’re famous for your connections to Lord Orochimaru. That must come with its own kind of trouble.”

Anko’s smile turned wry. “Trouble is part of the charm. He was my danna once, for a very long time. Certainly an unpredictable man, but he always respected me. That’s rare in this world.”

Sakura’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Do you miss it? That life?”

Anko paused, then shrugged. “Sometimes. But I like who I am now. I’m free to choose.”

Sakura’s lips curled into a small grin. “That’s something I want, too. Freedom.”

“That was why I wanted to speak to you, alone. Ino mentioned to me you had…caught the eye of Madara-sama.”

Sakura inhaled sharply, colour rising to her cheeks as she lowered her gaze, her fingers curling in her lap. Shame flickered across her face like a sudden gust.

Anko noticed immediately and waved her hands in exasperation.

“No—no, make no mistake, I’m not telling you off,” Anko said quickly, scoffing at the idea. “I know Ino. And I know she probably chewed you out for it, didn’t she?”

Sakura gave a small, guilty nod.

Anko huffed, leaning back against the cushions with a lazy, crooked grin. “Typical. But as someone whose Danna was similarly… notorious, I’m here to offer some perspective.”

“Perspective?” Sakura repeated hesitantly.

“Anko-san, that’s not necessary. I know that Madara-sama is not to be trifled with, and I should be careful around that clan and if I have any sense I will stay far away.”

Anko gave a sharp, knowing laugh. “That’s what everyone says. ‘Be careful.’ ‘Keep your distance.’ ‘Don’t meet their eyes too long.’ And yes, they’re right, men like that are dangerous. But …danger’s not always a bad thing, blossom.”

Anko exhaled a thin curl of smoke, watching it spiral toward the ceiling.

“You know,” Anko murmured, voice low and easy, “Ino means well. She does. Loves you like a little sister, probably always will. But the truth is… Ino’s never known a man with real power.”

Sakura frowned. “Jiraiya-sama’s one of the most influential men in the province.”

Anko snorted, amused. “Influential, sure. But power? No, sweetheart. Jiraiya’s a man who likes to be seen holding the prettiest thing in the room. Ino’s a prize to him, a clever, glittering trophy he can parade around and gloat over. She’s a reflection of his ego, not his equal. Why do you think he drags her along on his diplomacy missions huh?He’ll spoil her, dote on her, but he’ll never give her freedom. Not the kind that matters.”

Sakura’s throat tightened. She hadn’t quite put it to words before, but something about the way Ino spoke of her danna — the careful balancing act, the little things she wasn’t allowed to say, the life she was allowed to live as long as it fit inside Jiraiya’s expectations — it had always felt… fragile. And seeing how Ino had retracted when he raised his voice at her all those weeks ago, it began to make sense.

“But Ino…” Anko shook her head. “She’s never really known men like Madara-sama. Or Orochimaru. She’s danced for poets, soldiers, clan heirs who think themselves bold — but none of them hold real power. The kind that makes the earth shift when they speak. The kind that can buy or burn a nation with a single word.”

She flicked ash into a tray, studying Sakura.

“She knows the pretty parts of our world. The applause, the whispered poetry, the gifts wrapped in silk. She’s never been a part of the other side. The price. The danger. The way men like that look at you, not as a toy, not as a pretty ornament for their sleeve, but like you’re a storm they might choose to unleash or chain at their whim.”

Anko’s voice softened.

“I’m not saying she doesn’t mean well. She does. But you can’t take advice about wolves from a girl who’s only ever known house dogs.”

Sakura let out a slow breath, the words settling heavy but not unkind.

Anko leaned forward, tapping ash into a porcelain tray. “Orochimaru was a monster, no one denies it. But you know what he gave me? Freedom. Real freedom. I wasn’t a plaything to be dressed up and shown off. He saw every sharp, ugly, unpretty part of me and let me keep them. He taught me things no one else would. Gave me the kind of money and status that meant I answered to no one. Not even him, when he didn’t feel like it.” A grin, wolfish and knowing.

Sakura swallowed, the room suddenly too warm. “And you think Madara-sama—”

“I think he’s a man worth watching. And worth learning from. I know Ino’s tried to scare you with ghost stories about men like him, but darling…” Anko’s gaze softened, her voice turning quiet, almost fond. “Don’t take advice from someone who’s never lived that life. She means well, but she doesn’t know what freedom feels like.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Anko smiled. “And you strike me as a girl who’s getting damn tired of asking permission.”

Anko tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment before speaking again. “Orochimaru-sama had a lot of flaws, I won’t deny it. But you know what? He was the only man who ever saw me.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed. “Saw you?”

She took a slow sip of her drink, her voice turning softer, edged with something thoughtful. “With him as my Danna, I went where I pleased. Said what I liked. Wore what I chose. I had money in my own pocket, my own staff, rooms that weren’t filled with other women’s perfume. I gambled, I drank, I fought, I did things that would’ve had any other man cast me out. And instead… he gave me more. He taught me how to turn men’s fear into power. How to make my reputation work for me. When he was done with me — and yes, men like that always finish with you sooner or later — I wasn’t some discarded thing.”

Anko’s grin turned sharp, wolfish. “I was the wealthiest woman in my Okiya and one of the wealthiest individuals in Konoha. I bought my own estate. No one talks down to me now. And you know what? I don’t answer to anyone I don’t choose to.”

Sakura’s lips parted in surprise, her heart beating a little faster.

“That’s the difference. Dangerous men… when you play your cards right, they can make you untouchable.”

“And that was with Orochimaru,” Anko said, leaning forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“Madara is a different creature entirely. Bigger, older, crueler — he’s an Uchiha. Head of his clan. Leader of half the country whether anyone likes it or not. If a man like that wants you in his orbit… and you’re clever enough to let him think it was his idea… the things he could give you would make my little fortune look like pocket change.”

Anko reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Sakura’s face, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“I’m not telling you to fall for him. And I’m not even telling you to trust him. Men like that don’t love. But they respect what they can’t control. And if you play it right, little blossom… you’ll have more freedom than any of us ever dreamed of.”

There was a heavy pause, thick with unspoken warnings and possibilities.

Sakura set her teacup down, her voice low but certain.

Ino-Chan worries… because she’s always seen me as the little girl trailing after her, running errands, practicing shamisen. She wants to keep me in the kind of world she understands. Safe. Familiar.”

Sakura looked up then, meeting Anko’s gaze without flinching.

“But I want to be free. And not when it’s convenient for someone else. Not when they decide I’ve earned it. On my own terms.”

Anko’s grin widened, a flash of genuine approval lighting her dark eyes. She reached for her cigarette, took a lazy drag, and exhaled.

“See, now that’s the kind of talk I like to hear.”

Sakura leaned back against the cushions, thoughtful. The room was warm, the faint scent of clove smoke and old sake hanging in the air.

“Thank you, Anko,” she said quietly. “For this. I needed to hear it.”

Anko smirked. “Don’t get soft on me, Sakura. You’ve got a fire — keep it burning.”

She tipped her head back against the wall, voice dropping low and sure.

“Ino, Jiraiya, Kushina — they all want you to be afraid because it keeps you where they can protect you. But there’s no freedom in fear, Sakura. Not for girls like us.”

Chapter Text

Spring-

A sharp knock at the door roused Sakura from sleep, and before she could fully open her eyes, Ino’s voice followed.

“Sakura. Up. We’re leaving soon.”

Sakura stirred beneath the quilt, the soft light of morning slipping through the gaps in the curtains. She sat up quickly, the fog of sleep clearing in an instant as her mind caught up with what this meant.

“Is it today?” she blurted, eyes brightening. “We’re going back to Konoha?”

Ino slid the door open, already dressed in her pale travelling robes. “Yes, today. And Lady Tsunade’s expecting you before noon.”

A grin spread across Sakura’s face, the heaviness of the past few days lifting like mist from a river. “And Shizune-san too? Will she be there?”

Ino gave a small huff of amusement, though there was fondness in it. “Yes, Shizune too. Honestly, you’re like a puppy whenever you hear their names.”

“I just— I miss them,” Sakura admitted, throwing back her quilt and scrambling to her feet. “It’s been ages since I saw them properly. I want to tell them about my adventures here, and—”

Ino shook her head with a half-smile as she moved to set out a soft lavender robes for Sakura to wear. “Save your chatter for the road. I’ll have us out the gate in an hour whether you’re dressed or not.”

“I’ll be ready,” Sakura promised, already pulling her hair loose from its sleep-tangled braid. The thought of the city streets, the shops, the teahouses, and most of all, Tsunade’s sharp voice and Shizune’s kind smile filled her with warmth she hadn’t realised she’d been missing so badly. She had been in the Province for just under three months but it felt like a lifetime.

Ino lingered a moment, watching her. The girl looked so eager, so unguarded. It made something ache deep in Ino’s chest.

“You’re a good girl, Sakura,” she said quietly. “Now hurry up.”

Later that morning, as Ino and Sakura made their way across Koje Avenue Bridge, the air hung thick with the scent of the Kisame river and the bustle of people. The sun shimmered off the water, turning the ripples to gold, and Ino was chattering about a hair ornament shop in Pontocho she insisted was the only place worth buying from when she came to a sudden halt. Sakura took in all the familiar sights and smells, feeling like she was home again

An old tugboat was puffing beneath the bridge, leaving a trail of oily smoke in its wake. At first, Sakura thought Ino was frowning at the black fumes, but when she turned, there was something peculiar in her expression, tempered with something harder.

“What is it, Ino-san?” Sakura asked, brow furrowed.

Ino hesitated, then gave a sigh, brushing her hair back from her face. “I may as well tell you, since you’ll only hear it from someone else. Hinata just won the apprentice’s award. They’re already saying she’ll win it again next month.”

Sakura blinked, the words hitting her like a slap she hadn’t seen coming. For a moment she said nothing, watching the ripples of the river below them.

The apprentice’s award — a recognition for whichever apprentice earned the most in the past month — was no small matter. It wasn’t just money; it was standing, proof of one’s worth in a world where reputation was everything. Several times, Ino had predicted Hinata would amount to little — a few loyal clients, none of them powerful, living quietly. And yet here she was.

Sakura should have felt glad for her. Her mind wandering back to find memories the two shared, their childhood experiences as they watched each other grow. But as the meaning settled in, an unpleasant twist of anxiety stirred in her stomach. While Hinata rose up in the world, she remained invisible. And worse still, she knew what it meant to fall behind in a city like this.

The most astonishing part wasn’t that Hinata had succeeded, but that she’d somehow outpaced Raiha — an exquisite girl from the Akimichi Okiya, famed for her mother’s legacy and her father’s wealth. Raiha had held that award for months, gliding through the world like a silver crane while the rest of them trailed after her like sparrows. How could Hinata, delicate, sweet-natured, and hopelessly shy, have surpassed her?

“Karin’s been dragging that poor girl around like a lucky coin,” Ino muttered, reading Sakura’s thoughts. “Working her to the bone. She’s half the size she was at her debut.”

“Even so,” Sakura ventured, “it’s impressive. Everyone will remember her as the girl who surpassed Raiha.”

Ino gave a sharp little laugh and gestured toward the distant tea district. “ Hinata may have earned more coins last month, but popularity isn’t measured in money alone. Come, I’ll explain.”

They made their way to a quiet tea room, the paper screens painted with lilies and cranes, and Ino ordered tea for them both.

“In this world,” Ino began, leaning in as though confiding a scandal, “money and power run deeper than anyone admits. A popular geisha like Karin can drag an apprentice around to every party she’s booked for, even if it means cutting the poor thing’s throat in the long run. You know about ohana, don’t you?”

Sakura nodded. Incense sticks, one ohana, used to measure a geisha’s time. An hour’s entertainment, marked by the steady burn of a stick, and the price was set by the Registry. It was still that way, though the costs had risen. When a geisha would arrive, the mistress of the Teahouse would light one ohana each hour, and the geisha would be paid for however many ohana she burned through.

“Well,” Ino went on, “Karin charges one ohana every fifteen minutes. I charge one every five.” She said this without arrogance, as though reciting a fact of nature. “An apprentice earns half an ohana per hour. But here’s the thing — whether she stays five minutes or sixty, the fee is the same. So if Karin drags Hinata to twenty parties in a night, she can make it look like the girl’s drowning in wealth.”

“But no one expects an apprentice to flit around,” Sakura scoffed. “We’re meant to stay. Build relationships.”

“Exactly,” Ino smiled, sharp and cold. “And men might tolerate it for a while, especially if Karin’s the one delivering her. But it won’t be long before they start asking why Hinata’s too busy to linger, and why she’s allowed to vanish when the rules say she should remain. It stinks of desperation, and desperation makes men restless.”

Sakura picked at the rim of her glass, the hot tea untouched. “Then it’ll harm them both.”

Ino shrugged, eyes glinting. “They’re playing a dangerous game. Hinata may be the ‘darling’ of the month, but Karin’s risking her standing to keep it that way.”

“Hinata’s as much a victim of Karin as I am,” Sakura said at last. Her voice was steady, but something twisted in her stomach. “But I am happy for her, I just… wish it wasn’t like this.”

Ino gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re too soft for this world sometimes.”

“I’m not soft,” Sakura shot back. “ I don’t blame Hinata for doing what she has to. Being with Karin, it’s like torture for her.”

Ino’s expression softened for a beat, then turned sharp again. “Karin is desperate, you know. She’ll do anything to push Hinata ahead. Especially now you’re here —”

Sakura raised a brow. “You think she’s afraid of me?”

“Not of you, but of what you might become. You’re Lady Tsunade’s favorite.”

Sakura gave a crooked grin. “I can almost hear her grinding her teeth from here.”

Ino’s gaze was sharp as a needle, her voice low and measured, the kind of tone meant for secrets not spoken aloud in teahouses. “Karin wants Hinata to look so exceptional, so dazzling, that Lady Tsunade has no choice but to change her mind about you — and adopt Hinata instead.”

“W-what?” The blood drained from Sakura’s face.

“If Hinata is made the daughter of the okiya,” Ino went on, “then her future is secured. And Karin’s right alongside it. Because Lady Tsunade would never disgrace herself by casting out the elder sister of her adopted heir. She’d be forced to keep Karin, no matter how much she wants her gone.”

The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, little one?” Ino’s smile was brittle, and not unkind. “If Hinata takes the place Tsunade’s been saving for you, then there’ll be no room for you left in this house. You won’t be rid of Karin… unless it’s you who’s thrown out.”

Sakura’s throat tightened. The spring cicadas shrieked from the trees above the river, loud and endless. She clenched her hands in her sleeves, steadying herself.

“Just when I thought things were falling in my favour, the wind changes ,” she said bitterly, a fire in her eyes.

The world of Konoha was not ruled by talent or kindness, not by beauty or skill — but by strategy, and by the quiet, ruthless hand that knew how to play the pieces best.

Sakura’s hands trembled slightly as she folded the delicate silk scarf in her lap. The room felt heavy, too heavy for someone who had only been in the province for barely three months.

Ino’s voice cut through the silence, steady but gentle.

“Yes, Karin does seem to be an ever present thorn. But you have the advantage Sakura,” she said, eyes fixed on the window where the sun dipped low behind the rooftops.

Sakura swallowed hard, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

“But I still feel like I’m drowning,” she whispered. “Like I’m barely holding on, and everyone’s watching, waiting for me to slip.”

Ino stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Sakura’s shoulder.

“Tsunade hates Karin. She wants her gone just as badly as you do. We all have a common enemy here.”

Sakura’s breath hitched, the fire behind her eyes flickering.

“Then why does Karin still have so much power? Why is she still here, making everything a nightmare?” Sakura hissed.

“Now Sakura, let’s not get too upset. The summer dance is up in three months, the odd are still in your favour ,” Ino had a sly glint in her eyes 

It was said that as many as seven or eight hundred geisha worked in Konoha, but only sixty were ever needed for the Dances of the Old Capital each summer  and fewer still earned solo roles. The competition for places was the stuff of whispered legends. Friendships that had survived years of debt, scandal, and petty rivalries were routinely destroyed during the auditions. Girls tripped each other in the wings, sabotaged costumes, spread lies about injuries or debts.

For many apprentices, it was their chance to prove themselves worthy of the capital’s highest stages.

Ino hadn’t been entirely honest with Sakura when she’d claimed she once stole a role from Karin. In truth, Ino had never needed to steal anything. She was one of the rare few whose place in the production was assured from the moment her name was called, her solos were a highlight audiences fought to see. But what had been true was Karin’s desperation. For years, Karin had schemed and manoeuvred to have Hinata cast in the summer dances. Somehow, she’d convinced herself it was possible.

And perhaps it might have been… if Hinata’s talents matched her beauty.

Yet despite the apprentice’s awards and the attentions she earned at banquets, Hinata had never excelled at dance. Not even close.

And it was precisely this crack in the veneer that Ino was determined to exploit.

“Listen to me, Sakura,” Ino said. “This dance production, it’s not just a performance. If you can claim a solo, even better, the lead solo, well I doubt you’ll get that but if you did… you won’t just rise above Hinata. You’ll beat Karin at the one thing she’s spent years chasing.”

Sakura swallowed hard. The thought of standing on that stage made her stomach knot, but she forced herself to nod. “And Mother…?”

“She’ll see it.” Ino’s gaze sharpened, the cool gleam of strategy in her eyes. “There’s a reason she let you come to the province when she never gave Karin the same privilege. She hates Karin. And she wants you to surpass her.” Ino slowed. “If you secure a place in the summer dances, and especially if you take that solo, no one in this city, not Karin, not Hinata, will be able to deny your worth. It’s how you win your future here.”

“I don’t know if I’m good enough,” Sakura admitted quietly. “I’ve been out of the academy for so long, I haven’t kept up with my dance lessons.”

“Which is exactly why this matters so much,” Ino snapped, though there was no cruelty in it. “If you fall behind now, you’ll never catch them. Out dancing Hinata isn’t too hard, the girl will never secure a role. But if you outdance the other geisha in front of all Konoha? In front of Lady Tsunade and every patron who matters? You’ll be the girl they remember. The one they talk about at every teahouse. That’s your weapon, Sakura. Dance is what makes or breaks a geisha.”

Sakura took a slow breath, feeling the weight of it settle in her chest. She’d come here believing herself invisible. But Ino was right, there were eyes on her now. She could feel them.

Ino’s voice dropped, cautious but real.

“But it’s not just about securing the dance, that’s the first part of the plan. You need a Danna, Sakura, that’s where the real power comes from. Someone who can protect you, who has the finances to push Karin out for good.”

Sakura’s eyes darted up, confusion and fear mingling.

“Who?”

Ino nodded slowly, the regret barely hidden beneath her pinched smile.

“ As much as it scares me to say it… he might be your key to surviving this.”

A cold silence settled between them. Sakura’s heart thundered painfully, the weight of Ino’s words sinking deep.

“I hate that I even have to consider him,” Ino said quietly, voice trembling. “But… if he’s the only way, then what choice do we have?”

Sakura’s smile faltered. “Funny, coming from you. Weren’t you the one practically pelting me with stones for breathing near him?”

Ino sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t! I know what I said. And I still stand by it all, he is not to be trusted, but right now we have bigger issues to deal with.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Sakura looked out over the water, heart pounding.

They started walking, the distant hum of music trailing in the night air. Sakura chewed her lip, the pieces clicking together in her head — slow at first, then all at once.

Sakura huffed a laugh, though her chest still felt tight. “Two months, huh?” She glanced up at the sky. “That’s not a lot of time to become the best dancer in Konoha. I’m barely keeping up with the parties and tea ceremonies as it is. And now I’ve got to juggle dance, the province, and somehow not die of exhaustion in the meantime.”

Ino shrugged. “Welcome to the trade.”

Sakura shook her head, biting back a laugh. “You know, if I end up in an early grave, I’m haunting you. Hide your lipstick. Whisper embarrassing things about you to every patron you flirt with.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” But the teasing faded as Sakura’s expression grew steadier, fiercer. “I’m not just going to survive this, Ino-san. I’m going to win it. I’ll take a solo. I’ll make them trip over themselves to name me heir to the Senju. And I’ll dance so well it’ll make Karin sick to her stomach.”

Ino’s grin softened, something almost like pride flickering there. “That’s the spirit.”

“And when I do,” Sakura added, jabbing a finger toward her chest, “you owe me a new pair of feet and an entire week off.”

“Deal.”

They started walking again, the path ahead long and brutal, but Sakura’s steps felt lighter somehow.

She wasn’t running anymore.

She was chasing.

Konoha- spring 

The front gates of the Senju Okiya shone ahead, familiar and still somehow strange after months away. Sakura’s stomach twisted.not in dread this time, but something softer.

Anticipation.

Relief.

Home.

The sliding doors cracked open before she could knock, and Shizune appeared in the entryway, eyes going wide before they lit up.

“Maa, Sakura-chan!” Shizune cried, practically throwing herself forward. She grabbed Sakura into a fierce hug, squeezing until Sakura’s ribs protested. “Look at you, you’ve grown so much! Have you gotten taller? Wait, don’t tell me, you’ve been eating properly, right? Tsunade-sama would have my head if you came back malnourished!”

Sakura laughed, hugging her tightly. “I missed you too, Aunty.”

Shizune pulled back, cupping Sakura’s face in her hands. “Your skin looks good, your hair’s gotten so long… has the Province been kind to you?” Her eyes softened. “We’ve missed you around here, little one.”

A throat cleared behind them.

“Better save some for me.”

Sakura’s head snapped up, and there was Lady Tsunade, leaning against the frame of the inner door, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. For all her usual imposing presence, her expression right now was open, warm. The kind of look Sakura had only ever seen a handful of times.

“Mother !” Sakura breathed, and the next second she was bolting into Tsunade’s arms.

The older woman caught her easily in a crushing hug. “There’s our Sakura.”

Sakura clung to her, suddenly, stupidly close to tears.

“Oi, oi, don’t get soppy on me now,” Tsunade grumbled, though she didn’t let go. “You’ve only been gone a few months, not a decade.”

“Felt like longer,” Sakura muttered into her shoulder.

“Well, you’re home now.” Tsunade finally set her down, brushing a lock of hair from Sakura’s face. “Come on. Shizune’s been dying to fuss over you, and I’ve got a bottle of rice wine with your name on it.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed rice wine,” Sakura teased, grinning.

“Technically, you’re not.” Tsunade smirked. “But I’m in charge, and it’s a special occasion.”

They led her through to the formal reception room, the beautiful, airy space with polished floors and painted screens. A  table was already set with dishes: fresh pickles, skewers of barbecued lamb, steamed rice, and delicate sweets.

“I told the kitchen to get everything ready for your arrival,” Shizune said, setting down an extra dish of salted plums. “And I got those sweet buns you like with the red bean paste.”

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” Sakura said, though her stomach growled audibly.

“Trouble?” Tsunade snorted, pouring them each a cup of sake.

She hesitated at Sakura’s place. “Half a cup for you. Don’t tell Ino.”

“I won’t,” Sakura grinned, lifting the cup.

They ate, the conversation easy and bright. Sakura told them about the bustling markets she and Moegi frequented, about a street performer who kept trying to juggle flaming sticks and nearly set a noblewoman’s coat on fire. About a merchant who swore blind his peaches could cure stress and stomach aches.

“And did you try one?” Shizune asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

“Still stressed. But my stomach’s never felt better.”

Tsunade burst out laughing, her cheeks already red from the alcohol.

They told her about the okiya too — how one of the younger girls had gotten caught sneaking sweets, how a high-ranking merchant’s wife had caused a scandal by getting drunk and singing perverted songs at the last tea ceremony they had hosted.

“You’d have loved it,” Tsunade said. “I nearly dropped the tea tray laughing.”

“Sounds like I’ve missed all the good bits.” Sakura pouted.

“You’ll catch up,” Shizune promised, refilling her cup with a splash more sake. “We’re just glad you’re home. Tsunade-sama has been missing her gambling buddy!”

And for the first time in months, Sakura let herself believe she was home.

The evening settled in soft and easy. Lamps were lit, low music drifted from somewhere in the garden, and the scent of rice wine and fresh ink hung in the informal lounge. The three of them had gathered around the small lacquered table, sleeves pushed up, cards scattered between cups of sake and a half-eaten plate of sweet buns. Sakura felt so much comfort in the informal lounge, the room she had spent countless hours in, practicing her flute, learning proper geisha manners and playing cards.

“Tch. Another three pairs? Are you cheating, Sakura?” Tsunade groaned at her poor luck, narrowing her eyes as she set her hand down.

“Like I’d need to cheat against you two lightweights.” Sakura smirked, scooping up the small pile of coins. “I’ve got three months worth of experience on you.”

“You’re impossible,” Shizune laughed warmly.

This was the most relaxed she’d felt in months. Sakura wished she could bottle the moment and tuck it away.

Then — a commotion in the hallway.

A pair of sharp, stumbling footsteps. A raised, slurred voice. Shizune’s brow furrowed as she rose.

“I’ll deal with it,” she sighed, setting down her cards.

They heard the muffled argument through the shoji screen.

“—off me, I said! I can walk, damn you bitc—”

“Karin.” Tsunade’s face hardened instantly.

The door slid open just enough for Shizune to poke her head back in. Her expression was tight.

“It’s her. Drunk off her head again.”

Sakura felt her stomach drop. The warmth of the room turned cold against her skin. Tsunade caught the flicker of panic in her face, her gaze pinning Sakura like a needle to silk.

“Leave her in her room, lock the door if you have to,” Tsunade told Shizune flatly. “I don’t want to see her. Not tonight.”

Shizune nodded, slipping back out.

For a long moment, there was silence. Sakura’s hands trembled just slightly as she reached for her sake cup.

“You alright, girl?” Tsunade asked, not unkindly.

“I… I’m fine.” But her voice was too thin. She hated how easy it was to feel twelve again in this house.

Tsunade set her cards down, the humor of the evening fully gone. “Listen to me.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, gaze sharp. “I know what the Senju name means to the rest of this province. You’re my heir. My name will fall to you when the time is right. And there are plenty of people — here and elsewhere — who would see you ruined before they let that happen.”

Sakura swallowed hard, her fingers curling against her lap.

“Karin isn’t your biggest problem,” Tsunade said quietly. “She’s a thorn in our side yes, but there’s worse problems that an overgrown weed.”

There was another pause before Tsunade’s voice dropped lower.

“Tell me everything about Madara.”

Sakura’s head snapped up, startled.

“Wh-what do you mean everything?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Tsunade’s gaze didn’t waver. “I can see it in your face, Sakura. You’ve been in his company. Whatever Ino’s told you, whatever you think you owe him — I want to hear it from you now.”

Sakura’s throat tightened. She thought about lying. About pretending it was nothing. About brushing off those coincidental meetings, the conversation, the quiet glances like stray embers. But under Tsunade’s stare, it felt impossible.

“He’s… he’s been polite to me,” she admitted, hating the way her voice wavered.

“Just polite?” Tsunade’s brow twitched.

“Not like… I mean — I know what he is. I haven’t forgotten what you said. But he hasn’t done anything improper. He listens to me. He asked me to play the flute for him once.” She swallowed. 

Tsunade’s mouth pressed into a grim line.

“I didn’t seek him out,” Sakura insisted. “I swear it. But he’s… everywhere. At parties, when I play cards with the Nara’s, the estate dinners. Ino said maybe he—”

“Ino,” Tsunade muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course she did.”

“She thinks maybe he’s the key to… to getting rid of Karin. To securing a Danna. And I don’t know what to think, Mother . I don’t trust him but—”

“But he’s everywhere.” Tsunade’s voice was rough.

A beat.

“…Yes.”

Tsunade sighed, leaning back with a hand through her hair.

“I won’t lie to you, Sakura.” Her eyes met Sakura’s again, steady and firm. “The Senju and the Uchiha do not have a pretty history together, since Lord Hashirama’s time our two clans have been at each others throats.”

Sakura’s breath hitched.

“I’ll protect you where I can,” Tsunade went on. “But you need to protect yourself too. Don’t tell him things you can’t take back. Don’t believe him when he flatters you. And never, ever forget who you belong to.”

Sakura nodded, throat tight.

“Who do you belong to, Sakura?”

“The Senju,” she whispered.

“Good.” Tsunade softened slightly. “Now finish your sake. I’ll have Shizune bring you fresh tea before bed.”

Sakura did as she was told — but the warmth of the room never quite returned.

Sakura woke hours later with a pounding headache, she groaned as the light fell on her face. Angrily rolling over, she pulled her pillow over her face to try block the sunshine. It must have been nearly noon by how high the sun was already, it was a blessing Aunty had let her sleep in so late, the sake had really steamrolled her.

Begrudgingly, she got up in search of a cold glass of water and perhaps some breakfast.

The pale midday light slanted through the paper screens, catching as Sakura adjusted the tie of her obi. The courtyard outside echoed with the chatter of maids busy with their daily task and the rhythmic slap of sandals against stone.

Her bedroom door slid open without warning.

Karin leaned casually in the frame, one hip cocked, her crimson hair catching the sun like fire. She didn’t bother with a greeting.

“Well, well,” she drawled. “Look who’s finally decided to crawl back to Konoha like a stray.”

Karin had always been beautiful in the way fires were; dangerous, devouring, and impossible to look away from. Her sharp, elegant features were framed by that vivid scarlet hair, every strand catching the light like blood in water.

But it was her eyes Sakura hated most. Cool and glinting, they held a cruel sort of amusement, the gaze of someone who enjoyed watching others squirm. There was a venom in them, something calculating and unkind, like a snake deciding whether to strike.

Sakura didn’t so much as flinch. She finished tying her obi, smoothed her sleeves, and met Karin’s gaze in the reflection of the lacquered mirror. “I was invited to return.”

“Oh, I bet you were.” Karin’s smirk was sharp as glass. She sauntered into the room, the soft rustle of silk sounding far too loud in the hush. “Tsunade’s little charity case. I hope you’re not getting too comfortable. You don’t belong here. You never did.”

Sakura turned then, calm and steady. “You know, for someone who claims I don’t belong, you sure spend a lot of your time reminding me.”

Karin’s eyes flashed. “I’m warning you. Stay out of my way — you’ll never win.”

Sakura’s smile was small and wicked, like a knife’s edge. “You’re afraid.”

Karin’s expression twisted. “Oh? I’m afraid?, seems like the little insect has found her voice”

“You wouldn’t be here unless you were,” Sakura said softly, folding her arms. “You’ve been top girl for so long you’ve started to forget what it feels like to have someone coming for you.”

For a moment, the air between them felt brittle, tight as a pulled bowstring.

Then Karin sneered, stepping close enough that Sakura caught the faint scent of wine on her breath. “While you’re off playing aristocrat, Hinata is here winning awards and making a name for herself,” she hissed. “And when she surpasses you, not even Tsunade will be able to save you.”

Sakura tilted her head, voice low and sure. “Then she’d better move fast. I don’t plan on staying beneath her for long.”

Karin’s hand twitched at her side as though itching to strike, but she thought better of it.

With a sharp, bitter laugh, she turned on her heel and stormed out, the door rattling in its frame behind her.

Sakura let out a slow breath, the tension leaving her shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror stared back, composed, clear-eyed, and burning with a quiet, dangerous confidence.

“Good talk,” she murmured.

Konoha - spring 

For three weeks straight, every dawn came too early. She’d wake before the temple bells, throat dry like the desert, her muscles aching from the day before. The spring mist that clung to Konoha’s narrow streets was no longer romantic — it was cold, it was cruel, and it bit at her skin as she hurried to the old dance academy.

Mrs. Suzume was merciless.

If Sakura was five minutes early, she was scolded for being late. If she arrived on the hour, she was ignored. And if she was so much as a second behind, she was turned away, forced to beg for a second chance. The old woman had seen a hundred hopeful girls like her and made it clear she had no intention of coddling another.

“Grace is forged in suffering,” Mrs. Suzume snapped on the second morning, swatting Sakura’s shoulder with a thin bamboo rod when her arm wavered during a complicated pose.

“If you’re not bleeding for it, you’re not working hard enough.”

By the end of the first week, Sakura’s feet were blistered and raw. Her shoulders ached. Her hair stuck to her face in humid clumps. The elegant practice robes she’d worn on her first day were long abandoned in favor of thin, sweat-stained trousers and shirts and a strip of cloth binding her hair up and out of the way.

Other apprentices whispered about her. Some admired her grit, others mocked her stubbornness.

“She’ll crack before midsummer,” one of the older geisha had said during a water break.

“You watch,” another had replied. “They always do.”

But Sakura didn’t.

 Couldn’t.

In the evenings, when the other girls vanished home or the dumpling stalls, she stayed behind. Practicing. Bleeding. Working through the ache.

Shizune caught her more than once, crouched in a corner of the okiya courtyard, soaking her feet in cold water, eyes glassy with exhaustion.

“Sakura-chan… you’ll make yourself sick at this pace.”

“I can’t stop,” she whispered back, voice raw.

She never said Karin’s name aloud. She didn’t have to.

By the second week, she began dividing her time between Konoha and the province, slipping back to the Province for formal dinners hosted by Lord Hokage and card games with Naruto and Shikamaru, then returning by dawn for drills. Ino had warned her it would be brutal, but the reality made her bones ache.

And yet, something else settled into Sakura during those weeks. A kind of iron will. A reckless fire that made even Mrs. Suzume raise a brow by the twelfth day.

“You don’t move like a beginner anymore.”

“I’m not one,” Sakura shot back, breath ragged, hair plastered to her sweaty skin.

The old woman almost smiled.

By the third week, the ache in her muscles felt normal. The blisters on her feet burst and healed and burst again. She could hold a fan steady for an hour without her wrist trembling, and her balance on turns was sharp enough to make even the older geisha pay attention.

“You’re working a bit too hard, you know,” Ino muttered one evening after catching Sakura limping, soaked in sweat.

“No such thing!”

Green eyes, fierce and unyielding.

She had only a few weeks left before the Dances of the Old Capital auditions.

And Sakura wasn’t about to let them bury her.

The late afternoon sunshine clung to the okiya’s courtyard, birds chirping in the trees as Sakura moved through her dance sequence. Her sleeves billowed with each turn, the bright pink of her practice kimono catching the sunlight. She was alone out there, save for the quiet of the stone garden and the faint trickle of water from the koi pond.

Her muscles ached. A sheen of sweat clung to her neck. But she kept moving.

One more turn. One more breath. One more perfect step.

“Sakura-chan.”

She startled at the sound of Shizune’s voice, halfway through a pivot. The older woman stood in the open walkway, looking a little breathless.

“Lady Tsunade wants to see you. Now.”

Sakura blinked, catching her breath. “Did she say what for?”

“Just come.”

She wiped her palms on the edge of her sleeve and followed.

Inside, the air was cooler. The familiar scent of polished wood, sake, and old incense clung to the walls of the office. Tsunade stood by the black telephone set, one hand resting on her hip, the other still holding the receiver.

“There you are,” Tsunade said, lowering the phone. A glint of something unreadable crossed her face. “You’ve been summoned, it seems.”

Sakura’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“Lady Mikoto herself just rang. You’re invited to lunch tomorrow.”

That made Sakura pause, though not for the reasons Tsunade might have expected. She’d taken lunch with Lady Mikoto before, a gentle, elegant woman with tired eyes. But nothing happened at that estate without Lord Madara’s say-so.

And lately, everything felt like a move on his game board.

“Should I decline?” she asked carefully.

Tsunade studied her for a moment. “No. Go. Be polite. Apprentices cannot decline a summon.”

That earned a steely smile from Sakura. “Yes, Lady Tsunade.”

“Good. Now go soak your feet before you collapse.”

The Next Day — Uchiha Estate

The Uchiha estate was different today.

Cool, orderly, ancient- as per usual, but Lady Mikoto had a small radio playing ballads from the last decade. The music filled the room with much needed background noise. The lunch was pleasant enough: Lady Mikoto was gracious and thankfully lucid, a far cry from the glassy eyed woman Sakura had met first.

A small table had been set, china cups already filled with steaming tea. Lady Mikoto sat with a fan resting lazily in one hand, her dark hair swept up in a simple but elegant style, a soft blue kimono embroidered with white cherry blossoms catching the light.

“You really should wear more of that shade of green,” Mikoto remarked as Sakura settled beside her, smoothing her sleeves. “It brings out the warmth in your eyes.”

Sakura laughed lightly, glancing down at her pale sage-coloured obi. “Ino-san says the same thing. She’s forever trying to wrestle me into some sort of green.”

“Hmm,” Mikoto smiled as Sakura poured her tea. “Yes, Ino, she always had good taste. A woman should dress to be something beautiful and impossible to forget.”

Sakura flushed a little at that, fiddling with the rim of her cup. “I’ll remember that, my lady.”

“Oh,Mikoto-san is acceptable when we’re like this.” Mikoto’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “ are the cherry blossoms already falling in Konoha? I miss seeing them against the mist this time of year.”

“They were just starting when I left,” Sakura said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The whole district smelled sweet in the evenings. Shizune-San made me tea with pickled blossoms before I left.”

“Aah, you’re lucky,” Mikoto sighed. “When I was your age, I used to sneak away from lessons and sit by the river where the white blossoms drifted down. There was a boy from the Nara district who could play the shamisen so softly it felt like a cloud.”

Sakura smiled. “I’m not much of a shamisen player but I’ve been practicing my flute.”

“I remember,” Mikoto said warmly. “You played for us once. It was lovely.”

Sakura ducked her head, her smile turning a little shy. “It’s easier than speaking, sometimes.”

Mikoto chuckled. “You’ll have to play for me again.”

“I’d like that,” Sakura said softly, glancing out toward the blossoming trees. “Maybe something about the spring wind.”

“Wonderful,” Mikoto teased, lifting her cup in a little toast. 

Sakura grinned and clinked her cup against Mikoto’s.

“To spring,” she said.

And for a while, the two women sat in companionable peace, letting the radio play and the petals fall.

When Madara entered the room, it felt like the very air bent to accommodate him. Sharp as a drawn blade in dark robes, hair loose over his shoulders. He didn’t announce himself, he didn’t need to.

“You’re just in time for tea, Madara-san.” Mikoto smiled at him and welcomed him to sit.

Sakura rose to bow, her heart already quickening.

“You’ve been away,” he said smoothly, crossing to the low table where she sat.

That made her freeze.

She hadn’t realised he’d noticed. Or perhaps she had and just hoped he hadn’t cared.

“I’ve been in Konoha, Lord Madara” she answered, keeping her voice steady, her gaze respectfully lowered.

“So I gathered.” He took the seat opposite her, pouring himself a cup of tea, though he didn’t drink it. “You’ve been busy.”

A beat of silence passed. She forced herself to meet his eyes, green against obsidian.

“The Dances of the Old Capital auditions are in a matter of weeks,” she said. “I intend to take one of the junior solos.”

His lips quirked, a fraction. “Ambitious.”

“Necessary,” Sakura replied, voice firmer now. “If I’m to build a name for myself, well- It’ll be on that stage.”

Madara studied her for a long moment, something in his expression darkly amused, as though pleased by the defiance tucked beneath her words.

“I admire the ambition,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink at last. “You’ll have no shortage of admirers that night. Be certain you remember which ones are worth your time.”

There it was again, the unspoken reminder that nothing in this country happened by accident.

“I’m not easily swayed,” Sakura said softly, a cheeky little smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. 

That earned a rare, quiet chuckle from Madara.

“We’ll see.”

Madara set his cup down, the porcelain clicking softly against the table’s lacquered surface.

“I hear,” he said, his tone idle but the weight of it unmistakable, “that you’ve made quite the impression on the dance instructors at the academy.”

Sakura’s breath caught in her throat — not out of fear, but surprise. She hadn’t thought word would travel so quickly.

“I’m working hard,” she answered cautiously. “Anything other than all my effort is pointless.”

Madara hummed, leaning back slightly, his gaze sharp as ever. “I find I’m curious.”

Sakura blinked. “Curious, Lord Madara?”

“About whether the praise is deserved.” A pause, then a ghost of a smile. “Sakura. Dance for me.”

She stiffened— not out of indignation but from the sheer weight of the request. It wasn’t a command, not exactly.

It was a test. A moment that might matter more than any stage she’d ever stand on.

For a fleeting instant, she considered declining, making up some excuse to get out of it. Then she remembered what Ino had told her: the only way to beat them is on their own field . And Madara’s field was power, and poise, and showing him nothing but what she chose to give.

So she smiled, small, delicate, defiant.

“Of course,” she said, rising with measured grace. “It would be my honour.”

“Would you like me to fetch the musicians?” Mikoto offered, though there was a note of gentle curiosity in her voice.

Sakura shook her head. “I won’t need them.”

Mikoto inclined her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “I suspected as much.”

She stepped out onto the polished floor of the reception room, the late afternoon sun pooling in through the tall windows. Her heart thudded against her ribs, but her hands didn’t shake. Her body remembered the steps even if her mind rattled.

A breath.

Then she moved.

It wasn’t a long piece, merely an informal dance meant to showcase control, balance, the bend of wrist and flicker of sleeve.

But Sakura poured every aching, bruised, blistered hour into it.

Every lonely evening in the training courtyard.

Every stifling afternoon of repetitions under Lady Tsunade’s sharp-eyed corrections.

Every bruising correction from the senior instructors.

Every stubborn, defiant refusal to quit.

She let the music play in her mind — the sound of temple bells, the wave of strings — and carried herself like a woman worthy of the Senju name.

When she finished, she stilled in the final pose, head bowed, a bead of sweat tracing the curve of her neck.

Silence.

Then the chatter of awe from Mikoto and the  soft clap of Madara’s hands, polite and measured. But his gaze, well there was a spark of something new there.

“Better than I expected,” he murmured. 

Sakura straightened, her chin lifting.

“I intend to be the best.”

A flicker of approval crossed his features.

“Good.” He rose, adjusting the sleeve of his robe. “I expect to see you at the Dances of the Old Capital. And I expect you’ll make it worth my while.”

She gave a perfectly polished bow, but her voice carried a steel edge when she answered.

“I intend to make it worth my own.”

He chuckled at that, genuine and low, then turned, leaving her with the lingering weight of his gaze.

Senju Okiya

The paper shutters rattled softly in the wind. Somewhere outside, a bell tolled.

Sakura dreamed.

The room in her dream was not her own — it was too large, too dim, and the air pressed down like heavy silk. Shadows clung to the corners, pooling like ink.

A figure stepped from the shadows.

Karin.

She wore the same crimson silk, but her face was wrong — a sharp, cruel smile stretched wider than it should have, her eyes gleaming with vicious delight.

“You’ll never be one of us,” she hissed. “You think you belong here? A failure just waiting to happen.”

Sakura tried to move, but her legs were made of lead. Karin stepped closer, her voice turning syrupy and venomous.

“You’ll trip, you’ll fall, you’ll humiliate yourself and the whole Okiya . I’ll be there when you do.”

And there he was, seated at the far end of the room.

Madara.

Not quite Madara.

His face was shrouded, the familiar dark hair blending into the walls, his eyes a pair of obsidian coals gleaming in the dark.

“That was your best? Pathetic. You haven’t even begun to touch what’s required of you.”

The words were a whisper but filled the entire space. The sound of them made the floor beneath her feet feel unstable, like paper stretched over a pit.

Sakura tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She looked down at her feet bare, her dance sleeves stained with something dark, her hands trembling.

The flute she often carried was broken, splintered clean in two in her lap.

“You dance like a frightened child,” his voice echoed again, though his mouth never moved.

She tried to run, but the room had no door.

A rising sound, like the roar of a distant crowd or the crash of ocean waves, built and built until it threatened to swallow her whole.

“Wake up.”

Someone was shaking her.

Sakura jolted upright, her hair plastered to her neck with sweat, chest heaving. For a sickening moment she didn’t know where she was, then the familiar pale walls of her okiya room took shape around her.

Her stomach lurched.

She barely made it to the bathroom before she was retching, the bitter taste of bile burning her throat. Shaking hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white.

A soft knock.

“Sakura-chan?” Shizune’s voice, bleary with sleep. “Are you alright?”

Sakura spat, rinsed her mouth, and forced herself to answer.

“I’m fine,” she rasped, though her heart was still hammering in her chest. “Just… too much sake, maybe.”

A lie, but one Shizune let her have.

“I’ll bring you tea?”

“No, it’s alright.”

She listened to Shizune’s retreating footsteps, then splashed cold water on her face. In the mirror, her reflection looked older than she remembered. Hollow-eyed and taut.

Three weeks.

She could endure Three more weeks.

She climbed back into her bed and fell back asleep, tossing and turning as a restless slumber took over.

The sunset light bled warm gold across the courtyard, catching on the edges of Sakura’s sleeves as she turned through the final steps of her routine. Her breathing was ragged, the weight of exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin, but still she danced, her wrists flicking, ankles bending, the strain in her calves sharp and constant.

Shizune sat on the ledge by the courtyard, a folded fan clutched loosely in her hands, watching with a furrow between her brows. She’d long  stopped calling out encouragement, knowing Sakura barely heard her anymore.

There was no music. Only the rhythmic slap of Sakura’s sandals against the stones and the thud of her heartbeat in her own ears.

And then —

Tsunade.

The Senju matriarch strode into the courtyard, her expression a storm barely restrained. She stopped a few paces from Shizune, arms folded.

“Foolish girl. How long has she been at this?” Tsunade asked, her voice low but simmering.

Shizune hesitated. “Since before lunch, Lady Tsunade. I… I tried to tell her to rest.”

“Great job you did there Shizune,” Tsunade’s gaze cut to her, her sarcasm piercing.

Shizune wilted a little, lowering her head. “I should’ve made her stop.”

“Yes,” Tsunade said flatly. “You should have.”

Sakura landed in her final pose, chest heaving, stray hairs plastered to her damp temples. When she looked up and saw them both standing there, something inside her clenched.

“Mother,” she said, bowing stiffly, though her muscles screamed at the movement.

“I thought you were told to rest today,” Tsunade said, voice like iron.

“I needed to keep practicing,” Sakura replied, too weary to temper the desperate edge in her tone. “The solo—”

Tsunade cut a hand through the air. “Enough.”

Silence fell like a weight.

“You’ll dance yourself into the ground at this rate,” Tsunade snapped. “And don’t mistake stubbornness for strength, girl. That’s a lesson you should’ve learned by now.”

Sakura grit her teeth, her gaze dropping. She could feel Shizune’s worried eyes on her, but it only made the tight knot in her chest pull tighter.

“I’m fine,” Sakura murmured.

“No,” Tsunade shot back, her voice low, deadly calm. “You’re not.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Tsunade sighed, shaking her head. “You’re leaving for the province tomorrow afternoon.”

Sakura’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You heard me. No lessons. No practice. You’ll rest, eat, sleep, clear your head, and come back on Monday a geisha, not a corpse- or whatever stinky creature you seem to be right now.”

Sakura opened her mouth, but the sharp look Tsunade leveled at her stopped the protest dead in her throat. Out of respect, she bit it back, though frustration churned in her stomach.

“Yes, Mother.”

Tsunade gave a short, satisfied nod, then shot a withering glance at Shizune. “And you — next time, if she doesn’t listen then you threaten to smack her with the big stick if you have to.”

Shizune bowed low. “Yes, Tsunade-sama. I will.”

Without another word, Tsunade turned on her heel and strode away, the scent of honey and sake lingering in the air behind her.

For a long moment, neither Shizune nor Sakura spoke.

Then Shizune stepped forward, her voice soft. “She means well, you know.”

“I know,” Sakura whispered, though the words felt heavy in her mouth. The tight coil in her chest didn’t ease, not one bit.

Because she didn’t even think she could rest if she wanted to.

And in truth — she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

But now she had no choice, there were no dance teachers in the province and even though she had the space to drill her routines, she suspected Mother would write to Kanna to make sure she wouldn’t dance and focus only on rest.

Shizune fussed at the carriage door before Sakura could even sit down, pressing a bundle of cloth-wrapped fruit into her hands.

“Eat these, you need the sugar,” Shizune insisted, brow creased with worry. “And sleep. Proper sleep, not those little naps you pretend count.”

“I’ll be fine, Aunty, please don’t worry,” Sakura said, offering a soft smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Before she could sit down, Tsunade appeared behind Shizune, arms folded and gaze sharp as glass.

“I want no talk of dancing while you’re here,” Tsunade ordered, voice low and firm. “No practice. No lessons. You’re to rest, understand? Rest.”

Sakura bowed obediently, though a prickle of resentment flared in her chest. “As you wish, Mother.”

Tsunade held her gaze a beat longer, then grunted and turned away.

The journey flew by, Sakura spent most of it in and out of light sleep. By the time she had reached the province, the sun was just about to set.

Inside the estate, Kanna was waiting for her, the older woman smiled warmly as she greeted the young woman, and then launched immediately into her plans for Sakura’s enforced weekend of recovery.

“There’s a bath prepared for you after dinner, Sakura-sama. We had it prepared with rose and hibiscus, none of the green tea extract anymore,” Kanna said, Sakura felt touched the older woman had remembered her aversion to the green bath water.

“Tomorrow, a long walk to the river and an afternoon nap. I’ve arranged for heavier meals and daily fresh linens in your room. Absolutely no strenuous activity Sakura-sama, we all want you to rest, so please do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

Sakura bit her tongue, schooling her face into something resembling gratitude. “Thank you, Kanna-San.”

By the time night fell, her nerves were crawling under her skin.

Her bedroom was too quiet, too still. The mattress too soft. The scent of lavender water on the pillows made her stomach twist with unease rather than calm.

She tossed. Turned. Stared at the ceiling beams.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the dance. The steps. The curves of her arms, the precise lift of her wrist. The tight coil in her chest grew and grew until it felt like it would split her ribs apart.

After an hour, she rose and quietly rolled back the tatami mat in the center of her room.

Just a few minutes, she told herself, shrugging off her outer robe to stand in her underwear. Just enough to ease the knot in her stomach.

The first movement was shaky — her body too tense, her breath too short — but muscle memory took over. It always did.

Barely ten minutes passed before a soft knock came at the door.

“Sakura-sama?” It was Kanna, voice low, motherly. “Are you alright? Can I bring you some warmed milk?”

Sakura froze. Her pulse leapt to her throat. She clenched her fists, panting lightly.

“No, thank you,” she called back, careful to sound light. “Just restless.”

A long pause.

“Try to rest, Sakura-sama.”

When Kanna’s footsteps finally retreated, Sakura’s skin prickled with fury. Of course. Tsunade had written ahead. Told them all to watch her like a caged bird.

The room felt suddenly suffocating.

She shoved her outer robe back on, crept to the window, and pushed it open. The cool night air kissed her skin. Beyond the gardens, the grounds stretched into darkness.

Her heart thundered.

I can’t stay in this room. I’ll go mad.

The next morning, at breakfast, she mentioned a desire for a walk. Kanna permitted it, a cheerful smile on her face.

”A wonderful idea Sakura-sama, the gardens are wonderful this time of year.”

The spring air was thick with the scent of plum blossoms. Pale petals clung to her sleeves as she drifted through the winding paths, following a trail she scarcely remembered existing. The garden stretched far — older than she’d ever bothered to notice, wild in places where the caretakers rarely ventured.

For all her reluctance, she was enjoying her walk. The fresh air, the greenery, the crisp breeze on her face, it was invigorating. 

Sakura wandered the gardens aimlessly until she stumbled upon it — a rusted iron gate half-hidden behind an overgrown rose bush. It led to a narrow path winding through a stand of cedar trees.

At the end of it sat an old stone shrine, its roof sagging, its paper lanterns long rotted away. A clearing stretched before it, cloaked in warm sunlight .

Perfect.

That night, when the household lights were long extinguished, Sakura slipped from her room. The night was thick and warm, frogs calling in the distance. She clutched a small paper lantern to her chest, the flicker of flame trembling against the dark.

Every creak of a branch, every distant hoot of an owl made her nerves snap tight, but it was a thrilling, reckless kind of fear.

She reached the shrine without incident, the clearing still and silent but for the murmur of leaves.

She set her lamp down on a flat stone and began.

No music.

No audience.

Just the soft rasp of grass beneath her feet and the night wind tugging at her sleeves.

Her movements were rough at first, but soon she forgot to be afraid. The steps poured from her like water from a broken jar, every twist and turn driven by weeks of frustration, of pressure, of restless ambition.

She spun faster. Arms cutting through the air. The lantern light glinted off sweat-damp pink hair.

It was as though she could dance the ache from her bones, outrun the voice in her head whispering ‘not good enough, never enough.’

She didn’t know how long she’d been moving when a soft, deliberate clap broke the stillness.

Sakura’s heart nearly stopped.

She whirled, breath ragged, blood roaring in her ears.

A tall, shadowed figure stood at the edge of the clearing, cloaked in dark robes, hair loose around his shoulders.

“Well,” came the drawl. Low, rich, darkly amused. “That’s one way to break curfew.”

Sakura’s heart stuttered before recognition dawned.

Madara.

Of course it was him.

He stepped into the lantern’s glow, all dark robes and loose hair, a faint smile curving his mouth. His eyes gleamed like wet ink in the firelight.

“I—” Sakura scrambled for composure, cheeks flushed, very out of breath. “I didn’t mean— I thought no one—”

“How did you even find this place?” he asked, gesturing lazily to the clearing.

“I… I was walking,” she admitted, trying to catch her breath and compose herself. “I needed somewhere to practice. Lady Tsunade sent me here, told the estate staff to watch me. I thought—” her throat tightened, but she pressed on, “I thought if I didn’t keep moving, keep perfecting it, I’d fall behind. And if I fall behind, it’s over.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, watching her with that unreadable stare.

Then, to her surprise, he chuckled softly. Not mocking. Almost fond.

“An interesting choice of stage,” he murmured, stepping into the lantern’s glow. His gaze flicked over her disheveled hair, the flush on her cheeks, the sharp glitter in her eyes. “I’d have expected the Senju courtyard, perhaps. Not… this.”

“I didn’t know it was Uchiha land,” Sakura managed, chest heaving.

Madara’s brow arched. “Did you think no one patrolled these grounds?”

“I thought it was abandoned.”

He studied her for a long, unreadable moment, then a crooked smile touched his mouth. “You’re either remarkably foolish, or remarkably determined.”

“Both,” Sakura admitted, too exhausted to pretend otherwise. “But I can’t stop. I can’t breathe if I stop.”

Something in his expression shifted. Not pity. Something sharper, more thoughtful.

“I know that feeling well,” he said quietly.

That admission startled her more than his appearance had.

She hesitated. “You… do?”

Madara didn’t elaborate. He stepped closer, circling the clearing’s edge. “If you insist on risking your neck for ambition, there are better places than a rotting shrine. Come to the Uchiha estate. I have a private hall, no spying staff reporting to Tsunade. No restrictions.”

Sakura swallowed hard. The offer was insanity.

Dangerous.

And yet… exhilarating.

“You’d allow that, why?” she asked, wary.

“I …admire the storm in you, girl.” His voice dropped a fraction. 

”Tomorrow night,” he said. “Use the east gate. I’ll leave it unguarded.”

She hesitated, then bowed deeply. “Thank you, Lord Madara.”

His smile deepened. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll expect you to live up to the trouble you cause.”

With that, he turned and vanished into the trees, leaving her alone in the flicker of lantern light, her pulse thrumming like a drum.

Sakura stood alone in the clearing, heart racing, the ache in her limbs forgotten.

For the first time in weeks, the tight knot in her chest loosened.

Morning drifted lazily over the Senju estate.

In her room, Sakura slept on, curled in a tangle of silk covers, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The soft sigh of the garden wind barely stirred her hair.

It was nearly midday when Kanna slid the door open, carrying a tray of fresh linens. She paused by the futon and smiled — a small, softening of her wrinkled face.

“Sakura-sama,” Kanna murmured gently, kneeling beside her. “Would you like to wake, or rest a little longer?”

Sakura made a faint, wordless noise, half-buried in the pillow. “Mmm… sleep… more.”

Kanna chuckled quietly, setting the linens aside. “Very good. It’s about time you started resting properly.”

She drew the screens closed again and let Sakura drift back into a deeper doze, her breath slow and even.

An hour later, the warm, savory scent of rice porridge and grilled fish coaxed Sakura from sleep. She stretched under the covers, sore in the best way, the tight coil in her chest eased by the illicit dancing of the night before.

For the first time in weeks, she felt… calm.

She rose, slipped into a fresh under-robe, and padded out to the breakfast room where a low table awaited her, set with care.

A steaming bowl of porridge flecked with pickled plum sat beside slices of smoked mackerel, soft-boiled eggs, cut fruit, and a pot of pale green tea. Delicate dishes of salted daikon and preserved lemon slices glinted in the morning light.

Sakura sat cross-legged, pouring herself a cup of tea, the fragrant steam curling around her face. She ate slowly, savouring each bite, the warm rice easing the knot in her stomach, the oily richness of the fish melting on her tongue.

By the time the last of the fruit was gone, she felt almost like herself.

When she rose, Kanna was waiting in the corridor with a fresh towel and a satisfied expression.

“You slept well?” Kanna asked, unable to hide her relief.

“I did,” Sakura admitted with a smile, smoothing a hand over her hair. “I… think I needed the extra hours.”

“Good.” Kanna ushered her toward the bathhouse. “Hot water’s ready. The garden lotuses are blooming — you’ll smell them from the balcony.”

Sakura laughed softly, the sound light and unguarded. “You spoil me, Kanna-san.”

“Not nearly enough, Sakura-sama.”

After bathing, she let her hair down to dry in the sun, the strands falling soft and loose around her shoulders. She dressed in a pale lavender kimono patterned with bees in flight, the silk light as air against her skin, her obi a soft silver-gray.

When she stepped into the receiving room, it was as though she had stepped into another world.

The room was bright, the shoji screens thrown open to the garden. A tall vase of flowers stood in the corner, and a tray of tea and rice cakes awaited on the low table. The floor cushions were arranged with careful symmetry.

It was quiet. Peaceful. And yet Sakura knew the moment would not last.

Kanna appeared, bowing slightly. “Sakura-sama, Master Naruto has sent word. He asks if you might spare him a little time before you return to the city. He says he misses you.”

Sakura’s heart gave a small, fond twist. It had been too long.

“I’ll see him,” she said softly, smoothing the folds of her sleeve. “Send for him, please.”

Kanna smiled. “He’ll be here within the hour.”

As she left, Sakura moved to the balcony, watching the ripples in the koi pond, her reflection pale and watchful in the water.

For the first time in weeks, the pressure in her chest wasn’t a choking weight, but a quiet reminder.

One night of rebellion. One breath of air. And she was still standing.

And now… Naruto.

She smiled to herself, already imagining his grin.

“Sakuraaaa-chaaaaan! I’m here! Hey — where’s my favorite lady!?”

Before Kanna could even finish  opening the door, Naruto barrelled through the doorway like a summer storm, grinning ear to ear. He wore his usual half-tidy haori and trousers, a sash slung carelessly around his waist, and his hair as wild as ever.

“Sakuraaa!”

Sakura barely had time to stand before Naruto swept her into a crushing hug, lifting her clean off her feet and spinning her around with a triumphant laugh.

“There she is! I thought they’d locked you in the attic or something!”

“Put me down, you menace!” Sakura laughed, smacking his shoulder as her feet dangled helplessly.

Naruto grinned and set her down, still holding her shoulders. “You look exhausted ! Seriously! Way worse than when I saw you last — you look like a wilted daikon!”

“I do not!”

“Do too. All pale and miserable, like one of those sad ghost ladies you hear about.”

Sakura burst out laughing, swatting at his arm. “You absolute idiot. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you’ve been dodging me!” Naruto cried dramatically, throwing himself down onto one of the floor cushions. “I was in Gion for ages with Old Pervy Jiraiya every time I asked Granny Tsunade if you’re around, she makes this scary face and say you were out.”

Sakura rolled her eyes fondly as she poured tea for both of them. “That’s because you keep showing up when she’s three bottles of sake deep and itching to drink some more.”

Naruto snorted. “It’s not my fault, her aim gets worse after the second one. Last time she threw a fan at me and missed by a mile.”

Sakura laughed so hard she had to set the teapot down. “Serves you right for calling her an old hag.”

“She is an old hag!” Naruto declared proudly, earning a scandalised look from Kanna, who promptly left the room muttering something about ‘manners’ and ‘heathens.’

Sakura shook her head, still smiling. “Honestly, you’re lucky she hasn’t kicked you out of the district.”

“She’d miss me too much,” Naruto grinned. “Besides — someone’s gotta keep her honest.”

He leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “But hey — enough about that. How’s the dancing stuff? The old hag said you’re doing some big important show or whatever.”

Sakura’s smile softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t dodge the question or paint over her nerves. She just sighed and slumped a little.

“It’s… exhausting,” she admitted. “I feel like I’m either dancing, thinking about dancing, or dreaming about it. I swear I’ve forgotten what my own voice sounds like.”

“Well,” Naruto smirked, “it sounds like this; loud, bossy, and complaining about me.”

She snorted. “Shut up.”

He grinned and nudged her with his elbow. “I mean it, though. Don’t let them work you to death. You’ll forget how to have fun.”

“I already have,” she confessed quietly, staring into her tea. “But… last night I snuck out and danced in the gardens.”

Naruto’s eyes went wide. “No way!”

“I did,” she smiled, the memory sending a thrill through her chest. “It was… kind of amazing. I probably wasn’t supposed to, but I just couldn’t sit still anymore.”

“Hell yeah! That’s my girl!” Naruto whooped, slapping the table so hard the teacups rattled. “I knew you had it in you. Senju rules be damned!”

They both laughed, and for a while the conversation drifted — Naruto recounting some wild story about Jiraiya sneaking off to the Senju bathhouse and getting caught by an angry matron wielding a ladle.

“I swear, you should’ve seen his face, Sakura. Looked like a spanked puppy.”

“Oh gods, did Lady Tsunade hear about it?”

Naruto dissolved into wheezing laughter. “She did! And she chased him around the bathouse for an hour! The old man’s fast for a pervert.”

Sakura laughed until her sides ached, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “I missed this,” she admitted quietly, catching her breath. “I missed you.”

Naruto grinned at her, softer this time. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. So whenever you need to sneak out of a stuffy estate or ditch your grumpy teachers — you know where to find me.”

She smiled at him, something easing in her chest. “Thanks, Naruto.”

“Anytime, Sakura.”

And for a little while longer, they just sat there — two old friends, drinking tea, trading stories, and remembering how to laugh.

The house had settled into night.

Sakura lay in her room, perfectly still beneath the silk covers, her breathing soft and even. A servant had come by not long ago to check on her, and she’d feigned sleep so convincingly she might have drifted off for real if the tight knot of nerves in her chest hadn’t kept her pinned to wakefulness.

When the sound of footsteps faded down the hallway, Sakura slipped free of the covers. The floor was cool against her feet as she padded to the window, pushing it open with careful fingers. The night air kissed her skin, heavy with the scent of earth and leaves.

She glanced toward the trees beyond the garden. No guards. Just as promised.

Madara had told her the east gate would be left unguarded, a quiet murmur passed between them the previous evening after her reckless venture to the shrine. Now, it was up to her to seize the opportunity.

Sakura pulled on a plain cloak over her soft sleeping robes and made her way through the darkened gardens, the path crunching faintly beneath her steps. At the far end of the estate, she reached the old iron gate. It creaked softly as she opened it and slipped through.

The shrine clearing was waiting, bathed in silver light. Her lantern from the night before was still there, though unlit. Sakura pressed on, following the winding path she’d barely noticed in her excitement the night before.

It led, as promised, to an old section of wall thick with ivy. And there — the east gate, just barely ajar.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

For a moment she hesitated, a knot of fear tightening in her stomach. What if it was a trap? What if she was being tested? Or worse — had led herself straight to ruin?

But then she thought of Kanna’s well-meaning interruptions. The suffocating softness of too much fruit and sleep. The way her skin itched with the need to move, to sweat, to be more.

Sakura slipped through the gate.

The Uchiha estate was quiet, the hush of midnight wrapping the grounds like a second skin. A faint light flickered somewhere ahead. She followed it, heart hammering, her slippered feet soundless on the stone.

She rounded a corner.

There, seated alone in a long, low room, was Madara.

A lamp burned on the table beside him, illuminating his face in sharp relief — the planes of his cheekbones, the fall of his dark hair, the unreadable cast of his expression.

On the table: a plate of neatly sliced apples, a jug of water, and a half-empty bottle of wine.

He didn’t look up immediately, as though aware of her presence long before she arrived.

When he did, Sakura bowed low, her voice tumbling out before she could think better of it.

“I—thank you, my lord. I… I can’t tell you how kind this is. I’ll stay out of the way. I’m grateful.”

Madara was silent for a beat, his gaze unreadable. Then he set down the paper he’d been reading.

“Non-clan members cannot be left to wander our halls freely,” he said mildly. “Should you wish to practice here… I will supervise.”

The words sent a strange little shiver through her — not quite fear, not quite thrill.

Sakura straightened, catching sight of the stack of papers at his elbow and the ink brush balanced beside them. The seal of the Uchiha crest marked each page.

Work. He was working. Just as she had work to do.

“I understand,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

Without further delay, she stepped into the open floor of the room, shrugged off her cloak, and began.

She danced hard.

The movements were sharper than the night before, born not from grace but need. The ache in her muscles was clean, the stretch of her limbs addictive. Her heart pounded in time with each sweep and flicker of her sleeves.

An hour passed. Then another half.

By the time she collapsed onto the floor, sweat-dampened hair clinging to her neck, her chest heaving, Sakura felt something close to peace. Exhausted, yes — but sated.

She lay there a moment longer before Madara rose and crossed the room, setting a cup of cool water beside her.

“Sit,” he said, settling back down.

She obeyed, gulping the water gratefully. The sweat made her skin prickle in the night air.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, as if to fill the quiet, Madara murmured, “I haven’t seen a dance like that in years.”

Sakura blinked, caught off-guard by the softness in his tone.

“I used to watch the temple dances,” he went on, gaze fixed somewhere beyond her. “When I was a boy. My mother would take me during the spring festival. There was one dancer… I don’t remember her name. But she moved like water. Not a ripple out of place. Even the old men stopped to watch her.”

He gave a faint, almost self-mocking smile.

“I told myself I’d marry a woman like that one day. A girl who could turn a battlefield quiet, just by the way she moved.”

Sakura didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like too private a thing to be offered so casually.

“I don’t know if I can turn a battlefield quiet,” she said, voice dry, a teasing lilt to soften the tension.

Madara huffed a breath of amusement.

“No,” he agreed. “But you could make it watch.”

It felt, somehow, like a compliment.

Sakura finished her water, the ache in her muscles settling into something more manageable.

“I’ll leave soon,” she murmured. “I won’t overstay.”

Madara shook his head. “Come again tomorrow. Same way.”

She glanced at him, surprised.

“You’ll supervise?”

His lips quirked.

“I’ll supervise.”

And again, the tight coil in Sakura’s chest loosened.

The hush of the Uchiha estate thickened as the night wore on.

Sakura left the east room with her heart still pounding, the taste of cold water sharp in her mouth. She bowed again before slipping out, careful to ease the door closed behind her without a sound.

The courtyard was empty.

The path through the estate felt longer in the dark, the stones uneven beneath her slippers, every shadow a figure that wasn’t there. Her throat tightened when a faint breeze stirred the trees — a sharp rustle of leaves — but no one came.

She reached the east gate. True to his word, it was still ajar.

Sakura slid through, holding her breath until she was beneath the cover of the old shrine clearing. The grass brushed against her ankles as she hurried, the moon a pale, steady witness overhead.

In the distance, the Senju estate’s high walls rose like a promise.

And at the very edge of the gardens: her window.

By now she knew the path by heart. The ivy that clung to the wall gave just enough cover. She kept to the trees, counting her steps, ducking beneath low branches until her window came into view.

A single paper lantern hung outside her room, its light soft and flickering.

For a heartbeat, her stomach flipped. Had someone left it lit… because they knew she’d gone?

But no — the light had been there when she left. A servant’s habit, perhaps. Nothing more.

Sakura crept to the window, hoisted herself up, and slipped inside in one practiced movement. She tugged the shutters closed, pulling the bolt into place, and then she was safe.

The room smelled of cooled tea and lavender sachets. The untouched porridge bowl from dinner still rested on a tray by the wall.

Sakura let out a long, trembling breath and collapsed onto her futon. Her limbs ached, her hair clung to her damp skin, and her heart still hadn’t slowed — but the grin tugging at her lips was unstoppable.

She’d done it.

She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the echo of Madara’s words ringing faintly in her head: “But you could make it watch.”

Her chest swelled, not quite with pride, but something very near it.

She had slipped past Kanna. Past the careful, well-meaning staff. Past Tsunade’s watchful expectations. And danced until her body sang.

And she would do it again.

Tomorrow night.

The thought soothed her. The tightness in her chest unwound, and her eyelids grew heavy. She drifted off before she could stop herself, a rare, deep sleep, her dreams untroubled for once.

Sakura sat beneath the generous shade of an ancient maple tree in the gardens, the rustle of leaves dancing with a soft breeze around her. The sun filtered through the clouds, casting patterns across the worn pages of the poetry book resting on her lap. She read quietly, the light verses about fleeting moments and the subtle beauty of everyday life soothing her restless mind.

The scent of jasmine mingled with the earth, and somewhere nearby, the faint chirp of cicadas marked the height of midday.

From the shaded path, Kanna approached quietly, her footsteps light on the gravel.

“Sakura-sama,” she said softly, drawing Sakura’s gaze from the book. “The carriage will be ready to return you to Konoha at midday tomorrow. You still have today to yourself.”

Sakura closed the book and offered a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Kanna. For everything you’ve done—taking such good care of me this weekend. I truly appreciate it.”

Kanna returned the smile with a graceful bow.

“It has been my honor, Sakura-sama. Please, enjoy the rest of your day. There is time to rest before your journey.”

Sakura settled back against the tree trunk, the quiet warmth of the afternoon wrapping around her.

Sakura slipped through the narrow east gate, its iron hinges left unlatched just as promised. The faintest glow from a distant lantern marked her path, and she followed it with steady, careful steps, the hush of the compound around her broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath her feet.

As she approached the familiar room, the faint flicker of lamplight spilled from the half-open doors. For a fleeting, awful second, Sakura’s chest tightened. What was she doing?

She forced a breath through her nose, smoothed her palms against her sleeves, and stepped inside.

Madara was already seated at the low table, just like the night before, a bottle of wine, a jug of water. He didn’t look up immediately, his attention still on the papers arrayed before him. Only after she stepped fully into the room did he glance up.

Sakura bowed deeply.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Uchiha-sama. I wished to express my gratitude before anything else… and to inform you I’ll be returning to Konoha tomorrow by midday, so I won’t be here tomorrow evening.”

A faint quirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“A shame. I was beginning to wonder if you planned to defect to this side of the district.”

It startled a small, breathless laugh from her, more genuine than anything she’d given in weeks.

“I fear Kanna-san would storm your gates if I did, my lord.”

He hummed, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“A fate I’d rather avoid.”

Without ceremony, he reached for a small, glass jar at his elbow and pushed it across the table toward her.

“A parting trinket for the fugitive I’ve harboured all weekend.”

Sakura stepped forward, taking the jar in both hands, bowing again. The label told her it was a soothing ointment, no doubt for her feet.

“You think of everything, Uchiha-sama.”

“I’d rather not have you bleeding across my floors.”

A quiet beat passed between them, something light and unspoken. Then she looked toward the cleared floor.

“If I’m not interrupting your work…”

“The work will outlive us both.” He gestured with a faint tilt of his hand.

“Go on.”

She nodded, setting the ointment gently by the water and moving to the centre of the room. The adrenaline was gone now, replaced by a steady hum of something steadier, not quite ease, but the beginnings of familiarity.

For the next few hours, she lost herself in the rhythm of the dance, limbs aching and movements sharp, her breath ragged by the end of it. When at last she dropped to the floor, utterly spent, she was too tired to worry about appearances.

Madara poured water into a cup and wordlessly extended it.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

After gulping the water down, Sakura let herself sprawl onto the floor, damp hair clinging to her face. She laughed softly.

“I think my feet might never forgive me.”

Madara chuckled faintly under his breath and poured himself a measure of wine.

A gentle quiet settled between them — not uncomfortable now, but companionable.

After a moment, Sakura turned her head toward him.

“Do you ever sleep, Uchiha-sama? Or is this some legendary Uchiha trait, staying up while the rest of us collapse like mortals?”

His lips twitched at the corners.

“Rarely.” A small pause. “But it seems you’re awake too.”

“Mm. I sleep in more, these days. Kanna-san is thrilled about it.” She hesitated, then smiled. “I suppose it’s easier to rest when you’re stealing hours for yourself. Though… it does feel a bit wicked.”

That earned the softest hum of amusement from him.

Then — his voice changed. Not cold, not sharp, but distant, as if pulling the words from somewhere long buried.

“My mother loved to dance.”

Sakura blinked, the shift catching her off guard.

“In this room.” He gestured absently around them, the flickering lamplight gilding the walls. “When the evenings were long and the air too thick to sleep, she’d light every lantern and fill this room with music. The other children were sent to bed. But I’d stay, hidden by the screens.”

A ghost of a smile flickered on his face, faded, private.

“I thought she was a spirit of some kind. Not quite of this world. When she moved, you forgot your own breath.”

Something in Sakura’s chest pinched, an ache so sudden it startled her. She thought of her own mother — or rather, how little she remembered of her. A gaunt face, skeletal body, the hum of lullabies too soft to recall the words.

She sat up a little, legs folded beneath her, turning her gaze towards him.

Madara’s gaze didn’t leave the wine in his cup.

“She must have been extraordinary.”

“She was.” A long pause. “She danced here until the year she died. I was fifteen.”

Sakura swallowed. It felt suddenly too intimate a thing to witness, this ancient, iron-bound man recounting boyhood memories like half-forgotten poems. But it was also… beautiful.

“Did anyone dance here after her?”

“No.” His voice was final. “The room sat empty. The instruments untouched, the doors shut. I wouldn’t allow it.”

Sakura let the silence linger a beat, then, carefully:

“Why let me dance here now?”

He finally looked at her, the lines of his face soft in the firelight.

“It’s what she would have wanted.”

That struck something deep in Sakura — a melancholy she hadn’t expected. She thought of how old grief could seep into a place, clinging to the walls and the air, and how sometimes, the only way to quiet it was to fill the space with life again.

She gave a small, sincere smile.

“I’m… honoured, Uchiha-sama.”

“You should be,” he said, but the words were not unkind.

The hush that followed wasn’t heavy this time. There was a warmth in it, something understood without being spoken.

Then Madara inclined his head toward her, the old glint of wry amusement back in his eyes.

“Good fortune, Sakura-san. Try not to disgrace yourself.”

Sakura laughed softly, gathering up the ointment he’d gifted her.

“I’ll do my best. And… thank you. For everything.”

He gave a quiet, acknowledging nod.

Konoha - Spring

The spring sun beat down, casting harsh light through the tall windows of the audition hall. The old wooden floorboards creaked under the shifting feet of nearly four hundred dancers packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the cramped waiting room. The air was thick: hot, heavy, and suffocating—making it hard to breathe. Sweat trickled down brows and backs despite the early hour.

Whispers and nervous laughter collided with occasional sobs that slipped out unnoticed. Some girls had already fled, overcome by the pressure, disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways, their dreams crushed before they even stepped inside.

Sakura sat quietly by the window, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the hem of her kimono. The poetry book she’d read only days before seemed a distant memory. Her heart thudded relentlessly against her ribs, a wild drumbeat in the suffocating silence. This was the moment she’d fought for, the moment her soul and years of relentless practice would be weighed and measured.

Names were called one by one. Some dancers rose and vanished through the heavy doors, some returning moments later with smiles of relief, others with tears and trembling limbs. Each girl was a story—hope and fear tangled in every step.

Then her name rang out clear and sharp.

She stood, feeling the eyes of the entire room prickling against her back like burning embers. Her legs felt shaky, but she steadied herself with a deep breath, pushing the nervous tremor aside.

The audition room was stark, bare wood floors, a row of judges behind a long table, their faces unreadable, shadowed beneath the harsh lighting. Clipboards were clutched in hand, pens poised but unmoved.

The music began, soft, haunting, yet insistent.

Sakura moved.

Each step, each sweep of her arms, was a line in an ancient poem. Her body flowed like water, full of grace but powerful beneath the surface. She danced not just with her limbs but with her heart, her pain, her dreams all woven into the movement. The heat pressed down on her skin, but inside her was a quiet storm—a calm fury, a golden fire.

Time blurred.

Sweat slicked her hair, but she did not falter.

Her breath came in measured bursts, the beat of the drum syncing with her own pulse. She was no longer just a girl auditioning; she was a force of nature, every fibre of her being alive and shining.

As the final note echoed and died away, the room fell into a stunned silence.

Sakura stood, chest heaving, eyes locked on the judges.

Slowly, one of them looked up, dry and dispassionate.

“Thank you. You will hear the results in two weeks, along with the others.”

The words hung cold in the air.

No praise, no smile, no hint of the fire they had witnessed.

Sakura’s shoulders sagged, the adrenaline draining from her veins like a tide retreating.

She nodded, the weight of ambiguity settling heavily on her chest.

Later that evening, Sakura found Mother seated in the quiet of her study, sake bottle in hand, cheeks flushed a deep red.

Sakura’s voice was soft but heavy with disappointment.

“It’s done… but it felt like they didn’t see me. Like I was just one face among hundreds.”

Tsunade’s laughter was sharp, almost bitter, as she took a slow sip from her cup.

“That’s precisely what you were. You did everything you could. You fought with every ounce of you. Take comfort in that.”

Tsunade poured another glass, sliding it across the table.

“Worrying won’t change a thing. The world’s not kind to dreamers, but it’s kinder to fighters. You’re one of those fighters.”

Sakura took the glass, her fingers trembling slightly as she met Tsunade’s fierce gaze.

”Mother, what happens now though, am I to stay?”

”You might as well go back to the Province for the next two weeks, continue with your engagements, because should you be one of the very lucky few, you’ll be back here for at least a month, practicing with the others. There will be no opportunity for parties or any back-and-forth in the run up to the dance.”

They drank together, the sharp burn of sake mingling with the ache of uncertainty.

Hokage Province - Late spring

The warm glow of Kushina’s home was alive with quiet laughter and the low hum of conversation. Around a low table sat Naruto, Sakura, Shikamaru, and Sasuke, their cards spread out and fingers deftly marking the play. Sakura felt light, almost carefree, the tension of recent weeks momentarily softened by the friendly competition and good company.

The low wooden table was scattered with a few empty sake cups as Naruto threw down a card with exaggerated flair. “I swear, you guys are cheating!” he accused, eyes wide and playful. “How else do you explain these impossible hands?”

Sasuke rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Maybe you’re just an awful player,” he said dryly, flicking a card onto the pile with effortless precision.

Naruto scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Awful? I’m the best there is. You just don’t have the guts to admit it.”

Shikamaru exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Seriously, this is such a drag. Why do we even bother playing with Naruto?”

Sakura’s bright eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands softly. “Come on, let’s play another round! I’m having fun. Besides, it’s not about winning, it’s about the company.”

Naruto grinned, pointing a finger at her. “See? That’s the spirit! But don’t get too comfortable, Sakura, I’m coming for you next.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “You? Coming for her? The only thing coming for you is a swift defeat.”

Naruto laughed, undeterred. “You’re just afraid you’ll lose to a girl, teme.”

“Fear has nothing to do with it,” Sasuke replied with a dry chuckle. “Dobe.”

Shikamaru groaned again. “Troublesome. You’re all hopeless.”

Sakura giggled, her voice light and cheerful. “Well, someone has to keep things interesting around here.”

Naruto threw his arms up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Let’s deal again. But this time, no cheating—promise!”

Sasuke smirked, readying his cards. “Yeah, sure. Like that’ll ever happen.”

Naruto’s grin was infectious as he teased Shikamaru over a daring move, and even Sasuke allowed a faint smirk before concentrating again. Sakura’s eyes sparkled with a rare ease as she matched Naruto’s playful bets. Somewhere in the crowd, elders and friends nursed their drinks, the steady murmur filling the room with comfortable warmth.

Then her gaze drifted, catching sight of Madara across the room. He stood near Minato, their conversation serious and measured. Yet when their eyes met, he gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile — a flicker of something private and knowing. It unsettled her in the best way, a reminder that despite everything, she was being watched, expected, considered.

Before she could dwell longer, Naruto stood and excused himself to the garden pavilion bathrooms. Sakura rose too, moving to escort him, a customary gesture for a geisha to ensure the guest was cared for. As she rounded a corner, some paces behind Naruto, she nearly collided with a tall figure stepping out from the shadows.

Madara.

His dark eyes met hers with sharp intensity. “How did the audition go?” he asked quietly, voice low enough that only she could hear.

Sakura drew a slow breath, cheeks warming but eyes steady. “I danced like my soul was on fire.”

His lips quirked in a faint, approving smile. “I look forward to hearing the results. Come find me when you get them.”

Before she could reply, he was gone, swallowed by the night, leaving her heart pounding and thoughts racing.

The room was thick with the scent of old hair oil, their scent turned rancid in the stagnant heat of summer. Moonlight spilled pale and cold across the floors, but in the corners the darkness clung like syrup.

Sakura stood in the great hall of the Senju estate, dressed in nothing but a simple white nightgown. The lamps had been extinguished, and only the altar candles flickered, their glow throwing monstrous shapes on the walls. Ahead of her stood Tsunade, her face set in stone.

On the stage, a figure danced. At first Sakura thought it was herself — she recognized the costume, the movements, the melody of the flute. But as the figure turned, it was Hinata’s face beneath the makeup. Serene, perfect. The room thundered with applause, the sound ringing in Sakura’s ears.

Karin appeared at Tsunade’s side, her mouth curled into a triumphant, venomous grin.

“I told you she wasn’t worth the rice she eats,” Karin sneered.

Tsunade didn’t speak, just lifted her hand and gestured to the door.

“You’ll never be one of us,” came the older woman’s voice, as heavy as a death sentence.

The room seemed to lurch, the floor tilting under her feet. Sakura reached out, trying to plead, to explain, but her voice lodged in her throat.

She could only watch as Hinata knelt at Tsunade’s feet and Tsunade’s hand stroked her hair, a mother’s gesture.

Karin’s laughter echoed through the dark like a crack of lightning.

Sakura screamed.

When she woke, her throat was raw, chest heaving as though she’d been running. The room was stifling, the shutters shut tight against the night, but cold sweat slicked her skin.

“Kami-sama, what happened?” Kanna’s voice came from nearby, sharp with concern. Two maids knelt at Sakura’s side, one pressing a cool cloth to her brow, another fumbling with the lamp.

“I-I… it’s nothing,” Sakura croaked, though her hands shook so badly she could hardly lift them.

Kanna cupped her face, forcing Sakura’s gaze to meet hers. “You were screaming like someone was trying to kill you.”

The maids exchanged nervous looks. One whispered, “We thought she was possessed.”

A sob broke from Sakura’s throat, thick and ugly, as the weight of the dream pressed down on her chest. The humiliation, the rejection, Tsunade’s cold voice, Karin’s laughter.

“It was— it was just a bad dream,” she whispered, her voice so small it barely sounded like her own.

But it wasn’t just a dream, and some part of her, the part that remembered how closely reality sometimes mirrored her nightmares, knew it.

Kanna drew the girl against her chest, stroking her sweat-damp hair.

“Dream or not, it’s gone now. Let it pass, little bird.”

But Sakura could feel Karin’s grin still curling in the dark.

Morning broke sluggish and gray, the dawn obscured by thick grey cloud. The Senju estate moved quietly around her, the distant sounds of kitchen maids and bell chimes a constant, familiar pulse.

Sakura moved through it all like a ghost.

Her hair was half-pinned, half disheveled. She’d barely eaten a mouthful of her rice at breakfast, Kanna’s worried gaze following her but wisely unspeaking. Even Ino had noticed her pallor before she left for her own lessons.

“Sakura-sama. Are you ill?” Kanna had asked, gently.

“No,” Sakura lied, her voice as brittle as old paper.

By mid-morning, she slipped from the estate under the pretense of taking incense to the temple. At the edge of the Province was a small Shinto temple, not aligned with any particular clan, therefore free to all. 

The walls of the house had begun to press too close. She needed air — or something like it.

The temple grounds were mostly empty at that morning hour. A lone monk swept the gravel paths, and the scent of fresh smoke clung to the stones. Sakura made her way to the small side altar dedicated to Unmei-no-Kami, the goddess of fate, and knelt, her trembling fingers lighting a single stick of incense.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Please… let me have it. Just this once. I’ve given everything. There’s nothing left to offer.

She bit her lip until she tasted iron.

As she knelt, she could feel a burning gaze fall over her back.

She stiffened. Slowly, she turned.

Madara Uchiha stood a short distance away, dressed in dark silks, his hair bound back. There was no guard, no attendant, just him, as though he too had come seeking quiet.

Their eyes met. His gaze, sharp as it was, seemed softer in the morning haze.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice pitched low, almost conspiratorial in the hush of the temple.

She swallowed. “You didn’t.”

It was a lie so transparent she felt heat rise to her cheeks at once.

Madara regarded her a moment longer, and then, as if dismissing formalities, stepped closer. His gaze slid over her face, noting the shadowed eyes, the stiff lines around her mouth.

“You look unwell.”

“Nothing a good meal cannot cure.”

Another lie.

He let out a quiet hum, neither quite approval nor disapproval, and folded his arms within his sleeves. His voice, when it came again, was softer. “I find it a waste of energy to lie to oneself, let alone to those who might understand.”

Sakura lowered her gaze, watching the pale incense smoke curl upward. Her throat ached.

After a long, brittle silence, she spoke. “I… haven’t been sleeping. That’s all.”

A small, measured tilt of his head. “Nightmares?”

She swallowed again, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure if she meant to answer aloud.

“…Yes.”

Another silence. But this one felt less oppressive.

“It’s the waiting,” she admitted, surprising herself with the admission, with how easily the words slipped free in the hush between them. “The not knowing. It… builds in your head. Turns itself into things you can’t outrun.”

She shouldn’t be saying this. Not to him. And yet, she did. There was no cruelty in his face. No mockery.

Madara’s gaze lingered on the incense’s thread of smoke, and then on her.

“Indeed,” he murmured. “I have known nights when sleep would not come, or when it brought worse things than waking. There is… great comfort in rituals, in old gods, even for those of us who claim to command our own fate.”

Sakura glanced up, surprised by the admission.

“You come here?” she asked quietly.

A faint curve of his lips — something near a real smile, weathered and worn. “When I was young, it was my Father. Later… it was habit. And now… there are matters that weigh heavily enough to send even proud men seeking mercy in the dark.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, some of the tightness in her chest loosening. The words hovered there between them, unspoken — we’re not so different, you and I.

“I keep thinking…” Sakura began, staring at the worn stone of the altar, “if I don’t get this role… if I fail… there’ll be nothing left of me. No place to go back to. No one waiting.”

Her voice wavered.

And to her shock, it was his voice that answered, steady and deep, cutting through the ache in her throat.

“Then you fight harder,” Madara said softly. “The world will not pity you. Nor should you ask it to.”

She nodded, her eyes stinging, a knot thickening in her throat.

“I don’t want pity,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t know if I’m enough.”

A silence. And then, gently — more gently than she could have imagined — Madara said, “The fact that you ask the question means you are.”

Sakura’s eyes burned hot. She bit her lip hard to stop the tremble.

They stayed like that for a time, the temple hushed around them, the incense burning low.

When Madara spoke again, it was with a note of dry warmth.

“Little one… the world is full of men and women who’ve never dared to ask for anything more than what was given to them. But those who reach… those who dare, even when terrified, they are the ones who shape the world.”

Sakura felt her throat close, not in fear, but in something unfamiliar and fierce.

“I won’t stop reaching,” she said, her voice low and certain.

He inclined his head, a faint gleam of approval in his gaze.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then perhaps… there is hope yet.”

Another shared silence, though now it felt companionable. The morning light thickened in the air.

At last, Sakura bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

Madara’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer. Then, quietly, “If ever you grow weary of carrying the weight alone… you know where to find counsel.”

She looked up at that — startled — but he was already turning away, his dark silks brushing over the stones.

The day before the results were due, a soft knock sounded at Sakura’s door. Kanna stood patiently in the threshold. “A call for you, Sakura-sama,” she said gently.

Sakura’s fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

The familiar voice of Ino came through, warm but tinged with regret. “I’m so sorry, Sakura. The weather has delayed our return. I’ll be here a while longer.”

”What? Oh, so you won’t make it in time for tomorrow?”

”No, it seems not, but I’m sure you’ve done well enou-“

”B-but I don’t feel- I’m worried and scare-“

”Sakura. Enough. I have to go now, worrying won’t help you’re just making yourself feel worse. Goodbye sister I’ll see you soon.” The flat dial tone filled the air.

A tight knot settled in Sakura’s chest. The isolation, the wait, the gnawing anxiety, it all crowded in. She thought briefly of visiting Moegi or even Lady Kushina, but instead, she let the door close softly behind her and sank onto her bed, her mind swirling with nervous, tangled thoughts.

The rain had come down hard the night before, leaving puddles of water in the stones.

The day her results were due, Sakura woke in a panic, the young girl nothing more than a tightly wound bundle of nerves. From dawn till noon, she anxiously laced around the hallways, her ears pricking at the slightest sound. The maids looked at her as though she was just one push away from shattering, already her delicate skin felt full of hairline cracks.

It left her adrift, gnawed at by nerves she couldn’t settle.

Then, a memory: you know where to find counsel.

Madara’s words, said softly at the temple. Not an order, not a joke, but an invitation.

And so, tentatively, she had sent word to the Uchiha estate. Mikoto had replied with warmth, inviting her to tea in the gardens, delighted by the visit.

Now, she was here. And for the first time in days, her shoulders began to loosen.

“Sakura-san,” a gentle voice called.

Sakura turned to see Mikoto approaching, dressed simply in soft blue silks, her long hair pinned loosely at her nape. At her side, Sasuke walked with a practiced, polite formality, his own expression guarded but kind.

“I’m so pleased you came,” Mikoto smiled, taking Sakura’s hand briefly in both of hers. “I worried the rain might keep you away.”

“I needed the air,” Sakura admitted, and felt no shame in it.

They strolled together, the three of them moving through the manicured paths. The plum trees hung heavy with pale blossoms, petals catching in their hair. Mikoto spoke of the gardens, of which trees would bear fruit, of which herbs she meant to plant before summer.

Sasuke was quieter, but as Sakura commented on a stubborn koi she’d seen earlier that refused to share its corner of the pond, he gave a faint, wry smirk.

“He’s been like that since I brought him here,” Sasuke said. “No other fish will go near him.”

“Every estate has its troublemaker,” Sakura replied dryly.

Mikoto laughed softly. “It’s true.”

They paused beneath the great wisteria tree, its hanging branches swaying gently in the breeze. Mikoto produced a lacquered box and opened it, revealing a set of painted tiles.

“A game,” she said. “If you’ve time.”

Sakura hesitated, then smiled. “I’d like that.”

They sat, the tiles laid out between them. The game was an old one, a matching of poems and symbols, requiring keen memory and a little luck. Mikoto was sharp, Sasuke precise, and Sakura held her own, surprising even herself when she snatched a winning tile from Sasuke with a sly glance.

“Ah, you’re ruthless,” Mikoto teased.

“Only sometimes,” Sakura grinned.

The sun dipped lower, slanting light across the gardens. They’d nearly finished their second round when a servant appeared, bowing low.

“Forgive the interruption, Lady Mikoto,” he said, “but there is a message for Sakura-san.”

Sakura’s stomach lurched.

The servant stepped forward, offering a sealed letter upon a small tray. The crimson crest of the Uzumaki theatre gleamed upon the wax.

For a moment, everything was quiet. The light seemed to catch in the air itself.

Sakura’s fingers trembled as she took the letter. She broke the seal, unfolding the paper — and her breath caught.

It was there, in crisp calligraphy:

Lead Role:  Sakura of the Senju Okiya

Junior Solo: Appointed

Her eyes widened. The ink blurred, though she swore she wasn’t crying yet.

Mikoto leaned forward, concern in her gaze. “Sakura-chan… what is it?”

“I—” she tried, the words snagging in her throat. Then, breathless: “I… was given the lead role. And… a junior solo too.”

Mikoto’s face lit in gentle delight. “Oh, Sakura-chan! What wonderful news.”

Sasuke gave a single, approving nod. “Well done sakura-san.”

But Sakura was already rising, the letter clutched tight in her hand. “Forgive me, Mikoto-san — I must… I need to…”

Mikoto waved her on, smiling. “Go.”

Without a second thought, Sakura ran.

The corridors of the Uchiha estate blurred past, polished wood, painted screens, the soft hush of servants moving aside. Her heart pounded in her ears.

She didn’t care how unseemly she looked, her hair loosed from its pin, her sleeves askew.

Madara’s words echoed, clear as if spoken in the room beside her: “Come find me when you get the results.”

With a breathless shove, she flung open the heavy door and called into the office where Madara sat.

The polished door slid open with a sharp clatter as Sakura burst into the room.

“Lord Madara—!”

Two figures turned to look at her.

Madara sat behind his desk, papers and maps spread before him, a cup of dark tea at his side. Seated across from him, clad in midnight-blue, was none other than Itachi Uchiha.

The younger man’s expression darkened instantly, obsidian eyes narrowing with instinctive caution as his hand moved, as if by reflex, toward the hilt of the short blade at his side. Not drawing it — but not far from it either.

Madara raised a hand, the faintest flick of his wrist halting whatever sharp remark Itachi might have made.

“Sakura,” Madara said, voice low but clear. “Come in.”

She froze where she stood, the letter clutched so tightly in her fist the paper crumpled. Color flared in her cheeks as she fully grasped what she’d done, storming unannounced into a private Uchiha council room, in disheveled hair and rumpled sleeves, breathless like some reckless child.

“I—” she faltered, bowing deeply at once, mortified. “Forgive me, my lord, I— I didn’t realize you had company—”

Itachi’s gaze was flint, unreadable, a single dark brow arching in silent censure. How did this mess of a girl gain such license to barge in here?

Madara, however, was already rising from his chair.

“No need for apologies,” he said, a note of warmth threading through the cool formality of his voice. “I imagine you come bearing news.”

Sakura, still blushing furiously, straightened enough to extend the letter toward him, fingers trembling.

“I… I secured it,” she said, barely above a whisper. “The lead role. And a junior solo.”

Madara took the letter, his gaze flicking over the script without surprise, as though it was no more than confirmation of what he had already known.

A small, satisfied smile curved his lips.

“As I expected.”

He set the letter down upon the desk and regarded her with the kind of quiet pride that left her throat tight. No dramatic praise, no grand words. Just that one look.

Itachi, still seated, watched the exchange in tight silence. His eyes lingered on Sakura a moment longer than necessary, assessing, dissecting. There was distrust there, not jealousy, but wariness. A geisha girl permitted to burst into this room, to command Madara’s full attention like no one else dared.

“You’ll forgive the interruption, nephew,” Madara said smoothly, reclaiming his seat. “But I trust you see why some news cannot wait.”

Itachi inclined his head stiffly. “Of course.”

Sakura burned with embarrassment, wishing she could sink into the floor. “I— I should go, my lord, I didn’t mean to—”

“Nonsense,” Madara interrupted, gesturing to a seat at the side of the room. “You’ll stay a moment. This is after all your first time meeting my heir, Itachi.”

His tone left no room for argument.

Sakura obeyed, perching on the very edge of the seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She dared not meet Itachi’s gaze again, though she could feel it still, sharp as a blade at her throat.

Madara poured a measure of fine plum wine into a small cup and set it before her.

“You’ve earned it,” he said simply.

Sakura accepted it with both hands, bowing her head. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and yet beneath the mortification, there was a warmth too, a steady, solid warmth that made her feel, just for that moment, like she belonged.

When she finally dared to lift her gaze, she met Madara’s, and found approval.

He set his cup down, glancing sidelong at Itachi.

“It seems the hour has grown later than expected. It is improper,” he said, voice returning to a crisp, almost lazy authority, “for a young woman to be left unaccompanied at such a time. See to it she returns home safely.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed a fraction. His jaw ticked, but he inclined his head.

“As you wish, Uncle.”

Sakura’s stomach dropped. Being escorted by him was hardly preferable, but refusing would be unthinkable.

Madara gestured toward the door. “Off you go, then.”

With another hurried bow, Sakura rose, feeling Itachi’s gaze follow her like a shadow as she stepped from the room. He was already moving behind her, his footsteps near-silent on the polished wood.

They crossed the Uchiha compound in tense silence, lantern light catching in the ripples of the koi pond and the dark, drooping boughs of the willows. Sakura could feel her pulse in her throat.

She risked a glance at him.

He was… beautiful. She hated to admit it, but there it was. That pale, flawless face, those cuttingly sharp features, the dark hair spilling loose past his shoulders. His eyes, though, were steely and unreadable, like storm clouds before rain. No warmth there.

“I…” she began awkwardly. “I really am sorry. For disturbing your meeting. It was unseemly. I wasn’t thinking, and I realize now how—”

“Tch.”

The sound was quiet, but unmistakable.

She blinked, turning toward him.

Itachi didn’t stop walking. His expression remained carved from stone.

“Geisha,” he said, voice like frost, “are nothing but trouble and poor manners. No sense of place.”

Sakura’s mouth fell open.

What?

It took a moment for the sting of it to register, but when it did, her spine straightened, indignation rising swift and hot in her chest.

“I—!” she snapped, then bit it back, remembering decorum. But her eyes flared dangerously.

She muttered it under her breath, just loud enough for him to catch.

“I can’t believe such a stupid jerk is related to Madara-sama.”

Itachi’s brow lifted imperceptibly.

“What was that?” he asked coolly, without breaking stride.

“Nothing, Uchiha-sama,” she said sweetly, a false smile on her lips.

He let out a single, humourless huff of breath — the closest thing to a scoff — and said no more, but she could feel the tension between them tighten like a drawn string.

They reached the front gate in brittle silence where the Senju carriage was waiting for Sakura .

Itachi inclined his head in a mockery of politeness.

“You are returned safely. Good night, Sakura-san.”

And with that, he turned, vanishing back into the compound without another word.

Sakura glared after him.

“Arrogant, sanctimonious, insufferable—”

But even as she muttered to herself, her pulse was still pounding… not entirely from anger.

What a beautiful bastard.

She shook her head sharply and made her way home, clutching her letter tighter than ever.

Chapter Text

Senju Estate - Summer

 Sakura lay curled beneath the silk quilt, her brow slightly furrowed even in sleep. Kanna sat quietly nearby, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she watched the younger girl’s restless slumber. Ino, leaning casually against the doorway, chuckled softly.

“Did you hear that?” Kanna whispered, glancing at Ino.

“Hear what?” Ino asked, amused.

Sakura’s voice drifted through the room, muffled but clear enough to catch: “Stupid jerk… so unfair… beautiful bastard…”

Kanna blinked in surprise, then giggled, covering her mouth. “What on earth is she dreaming about?”

Ino’s laughter softened into a fond smile. “Knowing Sakura, probably some impossible patron- sounds a bit like Neji Hyūga .”

“She sounds so… exasperated.” Kanna shook her head, her smile warm. “I never thought she’d mumble such words.”

Ino pushed herself off the doorframe and crossed the room. Gently, she brushed a stray lock of hair from Sakura’s face. “Alright, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up.”

Sakura stirred, her lashes fluttering open. She blinked blearily at them, then groaned softly. “Ughh, It’s still too early…”

“Ino-sama and I have been watching you toss and turn. You should wake up, it’s nearly noon.”

Sakura sighed, the last remnants of sleep fading as she swung her legs over the edge of the futon. “Fine, fine. But I still don’t see the point in going back to Konoha just to return here again tomorrow for sasuke’s birthday, and it’s not even like the rehearsals begin today.”

Ino sighed. “You’re impossible Sakura, there’s wig fittings and costume fittings to get through and I’m sure Lady Tsunade wants to congratulate you on your success personally.”

 Sakura just huffed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Kanna laughed. “Come on, Sakura-sama. Your bath will be stone cold soon.”

Sakura smiled faintly, standing up. “Okay, I’m up-I’m up.”

Konoha

Just as the rickshaw driver was pulling across the Shijō Avenue Bridge into Gion once again, Ino interrupted herself in the middle of a story about a nobleman’s scandalous new mistress and her poor taste in hair ornaments.

“You know, your eyes really are extraordinarily lovely in that kimono, Sakura. The red and yellows… they make your eyes shine!” she exclaimed, leaning forward to peer at me with a sudden, mischievous light in her face.

“Oh, heavens, I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this idea sooner. Driver!” she called out. “We’ve gone too far. Stop here, please.”

“You told me Gion Tominaga-chō, ma’am,” the driver said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. “I can’t drop the poles in the middle of a bridge.”

“You may either let us out here or finish crossing the bridge and then take us back over it again,” Ino replied, serene as a cat napping in the sun. “Frankly, I don’t see much point in that.”

With a muttered grumble, the driver set down his poles right there. Ino stepped out first, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to stop traffic on a busy bridge, and sakura followed her quickly. A number of bicyclists came whizzing past, ringing their bells in warning, but Ino didn’t seem in the least bit concerned. Sakura suppose she was so certain of her place in the world, she couldn’t imagine anyone being troubled by a little matter like her blocking half the bridge.

She took her time holding up one coin after another from her silk change purse until she’d paid the exact fare, and then led me back across the bridge in the direction we’d just come.

“We’re going to Sai Yamanaka’s studio,” she announced.

Sakura blinked. “Who?”

“He’s a marvelous artist,” she said, linking her arm through mine, “and he’s going to take a liking to your eyes, I’m sure of it. Sometimes he gets a little… distracted, you might say. And his studio’s a mess. It may take him a while to notice your eyes, but just keep them pointed where he can see them.”

The pink haired girl didn’t ask for further explanation. It was useless trying to untangle Ino’s schemes before she chose to unravel them herself.

They turned off the main road, ducking through one narrow side street after another, the city growing quieter with each turn, until we came to a little alley. At the end of it stood a bright red Shinto gate, barely tall enough to pass under without ducking. It was pressed so tightly between two weathered houses that it looked as though someone had dropped it there by mistake.

Beyond the gate, the pair passed between several small pavilions to a flight of stone steps leading up through a tunnel of trees, their leaves brilliant with the last of the season’s color. The air wafting down from the shaded steps was so cool and heavy with damp earth it felt like stepping into another world. Sakura heard a swishing sound ahead, like waves tugging at the shore, but it turned out to be a man sweeping water from the top step with a broom whose bristles were the dark, warm brown of chocolate.

“Why, Sai-san!” Ino called out brightly. “Don’t you have a maid to tidy up for you?”

The man turned, peering down through the patchy light. He was standing in full sunlight, and the girl doubted he saw more than a pair of dark shapes beneath the trees. But she could see him perfectly well. He was quite a pretty-looking man, with straight dark hair falling into his face and features so soft and androgynous, Sakura wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if he’d traded his hakama for a silk kimono.

Everything about him was in disarray — not just his hair but his clothes, too. His yukata hung half off one shoulder as though he’d slept in it, which, from the look of things, he probably had.

“Who is that?” he barked.

“Sai-san! After all these years you still don’t recognize my voice?”

“If you’re trying to make me angry, whoever you are, you’re off to a good start. I’m in no mood for interruptions! I’ll throw this broom at you if you don’t tell me who you are.”

He looked so perfectly angry it was almost theatrical. But Ino only continued right up the steps, unbothered, and Sakura followed, careful to stay a pace behind her so Ino would be the one struck by the broom if he made good on his threat.

“Is this how you greet visitors, Sai-san?” she teased as she stepped into the sunlit clearing.

Sai squinted at her. “So it’s you. Why can’t you just say who you are like everyone else? Here, take this broom and sweep the steps. No one’s coming into my house until I’ve lit incense. Another of my mice has died, and the place smells like a coffin.”

Ino gave an airy little laugh and waited until Sai had disappeared back into the house before leaning the broom against a nearby tree.

“Have you ever had a boil?” she asked sakura in a whisper.

The apprentice blinked at her. “I… can’t say I have.”

“When his work goes badly, he gets into this terrible mood. You have to make him blow up, just like lancing a boil, so that he’ll settle down again. If you don’t give him something to get angry about, he’ll start drinking and only get worse.”

“Does he keep pet mice?” Sakura whispered. “He said another of his mice had died.”

“Heavens, no. He leaves his ink sticks out, and the mice come and eat them and then die from poisoning. I gave him a box to put his inks in, but he won’t use it.”

Just then, Sai’s door slid open, he’d given it a shove and then gone right back inside.

The geisha slipped out of their shoes and entered. The interior was a single large room in the style of an old farmhouse, though far more neglected. Sakura could see a stick of incense burning in a far corner, but it hadn’t done any good yet; the sharp, cloying smell of dead mouse struck her like a fist.

The room was a disaster. Long brushes scattered across the floor, half-finished drawings nailed to boards, and an unmade futon stained with ink. She imagined Sai probably had ink stains all over himself as well, and when she turned to look, he barked at her.

“What are you looking at?”

Ino only smiled, unbothered. “Sai-san, may I present my younger sister, Sakura,” she said. “She’s come with me all the way from the province for the honor of meeting you.”

All the way from the province wasn’t very far, but Ino was never one to let details get in the way of a good story.

Sakura knelt on the mats, performing the ritual of bowing and begging his favor, though she wasn’t convinced he’d heard a word of what Ino had said.

“I was having a fine day until lunchtime,” he grumbled. “And then look what happened!”

He crossed the room and held up a board. Fastened onto it was a sketch of a woman from behind, holding an umbrella. A trail of perfectly formed paw prints marched right across it.

The cat responsible was curled up nearby in a pile of discarded clothes.

“I brought him in here for the mice and look!” Sai fumed. “I’ve a mind to throw him out.”

“Oh, but the paw prints are lovely,” said Ino. “I think they improve the picture. What do you think, Sakura?”

She wasn’t inclined to say anything, not with him glowering like a thundercloud. But in a moment, Sakura understood what she was doing. Lancing the boil, as she’d put it.

She put on my most enthusiastic voice. “I’m surprised at how attractive the paw prints are! I think the cat may be something of an artist.”

“I know why you don’t like him,” Ino said smoothly. “You’re jealous of his talent.”

“Jealous, am I?” Sai shot back. “That cat’s no artist. He’s a demon if he’s anything!”

“Forgive me, Sai-san,” Ino replied, “it’s just as you say. But tell me, are you planning to throw the picture away? Because if so, I’d be pleased to have it. Wouldn’t it look charming in my apartment, Sakura?”

She didn’t miss the spark of irritation that crossed Sai’s face. A second later, he ripped the picture from the board.

“You like it, do you? All right, I’ll make you two presents of it!”

He tore it clean in two and handed the pieces to Ino.

“Here’s one! And here’s the other! Now get out!”

“I so wish you hadn’t done that,” Ino sighed. “I think it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever produced.”

“Get out!”

“Oh, Sai-san, I can’t possibly! I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t straighten your place a bit before leaving.”

At this, Sai stormed out of the house, leaving the door wide open behind him.

We watched him kick the broom Ino had left leaning against the tree, nearly slipping as he started down the wet steps.

We spent the next half-hour tidying up his studio until he returned, looking no more cheerful but notably less irritable, just as Ino had predicted. He kept chewing the corner of his mouth and avoided meeting either of our eyes.

And when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to notice the pink-haired girl’s eyes at all, Ino said, with what sounded like the last thread of patience:

“Don’t you think Sakura is just the prettiest thing? Have you even bothered to look at her?”

He flicked his eyes toward her like brushing a crumb from the table, and said nothing.

The afternoon light was beginning to fade, so they rose to leave. Ino gave the most abbreviated bow in saying goodbye.

As the pair stepped outside, the sunset was painting the sky behind the distant hills in rusts and pinks so rich it made the finest kimono look like a poor imitation. Sakura stopped for a moment, raising her hands into the light.

“Ino-san, look,” she said.

Ino thought she meant the sunset, and turned toward it with disinterest.

But Sai, standing in the entryway, wasn’t looking at the sunset at all. He was watching Sakura.

Later that night, the okiya was still, save for the creaking of the floorboards and the restless chirp of crickets beyond the shōji screens. Sakura lay on her futon staring up into the dark, too tightly wound to sleep. The air felt thick and close, heavy with the memory of what had passed that evening.

It was sometime after midnight when she heard the clatter of footsteps on the stair. She knew it was Karin and Hinata by the sound alone — Hinata’s hands slapped against the steps as she climbed, sometimes going up like a dog when she was too tired to stand. Sakura could tell from the dragging rhythm of her movements that she was nearly spent.

There was a brief rustle of conversation as their door slid open, then Karin’s voice, cool and lazy:

“Send up a beer,” she called to a passing maid. “No — two. I want Hinata to join me.”

“Please, Karin-san,” came Hinata’s small voice, tight with weariness. “I’d rather drink spit.”

“You’re going to read to me while I drink mine, so you might as well have one too. I hate when people are too sober. It’s sickening.”

The maid’s footsteps receded down the stairs, and a while later came the clink of glasses on a tray. Sakura remained still, listening to the low murmur of Hinata reading aloud — something about a new Kabuki actor — her voice catching now and then like a frayed thread.

Karin stumbled into the hallway a while after, slid open the upstairs toilet door, and called out, “Hinata! Don’t you feel like a bowl of noodles?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Go find the vendor. And get some for yourself, so you can keep me company.”

There was a long pause, then Hinata’s soft sigh, and the muffled patter of her steps descending the stairs. Sakura waited until Karin shut the door to her room again before slipping quietly from her futon.

She found Hinata down by the Kisame Stream, walking with the slow, aimless gait of someone half-asleep on her feet. Her shoulders drooped under the weight of her robes, and her hair was coming loose from its pins. The sight of her made something twist in Sakura’s chest.

“Hinata,” Sakura called softly.

The other girl started, her face pale and drawn in the moonlight. She looked as though she might cry.

“Oh… Sakura-chan,” Hinata murmured, brushing at her cheek. “I don’t have time to chat. Karin sent me for noodles, she says I have to eat some too. I swear I’ll throw up right in her lap.”

Sakura gave a sad little smile. “You poor thing. You look like ice when it starts to melt.”

Hinata gave a weak laugh, though it sounded closer to a sob. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. She’s so cruel, Sakura-chan. She… she pulls my hair so hard my scalp bleeds. She makes me kneel until my legs go numb. And then she tells me it’s for my own good, because soon Mother will adopt me. That’s what she says… that Mother promised.”

Sakura felt a cold anger rise inside her. She laid a hand on Hinata’s arm. “Sit down. Let me get them for you.”

Hinata was too tired to argue. She sank down onto a bench by the water’s edge, her eyes glassy and dull. Sakura took the money from her hand and hurried off through the lantern-lit streets, where a few vendors still lingered. By the time she returned with two bowls of steaming noodles, Hinata had fallen asleep sitting up, her head tipped back, mouth slightly open as though hoping to catch a drop of rain.

A small knot of passing men chuckled at the sight; an apprentice in her regalia, snoring on a bench at two in the morning , but Sakura ignored them. She set the noodles down and settled beside her, watching the night press in around them, and for a while neither of them had to say anything at all.

The steam rising from the noodles curled like soft white threads into the night air. Sakura sat beside Hinata for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of her friend’s breath, the way her lashes caught the lamplight.

It was a quiet, lonely hour, that strange middle stretch of night when the streets held only the scent of ash and river mist, and the last of the lanterns flickered low in their iron cages. A little knot formed in Sakura’s throat, not from grief exactly, but from the old ache of seeing someone too gentle for this life made to suffer.

She reached out and gave Hinata’s shoulder a light shake.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.”

Hinata stirred, blinking as though waking from a fever dream. It took her a moment to understand where she was.

“Oh… I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“You did. And you’ll catch hell if Karin wakes and you’re not there.”

Hinata looked down at the noodles Sakura had brought, a weak smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t think you’d actually find them.”

“I always do,” Sakura murmured.

Hinata tried to stand but winced, her legs stiff and clumsy from sleep. Sakura looped an arm under her elbow and together they made their way through the near-empty streets, the bowls of cooling noodles balanced in Sakura’s other hand.

Neither of them spoke as they slipped back into the okiya, careful as shadows. The beams overhead groaned softly in the stillness. Somewhere far off, a dog barked once and fell silent.

They paused at the base of the stairway, the narrow corridor dimly lit by a single lantern. Sakura gave Hinata’s hand a squeeze.

“Take these before she finds you out here,” she whispered.

Hinata hesitated, then did something she hadn’t done in years. She leaned in and pressed her forehead gently against Sakura’s. Not quite a thank you. Not quite an apology. Just a quiet, desperate kind of gratitude.

Then she let go and climbed the stairs on unsteady feet, the trailing hem of her kimono whispering against the floor.

Sakura watched her go, the knot in her throat tightening, and thought of how small the world was when you had nowhere safe inside it.

It would be dawn soon. And tomorrow, as always, the world would go on pretending none of this had happened.

Uchiha Estate:

Sakura wouldn’t have said the evening had been pleasant to begin with. The air inside the Uchiha estate’s grand hall was thick with heat, too many bodies, too much incense caught in the heavy folds of silk and brocade. The birthday gathering for Sasuke had drawn half the city’s old families, their retainers and mistresses and hangers-on, and the laughter had the brittle edge of something put on.

Sakura was sat with Ino, Lord Jiraiya, and  a handful of other guests when Lord Madara appeared at their polished table near the back of the hall. Ino had been unwell all evening, her skin pale and slick with sweat, though she gamely kept lifting her cup each time a toast was called. Madara noticed it immediately.

“You’ve had enough of this nonsense,” he said quietly, his voice pitched for their little circle alone. He gestured to Jiraiya. “Take her home, Jiraiya.”

Jiraiya gave a soft grunt of agreement, resting a hand on Ino’s shoulder. “I’ll see her to bed. You, girl,” he added, nodding at Sakura, “stay another half hour. It would be poor form to leave before the last of the main guests. Shiranui will fetch the carriage when you’re ready.”

Sakura inclined her head. “Yes, my lord.”

Ino gave her a weak smile, leaning in to squeeze her hand. “Don’t tell them I was sick, best to keep up appearances.”

“I won’t.”

Madara’s gaze lingered on Sakura as the pair left. He studied her a moment, something unreadable in those deep, ancient eyes, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “I hope you know that your success with your role hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I do, my lord,” she said softly.

He gave a quiet hum, reached out, and patted her head in a way that might have been patronizing from another man, but somehow felt strangely tender coming from him. Then he straightened and turned away, his long dark robes whispering over the floor as he crossed the hall to speak with Minato.

As Sakura turned to speak to one of the guests sat closest to her, she could hear footsteps behind her. Angling her head so she could sneak a glance, she saw Lord Kin stumble out from the shadows, his breath thick with sake. His eyes gleamed with a hungry leer as he stepped toward her.

“Sakura-San ,” he slurred, reaching for her arm and yanking her up. “You surely must know where the bathrooms are in this godawful maze, come.”

Sakura’s eyes widened before the heavy realisation hit her, that she was unable to refuse him. Gathering her robes she cast a glance at the remaining guests hoping one would notice her discomfort, but all eyes were tuned away from her. Taking a deep breath, she began to lead Lord Kin through the familiar hallways of the Uchiha estate, pausing once they had reached the guest bathrooms.

Lord Kin stared at her with hungry eyes, he licked his lips as he began to press himself against her.

”Gods, Sakura, you look ravishing.” He whispered.

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. She pulled back sharply, voice trembling. “Please, Lord Kin, I only want to escort you to the restrooms.”

But Kin’s drunken smile twisted cruelly. His grip closed roughly around her wrist, yanking her closer. “No need to be so polite. I’m not leaving without you, the bathrooms are big enough for both of us. Plenty of room for some fun!”

Panic surged through Sakura like wildfire. She struggled, jerking her arm free, and drove her elbow hard into his ribs. The breath whooshed out of him with a sharp grunt.

“Let me go!” she hissed, backing away, eyes wide and desperate.

But Kin lunged again, hands fumbling greedily along the delicate fabric of her kimono. The soft rustle of silk was shattered by a sudden, tearing rip as he yanked violently, exposing the pale, tender skin of her shoulder and upper chest.

A sharp, raw ache bloomed inside her; humiliation, fear, anger, all crashing at once. Her breath caught in her throat. She slapped at his hands with shaking fingers, desperate to push him away.

His other hand moved lower, sliding toward the vulnerable curve of her inner thigh.

A scream burst from Sakura’s lips, pure, terrified, haunting.

The sound cut through the night air like a blade.

From a nearby doorway, Itachi Uchiha stepped forward, carrying an armful of papers and scrolls, his presence like a shadow falling over the corridor.

His dark eyes were sharp, burning with fierce intensity. The usual calm mask was cracked, revealing something deeper; disgust, protectiveness, controlled fury.

“Enough.”

Kin froze, the drunken bravado draining from his face as Itachi’s cold gaze locked onto him.

Without a word, Itachi’s hand shot out, gripping Kin’s throats with iron strength. The man’s struggling faltered instantly beneath Itachi’s unyielding hold.

“Let her go,” Itachi said quietly, his voice low but commanding, an order without room for refusal.

Kin staggered back, muttering curses, defeated, as Itachi dragged him away.

His gaze shifted to Sakura.

The intensity softened just a fraction, a flicker of concern flashing in his dark eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward. With a gentleness that contradicted his fierce demeanour, he removed his plain black coat and draped it carefully over her trembling shoulders, covering her naked exposed flesh.

His hand lingered for a moment on her arm, a steadying and reassuring touch, before he stepped back.

Sakura’s breath came in ragged gasps, her limbs trembling as the shock and fear crashed over her like waves. Her heart hammered in her chest and she began to feel sick, as though the contents kf her stomach were about to be purged. Her hands clutched the coat tightly around her, as if holding on to that small thread of safety Itachi had offered.

Mr. Shiranui appeared silently at her side, guiding her toward the waiting carriage, leading her out of the estate and shielding her from prying eyes.

Itachi’s eyes lingered on her once more, cold and agressive, yet quietly protective, before he disappeared back into the shadows without a word.

Alone in the carriage, Sakura closed her eyes with tears streaming down her cheeks, the weight of everything pressing down on her, humiliation, fear, and a strange flicker of gratitude toward the silent, dark-haired man who had saved her.

Sakura sat in silence the whole way home, clutching the heavy haori around her shoulders, the ghost of Itachi’s touch searing into her skin.

And though she said nothing, a thousand thoughts screamed in her mind:

I should have fought.

I should have screamed.

I should have bitten, clawed, spat in his face.

The night passed. But the mark it left — it would stay.

Madara sat alone in his private study, a half-empty bottle of deep red plum wine glinting in the lamplight. Outside, the estate had quieted to a hush, only the faint rustle of wind breaking the silence.

A knock came at the door, soft and precise.

Madara lifted his gaze. “Enter.”

Itachi stepped inside, his hair slightly tousled from the night air, a stack of paperwork tucked beneath one arm. His expression, as ever, was unreadable, though his dark eyes carried a quiet heat.

Madara raised a brow. “You’re working at this hour?” 

“I was. Until something required my attention.”

Madara gestured to the low table before him. “Well? Out with it.”

Itachi approached, setting the papers aside. “There was… an incident.”

Madara’s brow knit, his wine glass stilled midway to his lips.

“Go on.”

“Lord Kin. He was drunk. He cornered the Senju girl.”

Madara’s brow lifted. “Cornered?”

“Tried to …take liberties with her. She resisted. Loudly enough I heard.”

Madara’s hand stilled around the cup, his expression unreadable for a breath. Then a cold, mirthless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — one that never reached his eyes.

“He touched her?”

“She resisted,” Itachi said flatly. “He persisted. I intervened.”

Madara’s wine cup cracked in his hand, the fine porcelain fracturing like ice beneath his fingers. Drops of dark red spilled onto the polished wood.

“And the fool lives?” Madara asked, voice soft, dangerously so.

“For now.” Itachi’s voice was unyielding. “We were in the middle of the north wing. Removing him there would have invited questions. I saw to the girl’s safety first.”

Madara stood, setting the shattered cup aside without a glance, his gaze burning.

“She belongs under Uchiha protection,” he snarled, pacing a slow, deliberate circle around the room.

At that, Itachi’s brow twitched, but whether in approval or quiet rebuke, it was impossible to tell.

“She did not cry out until the very last,” Itachi added. “She fought him off. Fiercely.”

Madara’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Good. I expected no less.”

Itachi inclined his head. 

Madara’s gaze flickered, something colder and sharper settling in his expression.

“I want Kin dealt with before dawn,” Madara murmured. “Quietly. No scandal. But make it clear to his family that there are consequences for what happened tonight.”

“I’ll see to it personally.”

Madara turned back, the fire in his gaze banked but still dangerous.

“Keep your eye on her, Itachi. She’ll test you, I imagine. They always do.”

Itachi gave a short, humorless nod.

A faint, grim smile touched Madara’s mouth. “Senju blood.”

Another pause.

“Send her something,” Madara added, tone softer but no less commanding. “A token. A comb, perhaps. No message. Let her decide whether it’s a kindness or a reminder.”

Itachi’s lips twitched, the ghost of a wry smirk. “As you wish.”

He turned to go, but Madara spoke once more.

“Itachi.”

The younger man glanced back.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, something unspoken passed between them, not sentiment, but a hard-earned trust.

Itachi gave a short nod, then slipped from the room, leaving Madara alone once more with his wine and the shadows gathering thick beyond the paper screens.

The faintest haze of dawn clung to the sky, paling the dark eaves of the Uchiha estate. The scent of wet earth hung in the air from a light rain sometime in the night, and the last of the servants were dousing the lanterns that lined the walk.

Mr. Shiranui stood waiting by the front gate, his arms folded, his sharp face as impassive as ever. The carriage was already hitched and ready, the Senju symbol painted discreetly on its side. Inside, Sakura sat wordless in the corner, swathed in a heavy black coat.

Footsteps approached — deliberate, even, and without hurry.

Itachi emerged from the shadowed walkway, a folder of papers in one hand. His hair was loose, falling around his shoulders, and though he wore no formal haori, his dark yukata still bore the Uchiha crest at the back. In the pale morning light, his face looked carved from stone: beautiful, unreadable, and cold as a winter lake.

Shiranui straightened at once.

Itachi stopped before him without a greeting. His gaze flicked toward the carriage, just once, before settling back on Shiranui.

Without a word, Itachi reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small, folded cloth bundle, tied neatly with a crimson thread.

He held it out.

“Give this to the girl,” Itachi said softly, though his voice held no kindness. It was a statement, a command, devoid of ornament.

Mr. Shiranui hesitated a fraction of a breath. “What should I tell her?”

“Nothing.”

Their eyes held for a long, tense moment, the only sound the soft snort of the waiting horse.

Finally, Mr. Shiranui gave a short, tight nod and accepted the bundle.

Itachi didn’t linger. He turned and disappeared without another word, his footsteps vanishing into the hush of the estate, already returning to the endless, quiet wars of politics and blood that occupied men like him.

Mr. Shiranui stood a moment longer, feeling the weight of the bundle in his palm.

Then he climbed into the carriage.

Inside, Sakura did not look up.

He placed the small cloth parcel in her lap, said nothing, and closed the carriage door behind him.

The carriage rolled into the awakening streets, leaving the Uchiha estate and its secrets behind.

Sakura wouldn’t say that her emotions had settled themselves by the time they finally pulled into Konoha after dawn. A pond might look still once a stone has sunk to the bottom, but the ripples go on quivering long after. That was how she felt; frayed at the edges, heavy with restless thoughts, and not quite certain she recognised herself anymore. In her brief moments of sleep she was haunted by flashes of the night before- her kimono ripping, the disgusting feeling of his hand up her robes snd the sounds of her own screams rung loud in her mind.

Mr. Shiranui followed a single step behind her, silent as ever. Sakura was so absorbed in her own unsettled thoughts that she nearly missed it: the glass case by the station gates. Some flicker of color caught her eye, and she turned. In that instant, everything else in the world seemed to fall away.

There, behind the glass, hung the new poster for that year’s Dances of the Old Capital.

She stopped in place, one hand rising to rest lightly against the wooden railing. The performances were still many weeks away, and she knew the posters had gone up just the day before. She had expected, at some point, to cross paths with one. She just hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

The theme was written in elegant brushwork across the top: The Gleaming Light of the Morning Sun. A graceful, appropriate choice. Every year, the dance had a theme — Colors of the Four Seasons in Konoha, or Famous Places from the Tale of the Heike. And as always, the poster had been drawn by Sai Yamanaka, the peculiar, distant artist Ino had dragged her to see sometime earlier that very week. He’d painted nearly every poster of the last decade.

This one showed an apprentice geisha standing alone on a narrow, arched bridge. The girl wore a soft green and orange kimono, the color of new spring leaves caught against the smolder of late autumn, her long pink hair flowing in the wind. The scene around her was rendered in the pale gold of early sunrise, mist curling off the riverbanks, trees turning to molten coins in the light. And the girl — the girl was gazing directly into the sun.

Her eyes were green.

Sakura felt her stomach twist. She reached out, steadying herself against the iron railing. Because it wasn’t just a geisha in the painting. It was her.

Sai had drawn her.

She stood staring at the image, though the station had begun to fill behind her with merchants, laborers, and the thin clatter of arriving carriages. She barely registered Mr. Shiranui clearing his throat somewhere behind her. Her gaze wouldn’t leave that face on the poster.

On the rickshaw ride back to the okiya, Mr. Shiranui pointed out every poster they passed as though she might somehow overlook them. He even asked the driver to take a longer route past the old Nikon Department Store, where an entire wall had been papered over with them in neat rows. It should have felt thrilling, it was the sort of thing apprentice girls whispered about in the washroom corridors, the kind of honor that could shape an entire career. But Sakura felt only an eerie, hollow stillness inside her. Unmoored, as though her own reflection had started moving without her.

And of course, such things never came without a price.

She’d expected congratulations. Some part of her, hopeful and naïve, had imagined the girls in the academy might be proud to see one of their own chosen. But by morning, the air had changed. A young apprentice who had bowed to her just the week before now turned quickly away when Sakura crossed her path. Where there used to be idle chatter along the garden paths, there were careful silences. She had grown used to the occasional sharp remark since Ino arranged for her to leave the provinces, but after the poster, the glances lingered longer. The words grew meaner.

It was a beautiful thing to be seen — and a dangerous thing, too.

Two weeks later, the seasonal dances opened. On the first day, in the bustling dressing room of the Uzumaki Theater, Sakura felt herself tight with nerves, so full of anxious energy she could scarcely keep her hands steady. While carefully applying her makeup, she slipped Madara’s handkerchief beneath the collar of her dressing robe, pressing it against her bare skin. The linen was cool and faintly perfumed with sandalwood and bitter herbs, and the weight of it against her breastbone made her feel oddly calm— like carrying a talisman to ward off ill fortune.

Her hair had been bound tightly to her scalp with a strip of pale silk, to make room for the heavy wigs she would wear throughout the performance. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she saw her face so stark and unframed — she hardly recognised herself. The angles of her cheeks seemed sharper, her eyes larger, the hollows of her temples more pronounced. It struck her, in that small private moment, how strange it was to be surprised by the shape of one’s own face. And with that, a quiet, certain thought: nothing in life is ever as simple as we imagine it to be.

An hour later, she stood in the wings alongside the other apprentices, their figures almost indistinguishable in identical yellow and red kimono, their wide obis gleaming in tones of orange and gold. They looked, from a distance, like shifting images of sunlight caught on the water’s surface.

Then the music began with the deep thrum of drums, the piercing twang of the shamisen, and they danced onto the stage together like beads on a string, arms outstretched, folding fans spread wide in their hands. And in that moment, with the lights warming her face and the brush of silken sleeves against her skin, Sakura felt herself a part of something larger than she could name. A single bright thread in a tapestry stretched out across generations.

After the opening number, she rushed upstairs to change. Her solo would come next: The Morning Sun on the Waves, the story of a maiden bewitched by an enchanted dolphin prince. Her costume for it was breathtaking: a soft pink kimono embroidered with gray waves of water, and long strips of blue silk to trail behind her, capturing the shimmer of the sea. The dolphin prince would be played by Umiyo, a senior geisha, while other dancers personified wind, sunlight, and sea spray. Far to the edges of the stage, younger apprentices in charcoal and blue would play the dolphins calling their prince home.

Her quick costume change left her with a few spare minutes, so she slipped away to a narrow, shadowed hallway behind one of the orchestra booths. A few other girls already crouched there, peering through narrow slits in the panel doors. Sakura found her place among them, and after a moment’s searching, her gaze landed on Madara and Itachi seated together.

Madara watched the stage with sharp, unwavering attention, his expression unreadable, though his presence alone seemed to lend the room a certain gravity. Beside him, however, Itachi looked listless, half-lidded and distant, as if already weary of the evening’s festivities. Sakura felt a strange, inexplicable flicker of irritation at this. She knew it was foolish to care. And yet, somehow, she did.

The music shifted. It was Ino’s cue.

Sakura left the gap in the door and crept to where she could watch her friend. The story Ino’s dance told — A Courtier Returns to His Wife — was one she’d heard a dozen time. A long-absent husband, a grieving wife, a night spent waiting in the cold. But what Ino did with it was something altogether different.

Sakura watched from the shadows as Ino danced her lament, hidden from view of the husband and his mistress, her movements a slow, aching language of grief. The dawn light painted the stage in soft, dying colors. The rhythm of the shamisen beat like a second heart against Sakura’s ribs.

And for a moment, it wasn’t a performance. It was truth. Ino’s sorrow felt like a hand around Sakura’s throat. She could feel it settle into her bones, heavy and inescapable, and she understood then how grief could be a physical thing, a weight that pressed against the skin, bowed the shoulders, made the body forget how to breathe.

She watched until Ino crossed to a grove of painted trees to dance her death. Then Sakura turned away, unable to bear another moment of it.

She hurried back to the wings, her pulse a frantic thing in her throat. She was next!

Standing in the darkness, the scent of dust and old wood in her nose, she felt as if the weight of the entire building rested upon her. It was a pressure she’d never known before, not nerves, exactly, but something deeper, more ancient, as though centuries of dancers before her had left their sorrow in the boards of the stage. The seams in the wood beneath her thin socks seemed to pulse with it.

When the music began, the soft whisper of fabric, the opening notes of the shamisen — she moved without thought. She could remember none of it afterward. Only the image of her own arms rising, fan closed in one hand, her knees bending just so. The way her body carried her forward as though it no longer belonged to her.

And though her mind was blank, she did not falter. The dance carried her, as if muscle and memory alone were enough.

For the rest of the month, she entered each performance the same way — calling to mind the image of Ino’s lament, letting its quiet devastation settle over her like a second skin. There are things, Sakura learned, that the body remembers long after the heart forgets. Sorrow was one of them.

She could no more have kept it from creeping into her limbs than she could stop the scent of a cut apple from perfuming a room.

The dressing room still smelled of sweat, face powder, and the stale sweetness of hair oil. The festival’s final notes had barely faded from the night air outside, the applause still ghosting in Sakura’s ears. Her feet ached, her hairpins stabbed into her scalp, and the silk of her outer robe clung damply to her back — but it was over. She had survived.

No, she had conquered.

A gentle knock at the sliding door made her stiffen. She expected Mr. Shiranui, perhaps Ino. But when she slid the panel aside, it was Madara standing there.

He wore dark robes, an obsidian haori embroidered with stormclouds in black thread so fine they caught the light when he moved. His hair, streaked with more silver than she’d remembered, was unbound and fell over his shoulders like a dark river. In one hand, a cup of plum wine.

“May I come in?” His voice was silk over stone.

Sakura swallowed, lowering her gaze instinctively. “Of course, Lord Madara.”

He stepped inside, the door whispering closed behind him. For a moment, he simply looked at her; the sweat-misted skin, the smudged paint around her eyes, the exhaustion she couldn’t quite conceal.

“I saw your dance,” he said softly. “You should be proud of yourself, girl.”

A warmth she didn’t ask for bloomed somewhere beneath her chest. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I brought you a gift,” he said, setting his wine cup down. From his sleeve, he produced a small black silk pouch. It was heavy for its size, the fabric damp where it sagged.

Sakura’s stomach fluttered.

Madara held it out to her like a father presenting a birthday trinket. She took it with both hands, the silk cold against her palms.

She loosened the drawstring and tipped the contents into her hand.

It hit her palm with a dull, wet weight, it was a severed finger, thick and pale, the nail still rimmed with dirt and dried wine. Around it sat a heavy gold signet ring.

Sakura gasped and nearly dropped it. Her stomach lurched, throat burning. “W-what… what is this?”

Madara’s smile was cold. Not unkind, but utterly without remorse. “A reminder,” he said. “That an offense against you is an offense against me.”

Her throat closed. The room seemed to shrink. She remembered Lord Kin’s hand on her thigh, the stink of his breath, the sick thrill of fear when she realized no one was coming to help.

Madara went on, voice low and unhurried. “Some men believe that the daughters of this city are playthings. That because you wear silk and dance for coin, you have no master.”

He stepped closer, his hand closing gently over hers, wrapping her fingers around the grisly thing. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Sakura couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away from him.

Some terrible part of her, the part that had felt safe the night Itachi had dragged Lord Kin away, the part that had longed for an ally in a city of knives, felt something like relief.

She swallowed hard, her voice a whisper. “Thank you, my lord.”

Madara’s thumb brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You’ve had a long night. Rest.” 

Then he turned, scooping up his wine, and left without another word.

Sakura stood alone in the dim room, the severed finger warm in her palm, the ring catching the candlelight. 

The clatter of applause had long since faded, replaced by the quieter sounds of lacquered cups being set on tabletops and the rustle of silk sleeves in the soft light of the theater’s private salon. The air was heavy with incense, mixed with the sharper scent of plum wine.

Tsunade sat on a velvet cushion at the head of the low table, her golden hair pinned into an elaborate style that softened her usual severity. Shizune knelt nearby, quietly refilling a guest’s cup with practiced hands. Around them, a cluster of Konoha’s upper echelons lingered in easy conversation, the mistress of the Yamanaka Okiya , a famed Noh actor with silvered hair, two clan wives from Hyuuga and Aburame households, and a half-dozen others with opinions to spare.

It wasn’t the performances they spoke of in detail, not the ones they were expected to mention. Not the courtly elegance of Umiyo’s dolphin prince, nor the mournful beauty of Ino’s lament. It was a name no one dared to say aloud yet, but which passed like a thread through the murmured remarks:

“Did you see her eyes?”

“The green-eyed one in ‘Morning Sun on the Waves.’”

“As though she were born for it.”

Tsunade caught the comments without reaction, her face schooled into the careful neutrality expected of a clan matron. But she set her wine aside, listening. The mistresses spoke softly now, their voices lowered in that particular tone used for names that hadn’t yet been sanctioned by the council but would be, soon enough.

“She moved like rain slipping through reeds,” said the Aburame wife, tilting her cup. “The city won’t forget that face.”

Shizune glanced toward Tsunade then, catching the slight stiffening of her shoulders, though Tsunade’s face betrayed nothing.

“Green eyes,” repeated the Noh actor thoughtfully, stroking his beard. “A pity. No one will look at the other dancers now. Poor child.”

A ripple of subdued laughter.

“Senju blood after all,” murmured the Yamanaka mistress with a wry smile. “The old ways have a habit of resurfacing.”

It was not a question.

Tsunade reached for her cup again, her fingers steady. “Talent finds its place,” she said at last, her voice quiet but edged with iron. “And we see to it that it stays there.”

The room fell into a brief hush. It was a promise, and a warning.

Across the lacquered table, Shizune’s lips twitched into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile.

The salon emptied by degrees. One by one, the mistresses excused themselves, the old actor begged off with a polite bow, and the clan wives took their leave, murmuring compliments and obligations for the following season. The scent of plum wine lingered in their wake.

Tsunade waited until the room was nearly silent, the paper screens drawn against the cooling night air. She let out a long breath through her nose and set her empty cup aside.

“Green eyes,” she murmured at last, as though tasting the words in the dim light.

Shizune knelt beside her, gathering the scattered porcelain cups onto a tray. She hesitated, then spoke quietly. “They were saying it all evening. I don’t think a single guest left the theatre without mentioning her.”

Tsunade’s gaze drifted to the half-closed shutters, beyond which the scent of the theater gardens drifted faintly on the air. “I told Ino she’d cause trouble,” she said, half to herself.

“She might cause trouble,” Shizune agreed softly, “but it will be our trouble. Better that than another woman carrying the Senju name who wasn’t born for it.” She didn’t need to name Hinata.

Tsunade’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “The way she danced tonight…” She trailed off. It was difficult to admit admiration aloud, even to Shizune, when pride warred so closely with protectiveness. “She made them feel something. That’s the dangerous kind.”

Shizune placed the last cup onto the tray. “It’s the kind we need.”

For a moment, neither woman spoke. The soft click of the wind against the screens filled the silence.

Finally, Tsunade reached down, unfastening the jade hairpin from her blonde locks, and set it beside her wine cup. “Send word to the Teahouse mistresses in the morning,” she said quietly. “Tell them the Senju heir is not to be burdened with unnecessary engagements this week.”

Shizune’s brow lifted a fraction. “You’ve decided, then?”

“I decided years ago but when I saw the room lean forward,” Tsunade muttered, rubbing her thumb along the stem of her cup. “A thousand gold pieces couldn’t buy that. And it won’t be bought by Hinata, no matter what little games she and that snake Karin have been playing.”

At this, Shizune’s lips did drop. “It’ll crush Hinata and Karin will be furious.”

“Good.” Tsunade rose smoothly to her feet, her movements as elegant as any dancer’s, despite the wine. “This city has always loved a beautiful girl. Let’s see how they handle this one.”

She left the jade hairpin where it lay, a single glint of pale green in the flickering lamplight.

Senju Okiya- summer

The sky was paling by the time the carriage rattled to a stop in the narrow alley behind the Senju okiya. The lantern by the back door was still lit, though the house inside slept. Sakura descended wordlessly as Mother and Aunty chattered amongst themselves at sakura’s dancing success.

”The nobles couldn’t get enough of you, Sakura-chan!” Shizune said, turning to face the girl.

Sakura smiled softly, feeling the exhaustion deep in her bones.

By the time Sakura reached her room, the fine black coat itachi had given her was peeking out of her travel case, a grim reminder of what had happened, of what could’ve happened.

She sat down by the bundle Itachi had sent, untouched until now, on the lacquered table by her window.

The lamp light caught the crimson thread binding it shut. She hesitated a moment, her pulse thrumming in her throat.

Why would he send anything at all?

With trembling fingers, she unwrapped the cloth. Inside, nestled against a square of deep blue silk, was a hairpin.

Or so it seemed at first.

It was delicate, a slender length of black iron chased with faint silver, shaped like a simple ornamental kanzashi. Its head was a small polished obsidian bead, cool to the touch.

But when she turned it in her hand, she noticed the faint line near the base. A twist of the wrist, and the hairpin split into two pieces — revealing a narrow, gleaming needle-blade within.

Not a trinket. Not a decoration.

A weapon.

A warning.

Or perhaps a kindness.

Sakura stared down at it, a hollow ache blooming behind her ribs.

I don’t know you at all, Uchiha Itachi.

And yet here you are.

After a long moment, she tucked the weaponised pin into her jewellery box with the rest of her hair ornaments.

Not among her keepsakes, not displayed. But where she could reach it.

Without a word, she lay down on her futon fully dressed, her back to the light, and closed her eyes.

The next day, Shizune found Sakura lingering in the hallway and gave her sleeve a gentle tug. “Mother wants to see you in her office,” she murmured.

Sakura had just placed one foot on the first step when a door slid open above, and a sudden commotion broke the quiet. Hinata came rushing down the stairs in a frantic blur, her bare feet skimming the wood like water spilling from an upturned bucket.

Halfway down, she caught her finger against the banister with a sharp twist.

She cried out, halting at the bottom to clutch her hand, her face drawn with pain.

“Where’s Karin?” she gasped, blinking through the tears threatening to spill. “I have to find her!”

Shizune raised a brow and gave a dry, unimpressed snort. “Looks to me like you’ve already hurt yourself badly enough,” she said. “You don’t need to go find Karin so that she can finish the job?”

Hinata’s face was pale, her eyes swimming with something far more desperate than the ache in her hand. It wasn’t just pain. It was the look of a girl who had just seen the thin string of her future snap in half.

Sakura stepped down, keeping one hand on the railing. “Hinata… what’s wrong?”

But Hinata only shook her head fiercely, as though words might undo her altogether. She turned without another word, hurrying to the entryway. A moment later, the sliding door rattled softly shut behind her, leaving the house heavy with silence once again.

When Sakura reached the upstairs room, Lady Tsunade was already seated at the low table, her cup in hand. She didn’t so much as glance up when Sakura knelt to join her.

The room was hushed, save for the distant sound of rain against the roof tiles. Mother refilled her cup with a practiced hand and took a long, steady drink before setting it down again.

“Sakura. I’ve come to a decision,” she said at last. “Your status here in the okiya is about to change.”

Sakura felt her stomach tighten. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mother’s sharp gaze pinned her in place.

“You and I will perform a ceremony next week,” Mother continued. “After that, you’ll be my daughter just as if you’d been born to me. I’ve decided to adopt you. One day, the okiya will be yours, and the Senju clan will look to you for leadership.”

The words came like a blow. Sakura’s mind reeled. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She barely remembered what was said after that. Mother’s voice went on — something about moving into the larger room where Hinata and Karin now slept, the two of them moving into the smaller room where Sakura currently was. She spoke of responsibilities and expectations, of the okiya’s future, but Sakura only half-listened.

It was Ino’s plan all along. And yet, a part of her had never truly believed it would happen.

She sat in stunned silence as the full weight of it settled over her. As Lady Tsunade’s daughter, she would no longer live beneath Karin’s heel. She would have a place on the shelf, well out of reach of those jealous hands.

Mother’s voice filled the room like heavy incense. “You’ll be expected to—”

But just then, the door slid open.

Karin stood in the hallway, her face as composed as porcelain, though Sakura could sense the tightness in her jaw.

“What do you want?” She snapped. “I’m busy.”

“I want to talk with you.”

Tsunade didn’t bother to glance her way. “If you want to talk with me,” she said coolly, “you may ask Sakura if she’ll be kind enough to leave.”

“Be kind enough to leave, Sakura,” Karin said, voice syrupy and sharp.

But for the first time, Sakura did not lower her eyes or bow. Her heart pounded in her ears, but her voice was steady.

“I’ll leave if Mother wants me to,” she said, watching Karin’s expression carefully. Then Karin turned her head. “Mother, would you be kind enough to make Little Miss Stupid leave us alone?”

Karin’s smile faltered. The room tensed.

“Stop making a nuisance of yourself,” She told Karin flatly. “Come in and tell me what you want.”

Karin didn’t like it, Sakura saw the flicker of rage in her red eyes, but she came inside and knelt at the table anyway, seating herself midway between them. The scent of her perfume drifted into the room, cloying and sweet.

“Poor Hinata has just come running to me, very upset,” Karin began smoothly. “I promised her I’d speak with you. She told me something very strange. She said, ‘Oh, Karin! Mother has changed her mind!’ But I told her I doubted it was true.”

“I don’t know what she was referring to,” Mother said, pouring herself another cup. “I certainly haven’t changed my mind about anything recently.”

“That’s just what I said to her—that you would never go back on your word. But I’m sure she’d feel better, Mother, if you told her yourself.”

“Told her what?”

“That you haven’t changed your mind about adopting her.”

Mother let out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Whatever gave her that idea? I never had the least intention of adopting her in the first place.”

The words landed like stones, and Sakura felt a brief, wrenching stab of pity for Hinata, remembering how she’d fled down the stairs, her face stricken. No one could say now what would become of her.

Karin, still wearing that brittle, artificial smile, stared at Mother in disbelief. “So it’s true! You’re planning to adopt her. Don’t you remember, Mother, when you said you were going to adopt Hinata? You asked me to tell her the news!”

Mother waved a hand dismissively. “What you may have said to her is none of my concern. Besides, you haven’t handled Hinata’s apprenticeship as well as I expected. She was doing well for a time, but lately…”

“You promised, Mother,” Karin said in a tone that crackled like brittle ice.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You know I’ve had my eye on Sakura for years. Why would I turn around and adopt Hinata?”

Then, turning pointedly toward Sakura, she asked, “Sakura-chan, when was the first time I raised the subject of adopting you? A year ago, perhaps two?”

It felt, in that moment, as if a mother cat were dropping a half-dead mouse at her kitten’s feet, daring it to finish the lesson. Sakura saw clearly what was being offered to her: the chance to deal a blow to Karin.

And so she inclined her head and answered with careful grace, “Oh yes, Mother, you mentioned the subject to me many times.”

Karin’s face blotched with furious red. She rose to her feet, but Mother’s voice cracked through the room before she could speak.

“Sakura will be my daughter in one week,” she said coldly. “Between now and then, you must learn how to treat her with respect. When you go downstairs, ask one of the maids to bring tea for Sakura and me.”

Karin stormed out without another word. The door slid shut behind her.

For the first time in years, Sakura felt the air around her grow a little lighter.

Chapter Text

Senju Okiya - summer 

The sun had barely begun its climb above Konoha’s tiled rooftops when the Senju Okiya awoke.

The hush of dawn was broken by the faint sweep of brooms across wooden floors, the soft chime of wind bells, and the muted rustle of silk as the women moved like shadows through the house. The scent of cedar and plum incense lingered in the air, curling through the corridors in ghostly ribbons.

In the great reception room, light spilled through the shōji in delicate, latticework patterns, gilding the floor in pale amber. Dozens of figures had gathered, geisha in their finest morning robes, attendants, and Okiya Mothers, Teahouse Mistresses — arranged in a perfect, formal semicircle along the polished floorboards.

And at the center of it all knelt Sakura.

Her breath felt tight in her chest, though she forced herself to keep still, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. The silk of her ceremonial robe, an heirloom crimson kimono embroidered with falling cherry blossoms and pale birds in flight, felt heavy across her shoulders, its weight she wasn’t certain she was ready to bear.

Ino knelt behind her, fastening the great ornamental pin across Sakura’s shoulders with deft, practiced fingers. It was old, covered in gold and crimson enamel, the edges softened by decades of careful hands. The soft clink of the clasp closing sounded absurdly loud in the silence.

“You look like something out of one of the old scroll paintings,” Ino murmured, her voice a mere breath against the nape of Sakura’s neck.

Sakura managed a faint, unsteady smile. “I feel numb.”

The truth was, she felt more than numb. Her skin prickled with a tension she couldn’t explain, her pulse a steady drumbeat beneath the skin of her throat. This, what should have been the proudest day of her life, felt somehow distant. Like a role she was performing rather than a joy she was living.

The hush in the room shifted like a held breath as Tsunade appeared in the doorway.

The matriarch of the Senju Okiya was dressed in formal mourning black, save for a single silver fan at her waist. The cut of her robes was severe, but her presence filled the room like a storm about to break. 

Sakura’s heart hammered once, sharp and quick, as Tsunade stepped into the room.

No one spoke.

There was no ceremonial drumbeat, no musicians. Only the sound of Tsunade’s soft footfalls on polished wood as she crossed the floor to stand before Sakura. The gathered geisha bowed low, the room folding into solemn reverence around them.

Tsunade’s gaze, when it landed on her, was not soft. It was steady. Measured. There was a kind of brutal tenderness in it, the way a sword might be sharpened to a razor’s edge.

“Sakura Haruno,” Tsunade began, her voice carrying in the silence like a temple bell.

“Today, before the ancestors of the Senju and the spirits who guard this house, I claim you as my heir. You will bear the name Senju. You will guard its honor and tend to its legacy, long after my hands grow too old to do so.”

The words hung in the air like a drawn blade.

Sakura bowed low, pressing her forehead to the cool wood, the heavy silk of her sleeves spilling around her in a crimson bloom.

“I vow to serve the Senju with all I am,” she whispered. “To uphold its name, protect its people, and never run from its burdens.”

A ceremonial fan, lacquered crimson with the Senju crest gleaming in gold leaf, was placed into her open palms. It felt heavier than she’d expected, as though it carried the weight of generations.

“Rise, Sakura.”

She lifted her head, and the room seemed to shift, a subtle, tightening pull, like the cinching of a noose or the closing of a gate behind her. Every eye was upon her now.

Tsunade gestured to an attendant, who stepped forward carrying a shallow black-lacquered tray. Upon it, three porcelain sake cups rested, painted with blue flowers. A slender carafe of clear, chilled ceremonial sake shimmered in the dim light.

The attendant knelt and held the tray out between them.

Tradition dictated three exchanges: past, present, and future.

Tsunade took one cup in hand, pouring sake for Sakura. She held it before her heir, voice steady. “For the past; what is done, and what has been endured.”

Sakura accepted the cup with both hands, lifted it to her lips, and drank. The sake was sharp and clean, burning down her throat.

She took the carafe next, refilling Tsunade’s cup. “For the present,” she murmured. “For what binds us now.”

Tsunade drank.

A final time, Sakura poured, this time into the third cup, which they both took hold of together, fingers brushing, and lifted in unison.

“For the future,” Tsunade said.

“For the Senju,” Sakura echoed, her voice steady, though a tremor passed through her chest.

They drank.

The finality of it settled in the room like a second sunrise.

From this moment forward, there was no going back. Her old name, her old life, the child from the Land of Waves, was gone. Sakura of the Senju stood in her place.

When they set the cups down, Tsunade placed a hand over Sakura’s.

“Welcome home, daughter,” she said, quietly enough that no one else could hear.

Sakura’s eyes stung. She bowed deeply, pressing her forehead to the floor.

At the edge of the room, Hinata’s pale face shuddered. She bowed stiffly and vanished through the side door before anyone could stop her.

Tsunade’s gaze narrowed, but she turned away, signaling the end of the ceremony.

The room exhaled, but Sakura felt no relief.

The geisha bowed low, and as they did, the garden bells outside chimed once — sharp and silver, carrying the name Senju Sakura into the morning.

The courtyard slowly emptied as the geisha filed out in pairs, their silken sleeves whispering against the floorboards. The echoes of the morning’s rites clung to the air.

Sakura stood alone in the center, the crimson fan still cold in her hand.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

It felt like the world should have changed — the earth should’ve tilted, the sky should’ve cracked open, or some unseen weight should’ve lifted from her shoulders. But instead, the courtyard remained the same. The trees stirred in the soft wind. The koi rippled the pond. Somewhere far off, a bird called out and was met with silence.

She was no longer Sakura Haruno.

And yet she was still herself.

Lady Sakura. Senju-sama.

The names settled around her shoulders like a cloak she hadn’t quite grown into.

Ino appeared at her side without a sound, hands tucked into her sleeves.

“Feels strange, doesn’t it?” she said softly.

Sakura let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“That’s how it starts.” Ino tilted her head, watching the last of the attendants vanish into the house. “One day you’re someone’s apprentice. The next, they’re bowing to you. It’ll feel like a costume at first. Then you’ll forget what it was like not to wear it.”

Sakura turned the fan over in her hands, tracing the Senju crest with her thumb.

“I saw Hinata,” she said.

Ino sighed through her nose, not bothering to feign ignorance. “She’s not supposed to be here.”

“She looked like she’d been crying all night.”

“She probably has.” Ino glanced toward the empty corridor where Hinata had disappeared. “Karin’s keeping her on a leash so tight it’ll strangle her one of these days. I heard she wasn’t allowed to sleep in the apprentices’ quarters last night. Made to scrub the bathhouse floors till dawn.”

Sakura’s stomach twisted. “Why?”

“Punishment, I’d wager. Maybe for looking at you last week. Or for speaking out of turn. Or for existing.” Ino gave a humorless smile. “You know how Karin is.”

There was a long pause.

Then, Ino gently tugged at the sleeve of Sakura’s uchikake. “Come on, Lady Sakura. The province’s waiting, and you’ll wilt in this heat if you stand out here much longer.”

The title slipped from Ino’s mouth without irony, without envy. It felt… natural.

Sakura hesitated only a moment before nodding.

“Let’s go.”

And as she stepped out of the courtyard, the heavy name of Senju Sakura followed her like a shadow, unseen but constant.

Hokage Province- Summer

The late afternoon sun bathed the courtyard stones in orange light, as the carriage doors opened onto the Senju estate — a place Sakura had long since come to know as home.

She recognized the curve of the garden path where the wisteria branches drooped over the koi pond, the sharp scent of the pine wood torches near the gate, and even the old housekeeper, Kanna, whose stern face softened the moment her gaze met Sakura’s.

Yet today, it was different.

Today, she did not return as apprentice, nor as guest, but as heir.

Tsunade stepped down first, and at once the household assembled. Not summoned by messengers, they had been waiting. Their formation wasn’t stiff, nor their faces unfamiliar. These were the people Sakura had taken tea with, whom she’d passed in the early morning hours, whom she had seen laughing on festival nights.

And now, every head bowed.

“Tsunade-hime. Lady Sakura.”

The words felt heavier spoken in unison.

Tsunade made no speech. She simply turned toward the estate’s stone steps and called, “Kanna.”

The head of staff approached, bowing deeply. “At once, my lady.”

Within minutes, the house banners were raised above the estate walls, the Senju crest catching the wind, and soon the retainers and provincial officials arrived in careful, formal procession. These were the people whose allegiance mattered beyond friendship, whose respect was political currency.

Sakura stood with practiced grace at Tsunade’s side as the retainers made their introductions. She already knew their names: Mori, the estate’s steward; the elder Akane, mistress of the grain stores; even little Etsuko, the kitchen’s youngest girl, who kept stealing glances through the garden gate.

Yet each of them stepped forward and bowed, addressing her as Lady Sakura now.

Not Miss Sakura. Not apprentice. Not the Haruno girl.

And though their faces were familiar, their deference was new.

When the final retainer bowed low, Tsunade spoke, not to them, but to Sakura.

“Your house,” she said. “Your name. Remember how easily these courtesies turn into obligations and how quickly loyalty turns on neglect.”

Sakura inclined her head. “I will.”

And the household returned to its duties as the sun dipped toward evening, the Senju banners catching the fading light.

The formalities had barely concluded before Tsunade swept Sakura into the estate’s study, a wide, sparsely adorned chamber whose open screens overlooked the inner garden. In her months of living at the estate sakura had hardly ventured into the study, having no need to until today.

A stack of ledgers, scrolls, and family records lay on a low table. Kanna waited at one side, seated with the patient stillness of someone who had seen this ritual a dozen times over.

Tsunade gestured for Sakura to kneel across from her.

“Lesson one,” Tsunade began, unrolling a map of the country. Thin ink lines traced fields, rivers, villages, and trade roads. “Every piece of land with our crest belongs to you now as well. Know it like the lines on your palm. This is your responsibility now Sakura.”

Sakura leaned forward, taking in the neat calligraphy beside each marker. She recognized the names — Yamabuki Hill, where the plum trees grew wild, and Lake Kasumi, where the geisha sometimes picnicked in spring.

Tsunade pointed with the end of her writing brush.

“These are the retainers’ household ledgers for this quarter. Spot the error.”

Sakura unrolled the scroll and scanned the figures. There — third column, under the name Saji no Genji. His rice allotment far exceeded the number of workers listed.

She tapped it with a slender finger. “Either his head count is false or someone’s helping themselves to double rations.”

Tsunade smirked. “And if it’s the latter?”

Sakura paused for a moment, ideas running thriugh her head before she said, tentatively.“Reprimand the steward first. Publicly, but without humiliation. Then dock Genji’s next shipment under the guise of seasonal fluctuations. Make him pay it back without announcing the crime. Keeps the peace.”

At that, Tsunade chuckled. “Well then. Seems my little blossom’s been paying attention.”

Sakura said nothing, though her pulse gave a small, satisfied thrum.

Kanna stepped forward, placing a tray of folded papers at her side. “The names of the estate’s okiya patrons, Senju-sama. Lady Tsunade thought it fitting you familiarize yourself.”

Tsunade gave her a long, unreadable look. “Lesson two. Influence.”

Sakura picked up the first slip.

Lord Shimura Danzo.

She knew his reputation, an opportunist, ruthless in politics and trade.

“A snake,” she murmured.

“Correct. One we’ll feed until we slit his throat,” Tsunade said flatly. “Lesson three tomorrow.”

Without another word, she stood and left.

Kanna lingered, bowing low. “Welcome Home, Senju-sama.”

It was the first time she’d used the title without formality.

And it struck Sakura, the real weight of the name wasn’t in the ceremonies, or the banners, or the silk.

It was in moments like this.

The estate had settled into evening. Lanterns glowed softly against the darkening sky, and the scent of roasted barley tea lingered in the air. From somewhere beyond the garden, the slow pluck of a shamisen drifted like a half-remembered lullaby.

Sakura found Ino out in the gardens, seated cross-legged in her pale summer robes, a cup of tea balanced in one hand.

Without waiting for permission, Sakura folded herself down beside her.

Ino didn’t look over. “You passed.”

Sakura let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I wasn’t aware it was a test.”

“It’s always a test,” Ino replied, taking a sip. “With Tsunade-sama. With the household. With the banners. Every conversation, every glance, every step you take in that estate — someone’s measuring you. You just finally scored.”

Sakura stared out into the darkness, the lantern light catching the crimson embroidery on her sleeve. “It didn’t feel like enough.”

“It won’t,” Ino said, softer now. “Not yet. That’s how it works. They’ll keep raising the bar until one day you’re too exhausted to care whether you clear it or not. And then, if you’re lucky — you’ll realize you stopped jumping for them a long time ago and started doing it for yourself.”

A long pause stretched between them.

Sakura rubbed her thumb along the edge of the fan still tucked into her obi. “This was your plan all along, still it feels… I never really thought it would happen .”

Ino smiled faintly. “This, Sakura, was half of the plan. But, I can understand how surreal it must all feel. You’ve made us all so proud, everyone in Konoha knows your name now.”

The shamisen’s notes faded into the cicadas’ chorus.

”I spent so many years as a nobody, I just… I think I need some time to adjust to it all. Being a Senju.” Sakura said tensely.

After a beat, Ino glanced at her sidelong. “I don’t think you’ll have time to spare for that, Madara-sama’s going to start calling on you more often now, you know.”

Sakura’s pulse stirred. “How do you know?”

“Because I know him.” Ino’s voice was careful, as though choosing each word like a needle thread. “He’s had his eye on you for some time. Now you have a name worth attaching to him. He’ll summon you for flute recitals, then for tea, then for whatever he damn well pleases.”

Sakura gave her a dry look. “You sound worried.”

“I am. Not because you’ll fail, because you won’t, I’ve trained you well. You’ll charm them, like you always do. It’s what happens afterward that worries me.”

Sakura didn’t need to ask what she meant.

She already knew.

The sun had barely cleared the pines when a servant knocked at Sakura’s door.

She was seated at her dressing table, combing out her hair with long, practiced strokes. The attendant slid the door open, bowing low.

“A message for Lady Sakura, from Lord Madara.”

Sakura’s hand stilled on the comb.

She rose and took the folded parchment, the weight of the Uchiha seal in blood red wax pressing cold against her palm. The paper was heavy, the ink impossibly neat — no wasted flourish.

She broke the seal.

Sakura,

Your presence is requested this afternoon at the Uchiha estate for tea and conversation. 

— Madara

No title. No elaborate phrasing. Not even a pretense of casual invitation.

This wasn’t a polite call.

It was a summon.

A flicker of something sharp and hot curled in her stomach, apprehension, yes, but threaded through with something else. Fascination. Defiance. The same way one might feel standing too close to a fire.

She folded the letter precisely and turned to the attendant. “Send word that I will arrive on time.”

The girl bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

Sakura resumed combing her hair, her face carefully composed in the mirror.

From the far side of the room, Ino’s voice drifted through the open door.

“Well,” she drawled, “that didn’t take long.”

Sakura didn’t turn. “He’s nothing if not predictable.”

“Mm.” A beat of silence. “Be careful, Sakura.”

“I always am.”

But the knot in her chest tightened anyway.

Uchiha estate 

The attendant led Sakura along the winding paths of the Uchiha estate until they reached the gardens by the lake, where the late afternoon sunlight danced on rippling water and cherry blossom petals drifted lazily in the breeze.

Under a sprawling maple tree, Mikoto sat quietly with her sons—Sasuke, Itachi—and Madara nearby, his posture relaxed but watchful.

Mikoto stood quickly when she spotted Sakura, her face breaking into a warm, welcoming smile. “Sakura-chan, it’s so good to see you.”

Before Sakura could respond, Mikoto stepped forward and pulled her into a gentle, heartfelt hug.

“You’ve done well,” Mikoto said softly.

Sasuke followed with a bright smile. “Congratulations, Lady Sakura. This is a big step.”

Itachi gave a quiet nod, his eyes cool but acknowledging.

Madara’s dark eyes held hers with a spark of interest. “Your rise to heiress is no small thing.”

Sakura bowed, cheeks warming. “Thank you all. I’m honored… and a little overwhelmed.”

Mikoto chuckled gently. “Has Lady Tsunade started teaching you yet?”

Sakura hesitated, then nodded. “A little. It’s… a lot to take in. I’m still figuring things out.”

Madara’s gaze sharpened, but his voice was easy. “That’s to be expected. Growing into a name like Senju isn’t something anyone does overnight. What’s been the hardest part so far?”

Sakura thought for a moment. “Trying to understand what’s really expected of me… and not just what people say.”

Madara smiled—a rare, slow smile. “Good answer. You’ll do well if you keep asking the right questions.”

They settled onto the soft grass, a servant bringing chilled green tea and setting out boards for Go and shogi.

The afternoon passed in quiet competition and easy laughter, Sakura laughing with sasuke and Mikoto, matching wits with Madara more holding her own than winning — but proud to keep up.

As the sun dipped lower, Madara stood and stretched.

“There’s a chance for you tomorrow,” he said casually, “a ribbon cutting at the university in Gion. A good way to be seen and to learn what the city’s really thinking. I hope you’ll join me.”

Sakura blinked in surprise but nodded eagerly. “I’d like that very much.”

Mikoto smiled, reaching to squeeze sakura’s hand, saying her goodbyes before she retired to her bedroom. Sasuke gave a small wave before helping his mother up.

Itachi’s nod was as quiet and unreadable as ever, but there was something almost annoyed in his eyes.

As they dispersed, Sakura felt a strange mix of belonging and scrutiny.

Sakura stood before the low mirror, her hands steady but her heart fluttering with the weight of the day ahead.

Her kimono was a delicate stone grey, woven with subtle silver threads that caught the light like morning dew. The fabric whispered as she moved, the soft folds echoing the gentle curves of the surrounding gardens.

Her hair was styled with care, swept into a low bun secured with carved jade pins shaped like blossoms.

Around her neck hung a slender silver chain, bearing a single crystal pendant that caught the light with every breath she took. On her wrists, thin bangles chimed quietly, their gentle sound grounding her nerves.

Ino had insisted she wear these pieces today — tokens of protection and grace.

Stepping lightly, Sakura glanced once more at her reflection, the young woman in the mirror looked poised, yet beneath the calm surface, a tremor of uncertainty.

The heavy wooden doors opened quietly, and a servant announced the arrival of the Uchiha carriage.

The Uchiha carriage was as grand as she expected, its dark wood gleaming, the crimson fan crest stitched into the silk curtains, and the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air.

Sakura settled carefully onto the cushioned seat across from Madara, smoothing the folds of her kimono. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, though the slight shake in her fingertips betrayed the lingering nerves.

Madara glanced out at the passing streets before speaking, his voice smooth, unhurried.

“It’ll be a few hours until we reach Gion,” he remarked. “I trust my company won’t bore you,”

She looked up, meeting his gaze for a fleeting moment before lowering her eyes politely. “Not at all, Madara-sama. I’m… honoured you allowed me to accompany you on such a trip.”

A small, knowing smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Tsunade will do her best to teach you the ins and outs of Senju politics. But actually going out there, meeting faces, learning the way people speak when they think no one is listening… that will help them put a face to the new heiress.”

Sakura’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her voice quiet, soft, and sincerely grateful. “That’s very wise of you… thank you for all your care. I… I am grateful.”

Madara’s gaze lingered on her, the warmth in it shadowed by something older, darker. “As I said, little one… I take care of what’s mine.”

The words settled between them like silk on still water. Sakura swallowed, summoning a hint of courage.

“How… forgive my boldness, Lord Madara, but… what happened to Lord Kin?”

Madara was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint, approving tilt of his head, he spoke.

“He was dealt with. Swiftly.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

“Itachi is awfully efficient. His years running the border forces have made him… lethal, when necessary.”

A shiver ran through Sakura that had nothing to do with fear.

“I… I never got to thank him,” she murmured. “For rescuing me.”

Madara gave a soft, almost indulgent chuckle. “An Uchiha needs no thanks, little one.”

Sakura glanced out the window, the city slowly giving way to open roads and distant hills, the words sitting heavy in her chest.

The carriage slowed as they entered the heart of Gion, the familiar hum of the city replaced by a gathered hush. Outside, rows of crimson and white banners hung from archways, swaying gently in the early afternoon breeze. The university grounds had been transformed — oak stands erected, academics, politicians and wealthy investors mingling, their silk robes gleaming in the sunlight.

As the carriage doors opened, an attendant stepped forward with a low bow.

Madara rose first, regal and unhurried, and as Sakura followed, the sun caught the sage green of her kimono, the silver threads shimmering like mist against the fabric. The murmuring of the crowd shifted, faces turning, assessing, appraising.

She felt it, the weight of their eyes.

Madara offered a hand, more gesture than necessity. Sakura accepted it gracefully, stepping down.

“Steady,” he murmured without looking at her, his voice so low only she could hear. “You belong here.”

Sakura’s shoulders straightened as they moved toward the central pavilion.

A senior official bowed deeply. “Uchiha-dono, Lady Sakura. We are honoured by your presence.”

Madara acknowledged the man with a slight nod. “You’ve done well with the preparations.”

The governor approached next. His smile was polished, his words practiced.

“Uchiha-dono, Lady Senju,” he greeted, bowing lower than strictly necessary. “A privilege to welcome you both on this auspicious day.”

Sakura inclined her head gracefully. “We are grateful for your hospitality, Governor.”

Madara’s gaze flicked toward the gathered lords, envoys, and scholars. “It seems your city thrives, Governor,” he said pleasantly, though there was an edge beneath it.

The governor smiled tightly. “We strive, Uchiha-dono.”

As officials shuffled forward, exchanging pleasantries, Sakura stayed close at Madara’s side, listening carefully. Beneath the words of praise and celebration, she caught the careful deflections, the guarded phrases, the half-truths spoken with smiling lips.

It was exactly as Madara had said: what people avoided saying was often the most important thing.

After the ribbon was cut — a sharp silver blade through silk, cheers rippling through the crowd — trays of tea and sweets were carried out to shaded verandas.

Madara leaned toward her, his voice soft. “Now, Sakura… watch where the governor lingers, who avoids whom, and who drinks too quickly. You’ll learn more from this than from any lecture Tsunade could give.”

Sakura nodded quietly, her pulse steadying. She could do this.

As guests began to mingle, she followed Madara’s lead, watching everything.

And for the first time in weeks, she felt less like a frightened girl, and more like a woman.

Sakura kept near Madara’s side, following his cues — a nod here, a faint smile there — until, across the courtyard, a familiar face caught her eye.

Rin Nohara stood by one of the verandas, speaking animatedly with a group of scholars. Dressed in pale lavender, her dark hair pinned simply, she radiated warmth even in this formal setting.

Sakura turned to Madara, bowing her head respectfully.

“Madara-sama… if you’ll permit, I’d like to greet Rin-San .”

Madara glanced toward Rin, a brief flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Then he nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Sakura made her way across the garden, her heartbeat lifting a little at the sight of a friendly face.

“Rin!” she called softly.

Rin’s face lit up, and she excused herself from the circle, meeting Sakura with an open, sisterly embrace.

“Sakura-chan look at you! All grown and impossibly lovely,” Rin teased with a grin. “That grey kimono suits you. I ought to be jealous.”

Sakura flushed and laughed quietly. “I feel like I’m playing at being important. I still forget to breathe half the time.”

“Don’t worry, we all did, at first,” Rin winked. 

”And allow me to congratulate you on your adoption, miss Senju! I can’t imagine how please Ino-chan is.” Rin chuckled, imagining the glee in the blonde woman’s eyes.

”She’s as pleased as though it was her own adoption, not mine!” Sakura grinned. She’d missed this simple, easy conversation without veiled meaning.

But then, from across the courtyard, voices rose; sharp, clipped, unmistakably angry.

Sakura’s head turned at once, as did Rin’s .

The governor stood at the far edge of the garden, his face flushed, gesturing wildly as he spoke to Madara. Guests began to turn, the air thick with the tension of impending scandal.

And Madara…

Sakura barely recognised him.

Gone was the relaxed, cool aristocrat of polite gatherings. In his place stood a demon, his expression carved from stone, eyes cold as black ice. His posture was perfectly composed, his voice low and precise, each word striking like a blade.

“Govenor,” Madara was saying, his tone razor-sharp, “lower your voice. You embarrass yourself.”

The governor, crimson-faced, stammered something about trade routes and tribute being withheld, about ‘unfair meddling’ and ‘playing favourites.’

Madara didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. His words cut through the air like the flick of a tanto.

“Your incompetence is your own doing. Lay the consequences of your failure at my feet again, you’ll find yourself answering to the Hokage — or to me. And you know you’d fare better with him.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

A few gasps rippled from the gathering, and the governor’s face blanched, sweat beading at his brow as he realised what he’d done, and to whom.

He bowed stiffly, muttering apologies, and hurried away, the courtyard’s hush broken only by the clink of teacups and distant cicadas.

Sakura’s stomach fluttered. The sheer weight of Madara’s presence in that moment was breathtaking. Dangerous. Absolute.

Rin appeared at her side, murmuring, “That man forgets who built this country’s walls.”

Sakura could only nod, her gaze still fixed on Madara’s retreating figure.

So this was power. Not just titles or silk crests, but something old and merciless, carried in one’s blood.

And it terrified her and, if she were honest, fascinated her too.

The late afternoon light slanted through the carriage windows as it rumbled along the road back toward the estate. The distant clatter of hooves filled the quiet between them.

Sakura sat neatly on her cushion, her sleeves folded across her lap, though her fingers absently fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. The lingering scent of plum blossom still clung to her.

She could still hear the sharp, clean edges of Madara’s words in the garden. The cold precision in his voice. How the governor had shrunk beneath it.

And then the way the others had looked at him — and at her, after.

The carriage swayed gently as Madara finally spoke.

“You met a great many people today, many important people.”

Sakura glanced up, surprised. His gaze wasn’t on her, but out the window, watching the countryside blur past.

“Thank you for the opportunity, Madara-sama,” she murmured. “I… I was nervous.”

“Good,” he said simply. “You should be.”

She blinked.

“Fear is not weakness, Sakura. It’s a warning. Only fools walk unafraid into a room full of wolves.”

He turned his head then, regarding her with something like approval.

“You’ll learn.”

She hesitated, then in a softer voice, ventured,

“I… I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Madara’s brow lifted a fraction.

“Like what?”

“So… fierce,” she admitted, careful to keep her tone respectful. “I barely recognised you.”

For a moment she wondered if she’d overstepped. But then Madara gave a quiet, almost amused huff.

“That wasn’t fierce, little one,” he said. “That was merciful.”

Her pulse skipped. She wanted to ask what it would have looked like if it hadn’t been, but thought better of it.

Instead, she looked down at her hands. “It… frightened me.”

His voice softened just slightly, though it never lost its edge of authority.

“It should. The world you belong to now is not a kind one, Sakura. The sooner you understand that, the longer you’ll live.”

He leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes for a moment.

“But you did well today. And you’ll do better next time.”

She smiled faintly, a knot in her chest loosening.

“I’ll try.”

Madara gave a soft, approving grunt.

The warmth of summer soothed sakura’s tense shoulders as she followed the worn stone path that wound toward the old Senju shrine. The air smelled of warmed earth, moss, and faint smoke from distant cooking fires.

Sakura walked a step behind Kanna, her yellow summer kimono patterned with trailing vines, her hair pinned up simply today — no heavy kanzashi, no ornaments. It felt oddly good to move without the weight of ceremony.

Kanna, ever brisk in her plain working robes, gestured with a slight twitch of her hand toward the shrine gate ahead.

“You’ll need to get to know this place properly, Sakura-sama,” Kanna said, her voice quiet. “It’s the heart of the estate. The old records say Lord First himself laid the stones.”

Sakura glanced at the weathered torii gate, its wood bleached silver with age. Vines curled lazily around its base, and paper talismans rustled from the branches overhead.

“It’s beautiful,” Sakura murmured.

“Yes, but not too all. It’s ancient and a nuisance,” Kanna replied, but a fondness flickered in her lined face. “There’s always something to be cleaned, mended, swept. The gods aren’t fond of disorder.”

They crossed the threshold, shoes clicking on stone. A pair of young servants were already there, trimming back overgrown ivy. Kanna pointed them out.

“Aiko and Mari handle the grounds. The rest of the staff comes up here twice a week to sweep the paths, scrub the steps, polish the lamps. You’ll need to learn which charms need replacing, which offerings are for which days. Heaven help us if the harvest ceremony’s altar isn’t spotless.”

Sakura bit back a smile.

“It sounds… calming.”

Kanna gave her a surprised look. “It’s dull work, Lady Sakura. Not fit for one of your standing.”

“I like dull sometimes.” She stepped forward, running a finger lightly along the carved rail of the stone lantern. “It means times are safe enough for there to be dull things to do.”

At that, Kanna’s face softened.

They made a slow loop around the shrine, Kanna pointing out cracked roof tiles, the tree where a heron nested in the spring, and the hidden alcove where children used to sneak sweets during festivals.

As they passed the small side altar for the ancestors, Sakura hesitated.

“Do you think… they’ll accept me?”

Kanna huffed. “They already have, Sakura-sama. Otherwise you’d have tripped and broken your neck walking through that gate.”

Sakura laughed, the sound startling birds from the branches above.

“You’re terrible.”

“I say only the truth, dear,” Kanna corrected. “The ancestors are fickle, if they didn’t accept you then the very night you arrived, they would have made their feelings known. You have charmed them, you must continue to honour those who came before you.”

“I’ll try,” Sakura teased, bowing her head in mock solemnity.

They lingered a while longer, the quiet of the shrine settling around them.

The Uchiha estate was unusually quiet that afternoon. The summer heat had driven most of the household indoors, and the polished corridors lay drowsy in the late light.

Sakura had arrived for tea with Mikoto, as requested, only to be met by a gentle-faced attendant.

“My lady sends her apologies, Senju-sama,” the woman murmured, bowing. “Lady Mikoto has taken ill, nothing serious, but she must rest.”

“How terrible, poor Mikoto-San, I hope she makes recovery soon. In that case I will take my leav-” Sakura’s heart sank.

Before she could make her excuses and retreat, another voice cut in smoothly.

“You came all this way,” Madara’s voice drawled from the hallway. “Would be a shame to waste good tea.”

Sakura turned to find Madara standing there, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Itachi.”

Itachi appeared at the far end of the corridor, dressed in crisp dark robes, a pen in one hand, a faint scowl on his face.

“I’m working,” he said flatly.

Madara raised a brow. “And now you’re not. Take tea with the Senju girl.”

Itachi’s jaw twitched. “Uncle—”

“That wasn’t a request.”

Madara’s smile was thin.

Itachi muttered something under his breath in clipped Uchiha fury, but turned sharply on his heel and gestured for Sakura to follow.

“Come on then, Lady Senju,” he said dryly, “let’s waste each other’s time.”

They sat opposite one another in one of the Uchiha’s smaller tea rooms, the low lacquered table set with a pale summer tea, chilled and fragrant. A single sliding door separated them from the garden beyond, where the cicadas hummed in the late heat.

Neither spoke at first.

Sakura lifted her cup with practiced grace, hiding the irritation tightening in her chest.

“I apologise for imposing on your afternoon, Uchiha-sama. It was not my intention to disrupt your work.”

Itachi didn’t look up from his tea.

“Not your fault, though you seem to have a habit of it,” he muttered darkly under his breath. “Some of us have responsibilities. Others… play dress-up.”

The words landed like a slap. Sakura stiffened, her lips tightening.

“And some of us,” she replied smoothly, though her pulse beat hot in her throat, “don’t make snide remarks about one another’s occupation.”

Itachi’s eyes flicked up, narrowing furiously.

“I suppose you think parading around in silk makes you clever,” he drawled. “Batting your eyes at old men, reciting poetry someone else wrote for you. You realise none of them actually respect you, don’t you? They pity you. Or worse, they want to own you.”

Sakura’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t let it show.

“I don’t require your approval, Uchiha-sama,” she snapped, her voice steady and cold.

“Good,” Itachi said, smirking faintly, leaning back in his seat. “Because you’ll never have it.”

Sakura’s temper flared. She set her teacup down a little too sharply, the porcelain clinking against the tray.

“If you’re so averse to polite company,” she bit out, “perhaps you should crawl back to whatever blood-soaked skirmish you favor. I hear borderland bandits make excellent conversation.”

Itachi gave a quiet snort of amusement.

“Better company than self-important little girls who mistake flattery for power. Shouldn’t you have figured it out by now. Your run in with Lord Kin should’ve taught you that the men in these circles aren’t good company.”

Her breath caught.

“I survived Lord Kin,” she shot back. “Barely,” she added, her own bitterness surprising her.

Itachi’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his gaze grew sharper.

“Barely,” he said. “Frankly, it’s a miracle you did.”

Sakura’s fists clenched in her lap. “I fought him off as best I could,” she hissed.

“Spare me,” Itachi muttered. “A little girl flailing her elbows and crying, you’re very lucky I was nearby and put an end to it when I did.”

She leaned forward, her chin lifting, eyes blazing.

“I suppose that’s why they sent you, then, to kill a man and slice off his finger!” she said, her voice like glass. “The infamous Itachi Uchiha. Efficient, ruthless, doesn’t blink when he kills. That’s the reputation, isn’t it? Some call you a warhound. Others call you your uncle’s enforcer.”

A dangerous smile curved Itachi’s lips.

“And they call you what? A pretty little pawn with a famous surname. A new branch in the dying Senju tree . Don’t pretend like you matter more than the tea cup in your hand.”

Sakura’s breath shuddered in her chest.

“Say what you like, Uchiha-sama,” she snapped. “At least when I bleed, it’s for something I chose.”

“And yet you chose a house where men like Kin roam free and the walls whisper about who’ll buy you next.”

”I-I…You don’t k-know…” That stung. Sakura felt the words like ice in her veins. She opened her mouth, trying to force the words to come out but behind the screen, a soft, nearly inaudible chuckle sounded.

Madara, unseen, grinned like a wolf in the dark.

Good. Let them claw at each other. They’re made for it.

Inside the tea room, the air was thick with tension.

Itachi leaned back, finishing his tea in a long, indifferent swallow.

“Don’t work too hard, Senju. I wouldn’t want you to lose a fight against words.”

“Then stop talking to me,” Sakura snapped.

“Gladly.”

And for a long, brittle moment, neither spoke.

The cicadas sang on. Somewhere outside, a servant’s footsteps faded away.

Madara stepped back from the door, satisfied.

The tea room door slid open with a sharp snap.

Sakura stepped out first, her expression composed, her steps graceful  but the tightness around her eyes betrayed her. She kept her chin lifted, refusing to let her pulse betray how furiously her heart was pounding.

Behind her, Itachi followed at a leisurely pace, as though nothing had happened. His face unreadable, the only sign of irritation a slight narrowing of his eyes.

Sakura caught sight of Madara waiting at the end of the corridor, his hands clasped behind his back, a pleasant, fatherly expression on his face.

“Ah, Sakura,” Madara greeted smoothly, as though he hadn’t been standing outside the screen with a grin. “How was tea?”

Sakura forced a polite smile, bowing low.

“My thanks for the opportunity, Lord Madara,” she murmured, her voice as neutral as she could manage. “Your hospitality is always most generous.”

Madara’s dark eyes glittered.

“I’m aware Itachi’s conversation can be… challenging.”

At that, Itachi’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

Sakura gave a delicate, tight-lipped smile.

“Invigorating, my lord.”

Madara chuckled lowly, the sound warm but edged with something sharper.

“I do admire a woman who can hold her own,” he said, his gaze lingering on her face. “I hope you’ll forgive my nephew’s manners. He’s more accustomed to commanding soldiers than entertaining young ladies.”

“I’m certain no forgiveness is needed,” Sakura replied, dipping her head. “We simply… see the world differently.”

“Mm.” Madara smiled, utterly pleased with himself.

“I suspected as much.”

He gestured toward the front of the house.

“Come, Sakura. Let me have my attendants escort you back home.”

Sakura inclined her head again, allowing a small breath to ease from her lungs.

“Thank you, Lord Madara.”

As she passed him, Madara’s voice dropped just enough for her to hear:

“Fiery little thing, aren’t you?”

She glanced up, startled — but his face was unreadable again, his expression politely bland.

Before she could respond, he added, with another warm, harmless chuckle:

“You’ll do well. Very well indeed.”

And with that, he turned and strode down the corridor, the long sweep of his robes whispering over the polished floor.

Behind her, Itachi watched his uncle go, his gaze cold, before brushing past Sakura without a word.

And Sakura, for all her careful training, could not help but mutter under her breath,

“Stupid jerk.”

The crickets were in loud chorus by the time Tsunade returned from her lunch with Minato and Kushina, she had collected a stack of sealed letters that were tucked beneath one arm and a cup of watered down sake in the other. The reception room was cool, shaded by drawn screens, and Sakura was already there, kneeling by the desk, sorting through correspondence.

Tsunade dropped the stack beside her with a faint grunt.

“More stains on your sleeves, girl.”

Sakura gave a small, sheepish smile and wiped her ink-smudged fingers against the cloth at her hip.

“One of them splattered. The wax seals are thicker in the heat.”

“You’ll learn.” Tsunade’s voice softened faintly. She lowered herself onto the mat across from Sakura, reaching for the topmost scroll. “Let’s see what’s so important today.”

She sorted through half a dozen routine summons and invitations — from merchants, land stewards, neighboring okiya mistresses — until her hand paused on a heavy cream envelope, stamped with a bold crimson crest.

The Uchiha fan.

Tsunade broke the seal with her thumbnail, eyes scanning the precise, impeccable hand.

“Ah.”

“Who’s it from?” Sakura asked, glancing up.

Tsunade’s mouth twitched in a way that was neither quite a smile nor a frown.

“Who do you think.”

That earned a wary blink from Sakura.

“What does Madara-sama want?”

“He’s invited us to the Uchiha lake estate. A… day of leisure on the water, apparently.” She snorted, setting the letter aside. “Cloying nonsense about strengthening old ties between clans and ensuring the next generation of leaders foster mutual goodwill.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed.

“Does he mean me?”

“Who else?” Tsunade took a sip of her drink. “We will have to go. It’d be rude to refuse, and besides you’re already used to this sort of thing. Appearances, obligations, pretending to enjoy yourself while Madara quietly plots four steps ahead.”

“I suppose I have grown accustomed.” Sakura sighed, though a flicker of amusement brightened her voice. “I spend so much time there I’m surprised he hasn’t had a bedroom made up for me.”

Tsunade grunted again, then added more gently:

“He likes you, you know.”

Sakura looked up.

“Likes me? I hope not he’s far too old for me-”

“No Sakura that’s not what I meant. You amuse him, you don’t bore him, and you haven’t flinched yet. He values that.”

Sakura’s lips tugged into a little smile.

“Ah, I see. Is that good or bad?”

“Both.” Tsunade reached for the sake again. “It’s always both.”

The sun hung low and warm over the serene Uchiha lake, its surface shimmering like gems beneath the gentle breeze. The clan’s boat, a beautiful vessel polished to a high sheen, floated steadily across the still water.

Onboard, Tsunade, Madara, and Mikoto sat under the canopy, engaged in polite conversation about political alliances and agricultural yields. Their voices were calm, measured, the weight of noble responsibility softening into summer ease.

At the bow, Sakura sat perched with her feet dangling over the side, the sage green silk of her kimono shimmering faintly, the fabric heavy but beautifully embroidered with delicate silver waves. Her hair was pinned in a traditional style, soft tendrils brushing her neck, and subtle jade earrings caught the light with every tilt of her head.

A shadow loomed suddenly, cutting through the warmth like a sharp blade.

“It’s reckless to sit there like that,” Itachi’s voice was low, disapproving.

Sakura’s eyes snapped to him, sharp as daggers.

“I didn’t hear you rowing,” she snapped, straightening, the silk rustling softly. “If you’re going to interrupt, at least announce yourself.”

Itachi’s lips quirked into a sardonic smile.

“Wouldn’t want to startle the fragile Senju heiress.”

Sakura’s jaw tightened. “I’m hardly fragile.”

He glanced down at her kimono with a critical eye.

“This,” he said, “is impractical. Too thick. Too heavy. For this heat and this boat, you should know better.”

“My kimono is perfectly suited for the season,” Sakura retorted, voice steady, though her pulse quickened. “Just because you don’t understand the purpose or beauty of geisha dress doesn’t mean it’s inappropriate. Perhaps you should focus on your own failures rather than criticising mine.”

Itachi’s gaze darkened. “I don’t concern myself with frivolous things. Your kind relies on appearances, not substance.”

Sakura’s fingers clenched around the railing. “And your kind hides behind cold calculation and cruelty. I’d rather be seen and judged than ignored and feared.”

A faint smirk touched Itachi’s lips. “Heavy kimonos like that can be dangerous near water. If this boat capsized, you’d drown under all that fabric.”

Her eyes flashed fiercely. “I was born swimming. You don’t survive in the Land of Waves without knowing how to keep yourself afloat.”

Itachi paused, an unreadable flicker crossing his face.

He chuckled darkly. “Delusional.”

Sakura’s voice rose, sharp as a whip. “I’m not.”

He leaned closer, voice low and teasing, dangerous.

“Then why not prove it? Jump in. Show me you can survive.”

Sakura’s sensible instincts flared. “That’s absurd. I have no intention of risking my life to prove a point to you.”

She moved to stand, ready to walk away, but her foot slipped on the damp wood.

A sharp cry escaped her lips as she tumbled backward over the edge.

Time slowed.

The shock of icy water slammed into her chest, stealing her breath. The cold wrapped around her like chains, the heavy kimono dragging her down, pulling at her limbs. The surface looked like a bright frontier, just too far for her to grasp.

Panic surged thriugh her veins as her lungs screamed for air she couldn’t catch.

Darkness flickered at the edges of her vision. Sakura’s heart pounded.

Am I, am I drowning?

Strong hands suddenly gripped her with fierce urgency, hauling her upward.

Sakura’s head broke thriugh the surface as she coughed and spluttered, panicking and flapping her arms.

Itachi’s face hovered close, his eyes grim, voice sharp.

“Hold still. Breathe.”

Sakura gasped, struggling against the weight, coughing as her lungs burnt. Itachi’s strong hands keeping a vice-like grip on her, preventing her from sinking once more.

Her heart thundered in her ears, eyes wide with shock and humiliation.

“You could have let me drown,” she spat, dripping and shivering, cheeks flushed with anger and cold.

Itachi’s voice was flat, unyielding. “Not a chance.”

The splash had barely settled when the boat lurched with the force of Itachi hauling Sakura back aboard. Water streamed from her sodden kimono, pooling around her as she coughed and shivered, hair plastered to her pale face.

“Sakura!” Mikoto’s horrified gasp cut through the air.

The Uchiha woman was on her feet at once, kneeling beside the girl and fussing with trembling hands, brushing damp hair from Sakura’s face and pressing a hand to her clammy cheek.

“Dear—are you hurt? Kami, you’re freezing!” Mikoto exclaimed, pulling a spare shawl from her lap and trying to wrap it around her shivering shoulders.

Tsunade was already crouching down on Sakura’s other side, her expression tight and furious, though she kept her voice even.

”Somebody fetch the towels!” Mikoto shouted out, servants rushing in the background.

“Breathe through it, little one. Deep breaths,” she murmured, assessing her daughter with a clinical eye, already noting the bruises forming beneath the wet silk.

“I’m fine,” Sakura managed hoarsely, though her teeth chattered and she was visibly humiliated.

“You are not fine, you stubborn girl,” Tsunade muttered, grabbing the shawl and draping it firmly over her shoulders.

At the stern, Madara remained seated, utterly composed.

If anything — his dark eyes glittered with unmistakable amusement.

A corner of his mouth twitched.

He set down his teacup with deliberate care and leaned back against the cushions, one brow raised as though this was the best entertainment he’d seen in months.

“Well,” Madara drawled, voice rich with wry pleasure, “it seems our new Senju heir does have spirit after all.”

Mikoto shot him a scandalized look. “Madara—she could’ve drowned!”

“Yet she didn’t,” Madara countered smoothly, his grin widening. “And itachi — my boy — such quick reflexes. Perhaps you’re not entirely unsuited to polite company.”

Itachi, still dripping, scowled as he took a seat on the opposite end of the boat, wringing out his sleeves in brooding silence.

“You find this funny?” Tsunade snapped, glaring at him.

“I find it…illuminating,” Madara purred, darkly delighted. “Nothing reveals character like a little disaster. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Tsunade?”

Sakura bristled, struggling upright as Mikoto fussed around her.

“I wasn’t proving a point,” she muttered furiously, refusing to meet Itachi’s eye.

Madara’s grin turned wolfish.

“Oh, but my dear girl,” he murmured, “you just did.”

And in the warmth of the boat, surrounded by concerned hands and sharp tongues, Sakura realized she’d just stumbled into a new, dangerous game and Madara Uchiha was enjoying every second of it.

The sun had long since sunk behind the hills by the time Sakura was settled in Tsunade’s private chambers at the Senju estate. 

Sakura sat on a cushion by the roaring fire, dressed now in a dry cotton yukata, her damp hair loosely unpinned and falling over one shoulder. A basin of hot water steamed beside her.

Tsunade knelt nearby with a cloth in hand, carefully dabbing at a darkening bruise on Sakura’s shoulder. Her touch was firm, but not unkind.

“Hold still,” Tsunade murmured.

“I’m fine,” Sakura muttered, though her skin flinched under the pressure.

“You’re not fine,” Tsunade countered flatly. “You’re bruised, exhausted, humiliated, and too damn proud to admit it. Which makes you a perfect Senju, unfortunately.”

Sakura managed a faint, breathless laugh despite herself.

A pause stretched between them as Tsunade wrung out the cloth and reached for a small jar of cooling balm.

“You’ve made quite an impression,” Tsunade said at last, her voice quieter now. 

Sakura looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” Tsunade cut in. “That’s the problem. They’ll test you, over and over, until they see what you’ll give and what you’ll protect. Madara especially.”

Sakura swallowed, still tasting lake water at the back of her throat. “He laughed. When it happened.”

Tsunade gave a grim, humorless smile. “Of course he did. Madara enjoys chaos more than most men enjoy their own fortunes. And you, darling girl, you’re the most entertaining thing to happen to that clan in years.”

“I hate him,” Sakura muttered under her breath.

“No, you don’t,” Tsunade said, soft but certain. “Not yet. And that’s what worries me.”

Another quiet moment. Outside, a nightingale called from the garden wall.

Tsunade gently tipped Sakura’s chin up to inspect a cut near her hairline. “Listen to me, Sakura. Uchiha men — they don’t love easy, and when they do it’s rarely safe. You be clever. Be careful. And never forget whose name you wear now.”

Sakura nodded slowly, meeting her eyes.

Tsunade gave a satisfied grunt, then reached for a comb. “Good. Now sit still, let me fix this mess you call hair, and tomorrow we’ll pretend none of this happened.”

A ghost of a smile touched Sakura’s lips as she let her head tilt forward, allowing Tsunade to gently comb through the damp, tangled strands  and for a brief moment, in the hush of that room, it felt almost like having a mother.

The Senju estate gardens were already humming with life by morning, the scent of freshly cut grass clinging to the warm air.

Sakura walked briskly along the stone path toward the gates, still nursing a sore shoulder and the lingering indignity of yesterday’s disaster.

Kanna had dressed her in a soft blue kimono today, the sleeves lighter and easier to manage. Her hair was pinned simply, a silver comb gleaming above one ear.

Waiting by the carriage was Madara, dressed in impeccable black and crimson, his expression somewhere between amused and expectant.

“Senju-sama,” he greeted with infuriating formality, offering a mockingly courtly bow. “I trust you’ve recovered from your…swim.”

Sakura’s mouth tightened, but she bowed smoothly in return.

“I have, Lord Madara. Though next time, I hope the invitation won’t involve attempted drowning.”

Madara gave a low, approving laugh.

“Ah, there’s that fire. I was worried Itachi had frightened it out of you.”

He gestured for her to step into the carriage first, and when she did, he followed, settling across from her with the casual ease of a man entirely in control.

As the carriage lurched forward, Madara steepled his fingers, studying her.

“I thought you might appreciate another opportunity to test your footing. There’s a gathering this afternoon. Business lords and halfwit bureaucrats with more coin than sense. A dull affair but an excellent place for a newly minted Senju heir to be seen.”

Sakura glanced at him warily. “You’re giving me another chance to embarrass myself.”

“On the contrary,” Madara murmured, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I’m giving you a stage.”

He smiled, sharp and knowing.

“And I’m eager to see what you do with it.”

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the lacquered wood of the pavilion and the silk-draped guests gathered within. Musicians played the shamisen quietly in a corner while servants moved through the crowd with trays of chilled plum wine.

Sakura kept close to the perimeter. She could feel eyes on her, their gaze feeling assessing, weighing, whispering. The Senju heiress, the new ornament in Tsunade’s household.

She was beginning to think she’d escaped the worst of it when a voice, slick with arrogance, cut through the murmur of conversation.

“Well, well, so this is the famed Senju heir,” drawled Lord Hanamura, a minor noble with a reputation for vice and a personal dislike of Tsunade. A group of sycophants clustered around him like flies.

Sakura turned smoothly, offering a bow. “Hanamura-sama.”

“I must say,” he continued, raising his wine cup, “one would think Tsunade-hime could find a more suitable candidate. Or at least one with a little less scandal clinging to her name. But then again—” he smiled thinly, “perhaps drowning in a lake is a family trait. Or is it whoring oneself to Uchiha favor that earns one a title these days?”

A few murmured snickers.

Sakura’s stomach clenched — but she kept her chin lifted, her voice steady. “I assure you, Hanamura-sama, the Senju name has never needed to buy favor with cowards.”

That earned a few sharp intakes of breath. His face darkened.

“I’ll advise you, girl,” he sneered, stepping closer, the scent of sour wine clinging to him. “Your pretty face might charm fools, but it won’t keep you from ruin. Mark my words—”

“Hanamura.”

The word cut through the air like a drawn blade.

Madara’s voice.

The crowd shifted as the Uchiha patriarch approached, his expression unreadable, though his eyes glinted dangerously beneath the sweep of his hair.

Hanamura visibly blanched but tried to recover. “Madara-sama, I was merely—”

“Insulting a young woman under my protection,” Madara finished softly, stopping beside Sakura. He didn’t look at her, but his presence alone felt like a wall at her back.

“She is a guest of the Uchiha tonight,” Madara went on, his voice smooth as silk and twice as lethal. “And it would be unwise, Hanamura, to mistake leniency for permission.”

Hanamura opened his mouth, thought better of it, and bowed stiffly. “Of course, Madara-sama. No offence meant.”

Madara’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Then leave.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

The noble paled, muttered something, and withdrew, his entourage scurrying after him.

Only then did Madara turn to Sakura. His expression softened subtly, in a way most wouldn’t notice. The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Never let men like that decide your worth,” he murmured low enough for her ears alone. “You’re Senju now. Start acting like it.”

Sakura drew in a breath, the sting of humiliation replaced by something else entirely, a warmth, unwelcome but undeniable, at the rare glimmer of genuine care behind his words.

She bowed her head slightly.

“Yes, Lord Madara.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod.

And for the rest of the evening, no one dared speak a word against her.

The birds buzzed in the trees as dusk settled over the Senju estate’s inner garden. The three of them sat cross-legged on the grass overlooking the pond; Sakura in her casual pale yukata, Sasuke leaning back against a wooden post, and Naruto sprawled out on his stomach, legs kicking behind him.

Sakura scowled, stabbing a piece of melon with a pick.

“I swear to the gods, if he makes one more smug, sarcastic comment about my kimono being impractical, I’ll drown him next time.”

Naruto snorted. “You should’ve pushed him in, Sakura-chan! Bet he floats like a rock.”

“I fell, Naruto. And he jumped in after me,” Sakura muttered, cheeks hot at the memory, though the irritation remained sharp. “Then had the nerve to act like it was my fault.”

Sasuke gave a short, dry laugh. “That sounds exactly like him.”

“You’re seriously not defending him?” Sakura said, raising a brow.

“Oh, no,” Sasuke waved a hand lazily. “My brother’s a massive pain in the ass. He’s a rage-baiting bastard, especially when he’s bored. Gets under everyone’s skin. That’s why he’s so good at what he does, he makes people nervous. Commands fear, respect. Keeps our borders from turning into a warzone. But, yeah,” he shrugged, “it comes at a price. He’s… not normal.”

“He’s a total psycho,” Naruto declared, sitting up. “Last time I saw him, I said he should smile more, you know, be less terrifying. He stared at me for five seconds, then knocked my ramen bowl off the table.” He scowled. “On purpose.”

Sasuke gave a rare grin. “Serves you right for telling an uchiha to smile.”

“I was being friendly!”

“Well don’t,” Sakura sighed. “I’m stuck attending all these tea invitations and walks now and every time he’s there it’s like walking on glass. One minute he’s silent, the next he’s baiting me about something ridiculous.”

“Bet you secretly like the attention,” Naruto teased, waggling his brows.

“I do not!” Sakura snapped, blushing fiercely. “I would happily never see his smug face again.”

“Too bad for you,” Sasuke smirked. “Madara seems to like throwing you two together.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Naruto flopped back onto the deck. “Man, nobles are weird.”

Sasuke gave a shrug, his expression shifting — not bitter, but weary.

“He got worse after our father died.”

Naruto, picking at a grape, glanced up. “Yeah? I mean… wasn’t he always kind of weird though? Even when we were little, remember? Itachi never played with the other kids, I mean he wasn’t even here for years and when he was he’d just sit under that big old tree with a book and just… stare at people.”

“He was,” Sasuke admitted, his voice a touch quieter. “Always too serious. Too sharp. But after Father… it was different. Colder. He stopped caring about pretending to be normal. Stopped smiling, stopped trying to soften the edges. Became… more like Madara.”

That earned a bitter little laugh from Sakura. “If he were anything like Madara, we’d be getting along better. At least Madara-sama respects geisha. Itachi acts like we’re all idiots playing dress-up and making men’s tea.”

“I mean…” Naruto started, grinning mischievously, “I’m sure some geisha do—”

Sasuke smacked the back of his head without looking. “Your mother’s literally a geisha, you dobe.”

“Oi!” Naruto yelped, rubbing his skull. “She’s a retired geisha!”

“Doesn’t count,” Sasuke smirked.

Sakura grinned at them, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Honestly, thank the gods for you two. If I had to deal with another snide Uchiha alone this week, I’d run off to become a fishmonger.”

“Bet you’d still find a way to make it classy,” Naruto teased.

Before Sakura could roll her eyes, Naruto sat up suddenly, his face bright.

“Hey — bet you can’t make Itachi laugh.”

Sakura blinked. “Why in the gods’ names would I want to?”

“Because it’s impossible,” Sasuke muttered, though there was a spark of interest in his voice. “I haven’t seen him laugh since we were kids. And even then, it was more like a smirk when he tricked me into falling into the koi pond.”

“I bet you five yen I can do it,” Naruto challenged.

“Make it ten,” Sakura said, narrowing her eyes. “And you’re on.”

“Deal.”

Sasuke snorted. “I’ll double it if you live to collect it.”

They all laughed, loud and unguarded, the kind of laugh that cracked the stiffness of titles and politics wide open. For a moment, the world felt simple again.

The birds sang louder, the sky deepened to purple , and three friends sat side by side, mocking their problems and their shared enemies like they hadn’t a care in the world.

Uchiha Bathhouse

Steam coiled in thick, long ribbons through the dimly lit room, clinging to the paper screens and gleaming dark wood panels. The faint scent of lemon and eucalyptus oil hung in the air, the bathwater tinted a pale amber.

Itachi sat motionless in the hot spring , his arms resting along the rim, head tipped back, droplets trailing from the ends of his hair into the water. The surface rippled with each slow breath.

For a while, there was only silence.

Then a low, humourless laugh escaped him.

“Sakura,” he muttered, as if tasting the name aloud, his voice rough from disuse. “That damn girl.”

He opened his eyes, gaze unfocused, fixed on the mist curling along the rafters.

Years ago, she’d been a sniveling, frightened child at the banks of the Kisame River. 

Pathetic. Fragile. Forgettable.

And yet.

Now she snarls like a cornered cat, talks back to my face in front of half the clan. Picks fights she has no hope of winning. Loud. Foolish. Infuriating.

Another ripple disturbed the water as he shifted, resting his jaw against his knuckles.

“It’s… unfortunate,” he murmured, voice like a blade’s edge, “that she makes my blood boil.”

He exhaled sharply, annoyed with himself. She wasn’t special, she couldn’t be. There were hundreds of geisha in Konoha, thousands in the country. Dozens of heirs posturing for scraps of power. But none of them managed to crawl under his skin like she did.

No one else spoke to him like she wasn’t afraid. Or perhaps she was, and was too reckless to show it.

That green-eyed stare; sharp, unyielding, utterly infuriating. It haunted him at the edges of his thoughts.

Madara noticed it too, of course. That damned old man always saw too much. And he was enjoying this far too much.

Itachi let out a low scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching in something between a grimace and a smirk.

“Careful, little Senju,” he murmured to the empty room. “The more noise you make… the more the wolves will notice.”

A single bead of water trailed from his temple down his neck as he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the bath until only the top of his face remained above the waterline, like a predator beneath the surface.

The faint echo of her laugh in his memory felt like an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

The quiet creak of the bathhouse door sliding open barely registered above the hush of steam and water.

Itachi didn’t move.

Only when the familiar scrape of geta sandals on the wooden floor broke the stillness did he open one eye.

Madara stood at the threshold, hands clasped neatly behind his back, eyes glittering like a cat’s in the dim light. A faint, knowing smile tugged at his mouth.

“I thought I might find you here,” Madara said smoothly, stepping inside. The door slid shut behind him with a soft click. “Sulking in the steam, like a brooding child.”

Itachi let out a long breath through his nose and shut his eye again.

“I’m not sulking.”

“No?” Madara came to a stop at the edge of the tub, peering down at him with the kind of infuriating fondness one might reserve for a particularly troublesome hound. “You look like a man nursing a wound.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hm. Odd. Because you did nearly drown the Senju heiress some days ago.”

Itachi’s jaw tightened.

“She slipped.”

Madara chuckled. “Ah. And of course, you heroically leapt to her rescue.” He crouched beside the tub now, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur. “You don’t usually chase after half-drowned geisha, nephew. Tell me, what is it about this one?”

Itachi cracked an eye open again, glare sharp and narrow.

“She’s reckless. Loud. Insolent. And an idiot.”

“A winning combination,” Madara mused, looking immensely pleased with himself. “And yet… you can’t seem to leave her alone.”

“I tolerate her for your sake,” Itachi snapped, a little too quickly.

Madara laughed, low and rich. “I never asked you to tolerate her.”

Itachi said nothing, his face a mask of stone, but the muscle in his jaw ticked.

Madara studied him for a beat longer, then leaned in, his voice soft and amused. “She makes your blood boil, doesn’t she?”

Itachi’s eyes flicked away.

Madara’s smile widened like a wolf’s. “Good.”

He rose to his feet, dusting imaginary dust from his sleeve.

“Keep your enemies close, Itachi,” he advised with mock solemnity. “And your irritations even closer. They tend to grow into something far more interesting.”

He turned to leave, his geta clicking softly against the floorboards.

“Oh — and do try not to drown her next time.”

With a final smirk, Madara slid the door open and disappeared into the mist.

Itachi remained perfectly still in the water for a long moment, watching the steam curl where the old man had stood.

Then, with a sound somewhere between a groan and a curse, he tipped his head back against the cedar rim.

“Damn him,” he muttered.

And damn her too.

Chapter Text

The room was still, thick with the scent of wood and oil smoke. A single flame wavered in the gloom, its reflection quivering against the lacquered desk.

A hand reached for the letter. Pale parchment, edges rough, a wax seal already cracked. No signature. No crest. Only the weight of what was written.

The ink bled slightly into the fibres, as though the message itself was too heavy for the page.

Sakamoto Hill.

Last day of the month.

Two hundred artillery men, stationed northeast in woodland bunkers.

Mobilisation imminent.

A silence followed, dense and suffocating. The letter was folded with slow, deliberate care. The flame guttered in the draft as the shutters rattled, and somewhere in the distance, a crow called once, sharp as a knife.

Senju Estate- Late Summer

The air inside the study was dry and dusty, and the quiet strokes of brushes against parchment filled the room.

Sakura sat cross-legged at a low table, sleeves neatly tied back, a fine horsehair brush poised between her fingers. Her tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she tried to mimic the precise, fluid strokes Tsunade had demonstrated.

Beside her, Tsunade leaned back against a stack of scrolls, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up. Her hair was loose for once, the heavy formal ornaments set aside, and a thin silk robe hung open at the throat.

“Wrong character,” Tsunade said without looking up from her own sheet.

Sakura scowled down at the paper. “Where?”

Tsunade tapped the air above Sakura’s brush. “You wrote en as in ‘circle,’ not en as in ‘fate.’ Very different meaning. Unless you intended to propose marriage to the Daimyo’s wife.”

Sakura flushed. “I— no, obviously not.”

“Good,” Tsunade snorted, dipping her own brush again. “Because Minato would have a fit.”

They worked in silence for a while, the muffled sounds of the estate in the distance; faint voices, the clatter of dishes, someone doing laundry in the east wing.

“Letters like this,” Tsunade said after a moment, gesturing to the scrolls between them, “aren’t just words. Every line, every title, every honorific is a statement. You’re not writing to people, you’re fencing with them.”

Sakura paused, then carefully set down her brush. “Is that why you never let Aunty Shizune write these?”

Tsunade chuckled. “Shizune would threaten war over a late tea delivery if you gave her a brush. She’s good at flattery and subtle insults, but this—” she gestured at the dense pages, “—this is for someone who can hold her tongue, play by the rules when she must, and bend them when no one’s looking.”

Sakura looked at the row of letters she’d completed. some better than others. Her hand ached, the formal script painstaking to master.

“Will I get better at this?” she asked softly.

“Of course,” Tsunade said without hesitation. “And you’ll keep getting better. It’s not about talent, it’s about patience. Learn the old forms, then you can decide how and when to break them.”

Sakura gave a small, tired smile. “I think I like that.”

“Good. Because later we’re drafting your thank-you letters to the Uchiha for the lake incident, and you’re going to make Itachi Uchiha’s ears burn when he reads yours.”

Sakura perked up at that, an unmistakable gleam in her eye.

Tsunade grinned, tossing her brush down. “That’s the spirit.”

They worked until the light faded, until their writing hands cramped, and the night air turned cool. And in that unremarkable hour of ink and parchment, something wordless passed between them, not the stuff of legends, but the kind of quiet, stubborn bond only forged through tedious work and a thousand shared silences.

Tsunade lounged on the cushion opposite, sipping plum wine, a wicked gleam in her eye as she sorted through a stack of completed letters.

“Alright,” Tsunade said, tapping the edge of one sheet. “You’ve thanked Mikoto. You’ve thanked Madara. You’ve sent one to Sasuke even though the brat wasn’t there. Now,” she smiled like a cat, “the fun part. Itachi.”

Sakura frowned, setting her jaw. “I should thank him properly, shouldn’t I?”

Tsunade raised a brow. “Properly, yes. Sincerely? Not necessarily. A thank-you letter can bleed someone dry if you word it right.”

Sakura’s lips twitched despite herself. “Teach me.”

Tsunade slid a blank sheet in front of her. “Begin like this — ‘To Lord Uchiha Itachi, Commander of His Lord Hokage’s Border Forces, Protector of the Nation’s western provinces…’ All his titles. Stroke his ego. Then we slip the knife.”

Sakura dipped her brush and began carefully, copying Tsunade’s words. “And then?”

Tsunade leaned in. “Then you write, ‘I remain humbled by the swift decisiveness you displayed in pulling me from the water. Your famed efficiency has long been a subject of fearful admiration within the capital, and it was an education to experience it firsthand.’”

Sakura bit back a grin. “Fearful admiration?”

“Mm,” Tsunade murmured. “He’ll read that line five times wondering whether it’s praise or insult.”

Sakura wrote it down, relishing the slow, sharp curves of each character.

“What next?”

“Close with something like, ‘May the gods continue to favour your vigilance at the border, and grant you a reprieve from misfortunes such as inexperienced girls falling into your lake.’” Tsunade smirked over her cup. “It implies you’d never trouble him again, but reminds him that you’re still politically significant enough to send a formal letter.”

Sakura finished the final stroke, letting the ink settle before reading it back. It was flawless. Polite. Impeccably worded.

And utterly, gloriously petty.

“I hope it makes him seethe,” Sakura murmured, folding the parchment with the Senju seal.

Tsunade grinned. “If it doesn’t, we’ll do better next time.”

They shared a small conspiratorial laugh. The stack of letters remained high, the summer heat relentless, but for a single, perfect afternoon, Sakura felt like she could hold her own in this world of blades disguised as silk.

Uchiha Compound

The candlelight flickered low in Itachi’s study, the room filled with the shelves of books, stacks of letters and scrolls. Maps of the western provinces were laid open across the table before him, marked with delicate red pins. Reports from border captains sat in a neat pile beside a half empty bottle of whiskey.

A knock came at the door.

“Enter.”

A servant stepped in, bowing low as she placed a sealed letter on the table. “From the Senju estate, Itachi-sama.”

Itachi didn’t look up. “Leave it.”

The servant obeyed and vanished.

For a long moment, Itachi ignored the letter, eyes moving instead across the most recent troop movements. But the distinctive Senju crest bled through the parchment like a splinter in his vision.

Finally, with a sigh more of irritation than curiosity, he set down his brush and reached for it.

The seal cracked with a soft, clean sound.

He read.

Once.

Then again.

Then a third time, slower.

By the fourth reading, a muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Fearful admiration,” he muttered under his breath, the words dry and sharp as glass.

He set the letter aside, precisely aligned with the edge of the table, and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a long, simmering moment.

A low, humorless laugh escaped him.

“You petty little brat,” he murmured to the empty room.

And yet a flicker of reluctant, infuriating respect stirred somewhere deep in his chest.

Itachi poured himself a glass of cold whiskey, downed it in one swallow, and reached for a fresh report.

But the letter remained at the corner of the table, untouched yet impossible to ignore, as though daring him to write back.

He did not.

Not yet.

But the next time he saw her, he was going to make her regret every smug, silk-soft syllable.

And Madara, he knew that old bastard was behind this too.

Itachi closed his eyes, steeling himself.

The Land of Fire was going to burn long before these people ever drove him to madness

Gion

The workshop smelled of varnish, old wood, and cooling iron. It was a narrow place, lined with shelves hung with flutes of every shape and timber, pale chipboard, black-stained oak, cherrywood soft as dusk. The light was thin, filtering through dust and paper screens, gilding the room in a dull, orange glow.

Madara moved through it with slow, unhurried steps. His fingertips brushed over a slender cypress pipe, its grain as fine as silk beneath his hand. The air tasted of sawdust and varnish, the scent of it stirring old memories , winters past, music in dimly lit chambers, the faint, aching loneliness of nights too still.

A soft voice cleared behind him.

“My lord.”

Madara turned. An attendant bowed low, a silk-wrapped box in his hands.

“The master craftsman has completed your commission.”

A quiet nod was all it took. The old flute maker approached — a small, stooped man with varnish-stained fingers and a proud, wary gaze. He set the box upon a low table and, with careful reverence, unfastened the cords.

The lid lifted, and there it was.

A flute of deep redwood, its surface hand-carved with plum blossom motifs that curled and wound along the length like frozen breath. The tone holes were polished so fine the light caught in them like black glass. The wood gleamed rich and dark, the hue of old blood.

“It will play warm and low, my lord,” the craftsman murmured, his voice worn as old leather. “A flute for the autumn months. It will suit her hands.”

Madara let a beat pass.

“It pleases me,” he said at last.

He left without another word.

Senju Estate - early autumn

The rain had been falling softly since late afternoon, misting the garden in delicate water droplets. From the open balcony doors of the estate’s west wing, the faint scent of wet earth and rain drifted into the room, where a single paper lantern cast a warm, flickering glow.

Sakura sat cross-legged beside a low table, her hair pinned up loosely with a comb Lady Tsunade had given her earlier that day. She wore a simple pale pink yukata patterned with scattered rose petals, nothing elaborate, just soft cotton, perfect for a quiet evening. The rest of them were similarly dressed: Tsunade in a dark green robe with her sleeves carelessly pushed up, Shizune neat in dove gray, Lady Kushina in a deep red yukata that matched her hair, and Ino bright and unrepentantly beautiful in sky blue.

Naruto and Sasuke had arrived together, both a little damp from the rain despite Ino’s teasing scold that they should’ve used the covered path. Naruto had shrugged it off, grinning wide, his robe clinging unevenly to one shoulder. Sasuke, of course, hadn’t bothered to explain himself.

The table was modestly set with a few dishes: simmered vegetable stew, grilled salmon, rice, pickles and a small bottle of plum wine that Tsunade insisted on opening herself.

“To Sakura,” Tsunade said, raising her cup. “Seventeen, and still managing not to throttle this lot. That alone deserves a toast.”

“Cheers!” Naruto beamed, his cup sloshing dangerously.

Sakura laughed, cheeks a little pink from the warmth of the wine and the attention. “Thank you,” she said, lifting her own cup. “For everything. Really.”

There were no speeches. No formalities. It was exactly what she wanted.

The evening settled easily after that. Kushina told a story about Naruto as a toddler trying to climb onto the roof to catch a shooting star, and Tsunade nearly choked on her drink laughing. Ino challenged everyone to a card game she claimed to have just learned, though judging by the way she kept winning, no one believed her.

The rain kept falling, soft and steady, a constant hush against the roof tiles. Shizune fetched another bottle of wine. The paper screens stayed open to the night air, and every so often a breeze would stir the lantern’s light.

Sasuke stayed mostly quiet, leaning against the wall with his cup, but even he cracked a smile when Naruto dramatically accused Ino of cheating for the fourth time.

“We all know you’re terrible at cards, you’ve got your Godmother’s poor luck,” Sasuke murmured.

“I am not! She’s tricking me somehow, believe it!” Naruto declared, earning another round of laughter.

Later, they pulled cushions to the balcony to watch the rain, a cluster of warm bodies in the cool night. No one said much then. The garden shimmered in the lantern light, puddles rippling as drops fell. Somewhere beyond the wall, frogs croaked, and the scent of wet camellias drifted in.

Sakura rested her chin on her knees, a quiet, contented ache in her chest. She felt…good. Safe. She didn’t know how long moments like this would last but for tonight, she let herself have it.

“Happy birthday, Sakura,” Ino murmured beside her, linking their little fingers briefly before reaching for her cup again.

Sakura smiled. “Thanks.”

At some point between the card games and when Shizune started pouring the second bottle of plum wine, Naruto nudged Sasuke with his elbow.

“Oi,” he whispered, not quietly at all. “Go get it.”

Sasuke gave him a flat look. “You get it.”

“You’re closer!”

“You’re the one who forgot it in the first place.”

Ino rolled her eyes. “If you two are going to argue, do it outside.”

But Naruto was already scrambling to his feet and dashing to the corner where he’d left a small, roughly wrapped bundle beside the doorway. He picked it up, water spots still marking the paper from their rain-soaked arrival, and came back grinning.

“Uh — we, uh — got you something,” Naruto said, setting the bundle down in front of Sakura. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, glancing at Sasuke. “It’s not, like… fancy or anything. But, y’know.”

Sasuke didn’t say anything, but his gaze flicked to Sakura, then away, the tips of his ears slightly pink.

Sakura blinked in surprise, then smiled as she carefully untied the string and unwrapped the paper. Inside was a small box, a simple, dark wood thing, polished smooth and shaped for the hand. She lifted the lid and let out a soft breath.

Inside was a delicate hair ornament: a single carved wooden rose, painted a crisp white, mounted on a slender silver pin.

“You guys…” she murmured, turning it gently in her fingers. It was beautiful in its simplicity, not the kind of gaudy thing one wore for formal banquets, but something she could tuck into her hair on a rainy evening, or leave on her vanity like a little secret.

“We found it in town last week,” Naruto said, ducking his head a little. “Sasuke said it looked like something you’d actually wear. I, uh, picked the colour though.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sakura said softly, glancing at both of them. “Thank you.”

Sasuke shrugged, still not meeting her gaze, but he made a faint, approving sound.

Naruto brightened immediately. “Knew you’d like it! You should wear it now — c’mon, let me—”

“You are not putting that in her hair,” Ino cut in, snatching the pin from his hands with practiced ease. “You’ll tangle her whole head. Hold still, Sakura.”

They all laughed, and Sakura tipped her head forward, letting Ino tuck the rose into her loosely pinned hair. It sat just above her ear, the white petal catching the lantern light.

“Perfect,” Ino pronounced.

Naruto beamed. Sasuke gave a small, satisfied nod.

And the night carried on with the rain a constant hush, the air warm with wine and easy company.

Uchiha Compound

The room was dimly lit, the paper screens drawn against the evening. A fire glowed in the corner, filling the air with the scent of ash and the faint, metallic note of cooling ink. The only sound was the distant sigh of wind against the courtyard walls. The autumn wind had brought a fierce chill to the air, Madara stared out the window with a blank expression, the gloomy autumn bought nothing but melancholy to the already severe Uchiha home.

She arrived precisely when summoned. Sakura knelt before him with perfect poise, her silken sleeves pooling about her, the glow of the fire catching in the loose strands of pink hair that brushed her cheek.

For a long moment, Madara simply regarded her.

The week past her birthday had suited her well. The  flush of late summer sun still lingered in her skin, and she carried herself with the quiet, polished grace Tsunade was so determined to instil. But here, alone in this room beneath his gaze, something softer clung to her. Expectation. Curiosity. A spark of uncertainty.

He gestured toward the box set upon the table between them.

“For you. A belated birthday gift.”

Her lashes fluttered, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly bowed. “I’m honoured, Madara-sama.”

The way she spoke his name always pleased him — never hurried, never timid. Careful, but not afraid.

She reached for the box with slender fingers and undid the cords, lifting the lid with delicate care.

He saw it at once, the way her breath caught. The soft, startled light that bloomed in her eyes as she took in the flute, its redwood body catching the firelight, its carved blossoms seeming to stir in the glow.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

She touched it as though it might vanish.

Madara leaned back, watching the play of expression across her face, surprise giving way to delight, and beneath it, something warmer, a thread of deep, instinctive gratitude.

“You remembered,” she said softly, half to herself.

He allowed himself a slight curve of the mouth, no more than a breath of amusement. “How could I forget.”

She lifted the flute, testing the weight of it in her hands. “Redwood… plum blossoms…”

“I had it made for you,” Madara murmured. “A flute suited to autumn. The craftsman said it would suit your hands. I suspect he was right.”

Her fingers brushed over the carvings, tracing the blossoms.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need.” He studied her. “Your happiness is sufficient.”

She looked up then, a bright, open thing, and Madara felt the moment settle between them like the hush before snowfall. That spark in her gaze, the adoration, was unmistakable. Not the shallow infatuation of the young, but something cultivated, quietly tended like a flame behind glass.

He knew how swiftly loyalty took root in such soil.

“Play it for me when next you visit,” he said.

Sakura smiled warmly and bowed her head. “I would be honored, Madara-sama.”

Hokage Tower

The council chamber was quiet, save for the restless crackle of the hearth. Scrolls lay scattered across the low table, their seals broken, ink smudged from hours of handling. 

Minato sat with his hands steepled beneath his chin, the flicker of firelight sharpening the fatigue in his face. Across from him, Jiraiya leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark beneath the fall of his hair.

“The Kazekage won’t budge,” Jiraiya said grimly. “He’s demanding a third of the Land of Grass outright and a guarantee of future supply routes through our western borders. No diplomat’s going to sway him off that.”

Minato’s jaw tightened. “And if we refuse, he withholds his forces.”

“Which leaves us isolated when the Land of Rain strikes again — and they will.”

”Jiraiya, why is he doing this? I thought an alliance was just on the cusp! You’ve spent so much time with him surely you must know what he is thinking.”

Jiraiya sighed deeply, “I am uncertain, in the beginning the kazekage was reasonable and agreed to the terms I had discussed but now- I can’t say for certain.”

Silence settled between them, brittle and raw.

Minato reached for one of the scrolls, unrolling it with care. The Kazekage’s terms scrawled in sharp, unyielding ink. Demands dressed as negotiations. It stunk of leverage, the calculated greed of a man who smelled weakness in his allies.

“He wants farmland, military command, and a seat at my council,” Minato muttered. “We give him that, we might as well let him carve his name into the Fire Daimyō’s gates.”

Jiraiya gave a humorless smile. “Or we stall him long enough to survive the winter.”

Minato didn’t answer.

For a moment, the only sound was the wind against the paper screens and the distant, steady rhythm of the night patrol changing shifts.

Then Jiraiya spoke, his voice quieter, but no less sharp.

“There’s only one man in this country who could bargain with him on military terms.”

Minato looked up.

Jiraiya met his gaze, unflinching. “Send Madara.”

The words hung in the air like a drawn blade.

“The Kazekage respects strength,” Jiraiya went on. “He’s not afraid of us, but he does fear losing. And no one speaks the language of war better than Madara.”

Minato’s mouth thinned. The thought of letting Madara move freely, even under the guise of negotiation, knotted cold in his gut.

“You’re asking me to give him exactly what he wants,” Minato said quietly. “An excuse to command troops, to make private agreements under the banner of the village.”

“With all respect minato, Madara does that already. I’m asking you to keep us alive long enough to fight another year,” Jiraiya countered. “If we don’t win the Kazekage’s support, there won’t be a council left to oppose Madara anyway.”

The fire crackled, a log splitting in the hearth.

Minato closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of it settling in his chest.

”How did it all become so complicated Jiraiya, you know when I was a young man I idolised him.”

”We all did,” Jiraiya said solemnly, “But Madara is like the Uchiha of old, always wanting more, never satisfied. There’s a fire in him that cannot be put out, it’s simply his nature to conquer.”

“I suppose. I’ll summon him at dawn,” he said at last. “But I want his every move reported. I want to know everything.”

Jiraiya gave a single nod, though his expression didn’t ease.

“I’ll see to it myself.”

Neither of them said what they were both thinking — that once Madara left the city walls, no one would be able to leash him.

And neither of them knew how much of that was by his own design.

The autumn sunlight filtered softly through the orange and yellow leaves that littered the stone path. Sakura walked beside Ino, her steps measured, her hands folded neatly before her.

Ino’s voice was light but firm, carrying the weight of years spent navigating the delicate world they inhabited.

“Sakura,” she began, “securing the Senju name was only half the battle.”

Sakura nodded, eyes lowered politely.

“You’re still young,” Ino continued, “but legally, you cannot take a Danna until you are eighteen.”

She glanced sideways, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “That gives us one year, a precious window to make your acquaintance with suitable patrons.”

Sakura’s fingers tightened slightly at her side, but her expression remained composed.

“It’s not enough to wait,” Ino said, voice softening. “You must be seen, known — spoken for, in circles that matter.”

Sakura met her sister’s gaze, a flicker of caution hiding behind her calm. “I understand,” she replied, voice even.

Ino’s smile deepened, warm yet calculating.

“This is how we secure your future, Sakura. The Senju name gives you strength. A Danna will give you power. With a Danna you’re free to select which engagements you attend and his funding to the Okiya will give lady Tsunade the opportunity to remove Karin once and for all and invite new apprentices, keeping the Senju Okiya alive.”

Sakura’s polite nod was steady, but inside, a quiet war stirred. She knew the game well — the favors, the alliances, the hidden debts — and she was wary of just how far Ino intended to push.

Yet she said nothing more, letting the autumn breeze carry their words between them.

Uchiha compound- Autumn

The summon had come at the break of dawn, Sakura had never rushed to get ready as quickly as she had done that morning. Her plain olive kimono was a sharp contrast to the dark colours of the Uchiha hallways that she had come to know so well.

Sakura was led to Madara’s study by a servant in Uchiha livery, who bowed low and wordlessly gestured her forward. She stepped inside with practiced grace, bowing deeply as she entered.

“Madara-sama,” she greeted softly.

At the far end of the room, Madara stood behind a broad writing table scattered with unopened letters and loose papers. Seated nearby was Itachi, his posture sharp, eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Sakura,” Madara acknowledged, his voice smooth but edged with severity. “Come forward.”

She obeyed, kneeling neatly before the low table.

Madara didn’t waste time.

“I have been summoned by the Hokage,” he began, “and tasked with securing an alliance with the Kazekage in the Land of Wind.”

There was a sharp intake of breath beside her.

“What?” Itachi’s voice cut through the still air. His brow furrowed, rare open concern flashing in his eyes. “They would send you there? Alone?”

Madara didn’t so much as glance at him.

“It is a military negotiation,” Madara said coolly. “And I am the only man in this country capable of speaking to the Kazekage on equal terms. Jiraiya’s negotiations last time the Kazekage were here have proved to be - ineffective, I will be in Suna for the better part of a year.”

Sakura kept her head slightly bowed, though she felt the charged current between uncle and nephew.

Madara continued, addressing Itachi now.

“While I am gone, you will take my seat on the Hokage’s council.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed further. “I see.”

“You will also be responsible for the police force, Uchiha guard, our military in my absence and act in the best interests of the clan.” Madara’s gaze was sharp as a blade. “Do not disappoint me.”

Itachi inclined his head stiffly. “I won’t.”

“Sasuke will also be leaving for sometime, he will be sent to Natsu for the winter months,” Madara added. “It’s time he begins learning what it means to live within a military household, he will return before the cherry blossoms fall.”

Itachi’s expression eased a fraction, and he gave a small nod. “Good.”

Finally, Madara turned his gaze upon Sakura. His expression softened, though the authority never left his voice.

“As for you, girl,” he said, “I expect no foolishness in my absence.”

Sakura raised her eyes, meeting his gaze with quiet composure.

“Of course, Madara-sama.”

“You will write to me often,” he continued. “Keep me informed of events here within the estate, the Okiya, and the Hokage’s court. Nothing of consequence should reach my ears secondhand.”

“I will, Madara-sama,” she said earnestly.

Then came the final decree.

“Itachi will assume my duties regarding you while I am gone.”

Itachi’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You heard me.” Madara’s voice left no room for dissent. “You will see to her wellbeing, accompany her when needed, and handle any matters concerning her standing or safety. In my absence, you are responsible for her.”

“That’s unnecessary—”

“It’s decided.” Madara’s tone was final, his gaze cold and unyielding. “And I will hear no argument from you.”

Itachi’s jaw tensed, but after a long, taut silence, he inclined his head.

“Understood.”

Madara turned to Sakura once more.

“If you need anything — anything — you go to Itachi. He answers for you until I return.”

Sakura bowed deeply, her voice steady despite the knot of unease tightening in her chest.

“I am honored by your trust, Madara-sama. I will not fail you.”

Madara’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. 

“See that you don’t.” Madara’s voice was quiet now, but no less weighty.

Sakura rose with practiced grace. She turned toward the door, her gaze brushing past Itachi’s.

He was already watching her.

For the first time, neither of them spoke. In his dark eyes, there was no politeness, only sharp, unreadable scrutiny. Not disdain, not concern, but something colder, heavier. A silent acknowledgment of the burden now tied between them.

Sakura’s face remained composed, her mouth soft with courtesy, though her heart beat a little faster.

She inclined her head to him, the smallest, formal nod.

Itachi didn’t return it.

Their eyes met a second longer,  a thread of unspoken warning, wariness, and something else neither cared to name — before Sakura turned and slipped quietly from the room.

The door closed behind her with a muted thunk.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

Senju Estate 

“Sakura, that’s brilliant news!” Ino gasped, a wide smile on her face.

”Eh, I’m not so sure,” Sakura huffed, Ino just shook her head and bumped shoulders with her.

”Ignore what madara said Itachi being responsible for you, that man has far more pressing things to deal with than an apprentice geisha.’’ Ino chirped knowingly. “This means you’re about to have a lot more free time and with madara not monopolising your time, we are free to start searching for a suitable Danna!”

Sakura groaned, if she thought her life would have calmed down after her adoption she was sorely mistaken. Ino’s new project was to ensure Sakura had a long list of eligible men fighting to be her danna by the time she turned eighteen. Not even Karin had a danna so young, her first danna she took at the age of twenty, Ino’s own patronage with Jiraiya only began when she was twenty two. It was fiercely ambitious on Ino to have such aspirations for Sakura but the pink haired girl understood, the sooner she got a danna the sooner Karin would be out of their lives, and finally the red-heads lies and rumours about Sakura would be put to an end

“We have a few days until the Daimyo’s seasonal banquet, that will be the perfect opportunity for you!” Ino cheered.

The great hall glittered with candles and silk banners, golden threads catching the light as noblemen and women drifted between clusters of tables. The scent of spiced wine and roasted pork hung heavy in the air.

Ino, radiant in a deep plum kimono, moved through the crowd like a flame, her laughter bright and easy.

“Look at this one, Sakura,” she whispered, tugging Sakura’s sleeve. “Count Kuroda—wealth beyond measure, lands stretching across three provinces. And the Lord of Izumo—though older, his influence is unmatched.”

Sakura smiled politely as the men bowed, their eyes sharp and calculating.

Behind their polite masks, Sakura saw only age and emptiness, faces etched with wrinkles, skin loose and pallid like worn parchment stretched too thin.

“I must find a way to survive this night,” she thought.

Ino, oblivious to Sakura’s quiet judgment, continued to beam.

“You must meet them all, Sakura. These men are your future, your okiya’s future.”

Sakura’s gaze drifted across the room, a sea of polished masks, whispered deals, and empty ambitions.

Beneath the rich fabrics and gold, she felt more alone than ever.

Sakura moved alongside Ino, a practiced smile fixed gently on her lips, her eyes scanning the crowd with quiet appraisal. 

Ino quickly grabbed her by the arm as the pair made a sharp left turn.

Ino’s voice sparkled with excitement. “There—Mr. Takeda, so wealthy he’s practically a minor lord himself. And he adores the arts. You should see his collection of painted screens!”

Sakura nodded, her gaze briefly meeting the man’s pale eyes, shadowed beneath heavy brows. He bowed stiffly, a polite but calculating smile stretched thin across his face.

“Sakura-sama,” he greeted, voice oily, “I trust this evening finds you well. Might I tempt you to a dance during the next festival?”

Sakura’s smile deepened, but it did not reach her eyes.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, “but my duties will keep me close to the estate this season.”

The man’s expression flickered with disappointment, but he bowed deeply and retreated, swallowed by the throng of well-dressed faces.

Ino, undeterred, took Sakura’s arm enthusiastically.

“You mustn’t be shy! Shooting them down won’t help you at all. Now, let’s have some more smiles and try for a few conversations.”

The laughter and chatter swirled around Sakura like a distant storm, bright but somehow far away. She moved through the crowd, each nobleman a carefully crafted mask of etiquette and ambition. Their eyes held no curiosity, only the calculation of gain and status.

A elderly Lord with a silver-streaked beard bowed low, his smile practiced but brittle as old porcelain. His compliments felt rehearsed, his words empty vessels echoing through the gilded room.

Sakura forced a polite nod, but inwardly, the weight of their presence pressed down on her chest like a stone.

Even Ino’s sparkling excitement seemed to bounce off an invisible wall, unable to penetrate the chill in the air.

As the evening stretched on, the nobles grouped into tight circles, their whispers sharp and cautious. Invitations, alliances, debts traded in glances and half-spoken promises.

Sakura felt herself shrinking beneath the heavy silks and heavy expectations.

I am surrounded by ghosts, she mused quietly. And the only living thing in this room is my own restless heart.

As the guests began to thin and lanterns were lowered, Ino leaned close, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“This was just the first of many gatherings, Sakura,” she said, her voice light but urgent. “There are tea ceremonies, garden viewings, and the governor’s ball—all perfect places for you to meet more potential dannas.”

Sakura’s smile was polite but distant. Inside, she sighed softly.

More events. More faces. More masks.

She nodded slowly, her thoughts heavy.

“I will do as you advise,” she said quietly.

Uchiha Compound

The gardens of the Uchiha estate lay in the tight grip of autumn, stripped bare and bone-thin. Trees stood skeletal, their branches black against a grey sky, and the stone paths were thick with fallen leaves in shades of rust and faded crimson. The air hung heavy with the scent of cold earth and woodsmoke from distant hearths, while the promise of rain lingered in the sharp wind.

Sakura tugged her cloak closer, a fine chill threading through the fabric. It had been weeks since she’d last crossed the threshold of the Uchiha estate, ever since Madara and sasuke had departed she hadn’t been invited over. Mikoto had reportedly taken a trip to the Land of Honey with her sister shortly after sasuke left, and the place felt emptier for it, colder somehow, though perhaps that was her own unease twisting the air.

The summons had come that morning, a brief, impersonal note sealed with the Uchiha crest: Tomorrow at noon. Walk around the garden.

No signature, but none was needed. She knew who it was from.

A servant led her through the dim hallways and out into the blanched daylight, leaving her alone at the entrance to the garden path.

Itachi stood waiting by a gnarled maple, its branches nearly stripped bare, save for a few stubborn leaves clinging like rusted coins. He turned as she approached, expression impassive, gaze sharp as glass.

They offered one another stiff, obligatory bows.

“Senju-san.”

“Uchiha-san.”

A brittle greeting, brittle as the frost edging the fallen leaves. Wordlessly, the two began to walk along the stone path. The Uchiha garden was barren and devoid of the life it had in summer, Sakura almost felt sad.

Itachi turned his head towards her and gave a small, mocking smile. “Curious. When you’re tucked away in the safety of your estate, you’re quite fond of writing those… troubling little letters. But now, in my presence, you can barely manage a sentence.”

Sakura’s lips parted in outrage, color rising to her cheeks. She spluttered, her composure slipping.

“I—! That is entirely untrue, you arrogant—” she bit down the word bastard just in time. “You’re the reason I nearly died, remember?”

Itachi’s dark brows arched, a ghost of dry amusement in his gaze.

“Correction,” he murmured, resuming a leisurely pace along the garden path, “I’m the one who saved you.”

Sakura fell into step beside him, her jaw clenched. The nerve of him. The sheer, infuriating nerve.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the brittle crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the occasional moan of wind through the bare branches. The estate felt desolate without Madara’s heavy presence, and Sakura felt it like a hollow space at her back.

At length, Sakura spoke, her voice quieter now. “How is Mikoto-sama?”

Itachi’s expression softened by a fraction.

“Unwell,” he replied. “The changing seasons have always been hard on her. This time of year, it unsettles her.”

Sakura glanced sidelong at him, something sharp rising in her chest.

“Or maybe,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, “having an arrogant bastard for a son is what really makes her ill.”

Itachi froze mid-step.

Sakura felt her stomach knot, breath catching, convinced she’d pushed too far. She tensed, waiting for him to snap, to whirl on her with that cold voice, to remind her of her place.

But when he turned to face her, his expression was oddly unreadable — lips pressed tight, eyes glittering with something that wasn’t quite anger.

Then, to her astonishment, his shoulders gave the faintest, unmistakable tremor. His hand rose to his mouth as if to smother it, but the sound escaped anyway, a short, quiet huff of laughter, sharp as flint.

“Careful, Senju,” he murmured, his voice rough-edged with amusement. “One might almost think you have a personality hidden under all that desperate politeness.”

Sakura narrowed her eyes, though the tightness in her chest loosened.

“And one might almost think you’re capable of not being completely insufferable,” she shot back.

Another huff of dry laughter from him.

The wind stirred around them, sending a swirl of leaves skittering across the path.

They resumed walking, the brittle animosity between them softened into something sharper, but more familiar, like two blades scraping against each other, sparks threatening at every glance.

The silence that followed was not quite as strained.

At the far edge of the garden, the first drops of rain began to fall, darkening the stone beneath their feet.

The rain came in a lazy, half-hearted drizzle, beading on Sakura’s cloak and darkening the brittle leaves beneath their feet. The scent of damp earth thickened in the air.

Itachi came to a stop beneath the crooked limbs of an old pine, glancing up at the sky as though considering whether to stay out in the cold a moment longer.

“Well,” he said, voice low, sardonic, “as stimulating as this exchange has been, I think I’ll spare us both any more small talk about the weather or Mikoto’s delicate nerves.”

He looked down at her, one brow lifting. “Try not to compose any more tearful letters about the ‘fearful admiration’ you all seem to hold for me. Madara-sama would be devastated.”

Sakura glared up at him, though the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. “I wouldn’t waste the ink.”

He gave her one last, sharp glance then turned without ceremony and disappeared into the gloom of the garden path, his silhouette melting into the gray mist and rain.

Sakura stood there for a moment, watching him go, her pulse still tight in her throat.

“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

And yet, despite herself, there was a flicker of something else beneath the irritation. Not fondness — no, not that — but the disquieting realization that as much as she wanted to throttle him, she didn’t entirely dread their next meeting.

Not yet, anyway.

She sighed, tugged her cloak tighter, and turned back toward the estate.

“Madara-sama would be devastated if I strangled him,” she repeated under her breath, rolling her eyes. “Insufferable ass.”

And with that, she left the garden to the mist and rain.

Senju Estate

The evening wind rattled against the windows, Sakura shivered, there were reports of a storm approaching the province in the next few days and already the weather had taken a more unstable turn. Inside her room though, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow painting the walls with restless, flickering light. Sakura sat at the low table by the fire, letting its warmth soothe her. Infront of her a fresh sheet of paper laid out, the inkstone warmed and ready. Her brush hovered above the page for a moment, then, with a quiet breath, she began to write.

Madara-sama,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and that your affairs in Suna are progressing smoothly.

Her brush hesitated, then pressed on.

Things here remain… lively, though perhaps not in ways I would choose. Ino has been most persistent in taking me to gatherings, banquets, and seasonal parties these past weeks, eager for me to make the acquaintance of certain men she deems ‘suitable’ as future patrons. I assure you, Madara-sama, I have conducted myself with the appropriate grace and courtesy you would expect of me… though I confess, I find little pleasure in these introductions.

The words darkened slightly where her grip on the brush tightened.

Most of them are old, indulgent men with too many titles and not enough decency. It is difficult not to feel like a coin being weighed in their hands.

She paused, staring at the fire a moment, then wrote on, more briskly.

I thought you might appreciate an account of my most recent encounter with Itachi-san. He summoned me to walk the estate gardens earlier this week. I am pleased to report I refrained from throttling him, though I will not pretend the temptation wasn’t strong. He remains insufferably sarcastic, though perhaps marginally less cold than before. Mikoto-sama, I am told, has taken ill. It seems the change in seasons unsettles her health.

A softer expression crossed Sakura’s face as she added,

Naruto’s birthday approaches. There is talk of a small, private gathering at the Ichiraku Teahouse before the larger festival. I thought you might wish to know, though of course the formal invitations have yet to be sent.

The brush slowed.

I hope you are well, Madara-sama. I trust you to make our nation’s position known in Suna. I miss your counsel more than I expected, though I suspect you will find satisfaction in that admission.

She gave a faint smile, then signed the letter with practiced, elegant strokes.

With respect and loyalty,

Senju Sakura.

Setting the brush aside, Sakura reached for the fine red silk cord and sealed the letter with the Senju emblem, her fingers lingering on the wax as it cooled.

The fire crackled, the storm tapping against the shutters.

She sat back, the loneliness of the room pressing in around her like a familiar, unwelcome guest.

Not having Madara in the province was unsettling. Despite all the horror stories Ino had tried shoving down her throat, Sakura had always felt a sense of safety when he was near. In her heart, she knew that should something happen, he would be there  with his infinite wisdom and years of battle experience and handle whatever arose. It was a comfort she had taken for granted.

And for a man who revered tradition and history, he was, in his own peculiar way, surprisingly progressive. He encouraged her courage, her small, defiant acts of rebellion against the authorities in her life.

“I miss your counsel more than I expected,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head. Then, rising, she called for a servant to have the letter sent with the evening dispatch.

The flame flickered lower as the night pressed close.

Ichiraku Teahouse- Autumn

The dark evening had come early, a dusky blue settling over the village streets as the Hokage’s carriage rattled gently through the lantern-lit lanes. Inside, the glow of the oil lamps cast a soft, golden light across polished wood and fine silk.

Sakura sat primly at one side, her hair pinned back with silver pins and a fur wrap draped over her shoulders against the evening chill. Across from her, Naruto was practically vibrating with excitement, while Kushina beamed fondly at her son’s enthusiasm.

“You’d think he was turning fifty, the way he’s carrying on,” Kushina teased, reaching over to tug playfully at Naruto’s ear.

“Hey! Birthdays are sacred!” Naruto protested, earning a warm chuckle from Minato, seated beside Kushina, his robes immaculate but his expression easy, lightened for once by the simplicity of family.

“I’m glad you could come with us tonight, Sakura,” Kushina said, turning her smile on the younger woman. “I told you it’d be more fun if we got ready together.”

Sakura returned the smile, genuinely fond of Kushina’s warmth. “I’m honored to be included, Kushina-sama.”

“Oh, none of that tonight,” Kushina waved a hand. “It’s a family gathering.”

The word family caught somewhere in Sakura’s chest, an ache blooming there she hadn’t expected. She masked it with a polite nod.

Naruto leaned toward her, grinning. “Wait ‘til you see the feast old man Teuchi put together. His ramen is the best there is; miso, pork, gyoza ramen it’s so good  and he made those sweet rice dumplings you like, okaa-chan.”

“Because I bribed him,” Kushina confessed, laughing.

Outside, the Ichiraku Teahouse came into view, its lanterns strung along the eaves and flickering in the crisp night air. The gardens beyond shimmered with hints of gold and crimson, autumn leaves littering the stone paths. A servant in a formal dark blue haori was already bowing at the gate as the carriage pulled up.

Minato stepped out first, offering his hand to Kushina, who ignored it and hopped down with practiced ease. Sakura followed more carefully, adjusting her shawl against the wind.

“Where’s Jiraiya?” Kushina asked as they made their way toward the entrance.

“Probably still being lectured by Itachi, there was a meeting this evening at the Uchiha Compound.” Minato mused.

“Serves him right,” Kushina muttered, and Naruto snickered.

Just as they reached the threshold, a second carriage arrived. Jiraiya emerged first, grumbling as he adjusted his sleeves, and behind him came Itachi — all in dark, formal attire, his expression unreadable, obsidian gaze flickering over the scene with quiet calculation.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment.

A cold, polite nod.

Sakura returned it just as coolly, lifting her chin.

The night had begun.

The small reception room at Ichiraku was softly lit with paper lanterns, their glow catching on polished wood and gleaming sake bottles. Low tables had been laid with plates of steaming grilled eel, simmered vegetables, and bowls of fragrant ramen which Naruto wasted no time devouring. Sweet plum wine was already poured.

It felt removed from the restless world beyond its walls.

Naruto made straight for the food, grinning. “Best birthday ever.”

Kushina cuffed him lightly. “Thank Teuchi-san first, brat.”

“Thank you, Teuchi-san!” Naruto called toward the kitchens.

The old man’s voice floated back, rough and fond. “Eat like it’s your last meal, boy!”

They laughed. Even Itachi’s mouth twitched.

Jiraiya settled himself with a dramatic sigh and immediately poured sake for himself and Minato, who accepted it with a shake of his head. “Don’t start trouble tonight Jiraiya.”

“Would I?”

“Yes,” came the chorus of Kushina, Minato, and even Naruto.

“Aah, don’t be like that. Go on Sakura, tell them that I’m actually sensible!” Jiraiya whined.

”Maa, lying is bad practice Jiraiya-sama you shouldn’t encourage me,” Sakura teased, a loud chorus of laughter following her with Naruto nearly choking from laughing so hard.

Sakura took a seat beside Kushina, the warmth of the room seeping into her skin.

“Sakura-san, I wonder if we shall see everyone’s ’fearful admiration’ in the flesh tonight.” Itachi murmured as he passed behind her to take a seat.

She startled at his voice, then scowled. “You wish, Uchiha.”

Minato arched a brow at their exchange. “You two are getting along well, I see.”

“Like oil and water,” Itachi said, dry as salt.

Sakura turned away with a huff, though her lips twitched despite herself.

More food was passed around, the conversation easy and unhurried. Naruto talked about his training; Jiraiya made an off-color joke that earned him a sharp elbow from Kushina; Minato, for a rare moment, looked at ease.

It was simple, familiar. A world Sakura realised she’d rarely seen where the most powerful men and women in the country set aside their titles, their grudges, for an evening’s peace.

And then —

A sharp crack of wood.

A shadow burst through the paper screen overhead in a flurry of shattered lattice and falling splinters. The room lurched in an instant from warmth to chaos.

A masked assailant dropped into the center of the room, blade gleaming.

For one heartbeat no one moved.

Then Itachi was in motion.

Sakura barely saw him cross the space, a blur of black and crimson, the gleam of steel. The attacker lunged for Minato, but Itachi intercepted mid-strike, his blade singing through the air.

The clash of metal.

A spray of blood.

Sakura’s breath caught. She’d seen people fight before, but never like this. There was nothing human in Itachi’s face now — just a cold, ruthless efficiency, eyes like frozen glass.

His movements were beautiful and terrible, the grace of a predator, precise and unflinching.

The assailant faltered, tried to retreat. Itachi followed, striking low, then high, slicing the man’s chest.

It happened in seconds.

Naruto let out a strangled sound.

Jiraiya was already pulling Minato back, shielding him.

Sakura stood frozen, heart pounding, staring at the blood pooling dark and thick on the floor.

Itachi turned, expression unreadable, his blade slick with crimson.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment — a terrible, unspoken moment — she saw the thing inside him. The shadow. The demon behind the man.

Then he spoke, voice low and steady.

“Jiraiya. Get them out.”

The old sage didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Kushina by the wrist, Naruto already moving, eyes wide but steady.

“Come on, Sakura!” Naruto shouted, his hand seizing hers.

Sakura stumbled after him, heart slamming against her ribs as they darted for the rear exit. But in the breath between steps, she looked back.

And there he was.

Itachi’s hair had slipped from its tie, dark strands clinging to a cheek streaked with blood. His movements were liquid, merciless — each strike precise, lethal. Eyes blazing, face caught in the half-light of the flickering lantern.

Violent. Beautiful. Terrible.

The air hummed with the clash of steel, the assassin pressed hard, but Itachi was unrelenting.

Sakura’s breath caught, not with fear — not entirely. Something colder, sharper, and horribly entrancing twisted in her chest.

Naruto tugged her arm.

“Sakura!”

She tore her gaze away and fled.

The moment the group spilled into the garden, the night hit cold and sharp. The storm clouds hung low, the damp wind carrying the scent of blood and rain.

Before they could catch a breath, the sound of booted feet thundered in the courtyard.

A squad of Uchiha soldiers stormed into the teahouse grounds; dark uniforms, the clan crest stark on their backs, steel drawn, faces grim beneath the flickering lantern light.

At their head was Captain Shisui Uchiha, breath misting in the cold air.

“Commander, your orders!”

Itachi strode through the shattered doorway, blood still wet on his blade, his expression a mask of cold calculation. The moment the guards laid eyes on him, they straightened as one, awaiting orders.

Without hesitation, Itachi’s voice cut through the night like a knife.

“Secure the building. Sweep for accomplices.”

Shisui nodded and signalled his men.

Itachi turned sharply, pointing to Obito.

“You. Escort the Hokage, Lady Kushina, Naruto, and Lady Sakura to the carriage immediately. A squad is to surround them at all times, no one in, no one out. Move.”

The soldier snapped a salute and moved swiftly to gather the shaken group.

Jiraiya’s hand hovered near his weapon, still tense.

“Will you handle this?”

Itachi didn’t even glance at him.

“I always do.”

He turned to the remaining troops.

“Lock down the quarter. No one leaves Konoha. No one enters. Seal every checkpoint, gate, and trail. Send word to the provincial garrison, the Uchiha forces are to mobilise immediately. I want patrols doubled at the Hokage’s residence before dawn.”

The orders came swift, relentless, and absolute.

“Perimeter sweep. Question every witness. Find out how they got in. If you find so much as a rumor of another plot — bring it to me.”

“Sir!” the soldiers chorused, already moving.

Itachi took one final, assessing glance at the bloodstained room behind him. His face didn’t flicker.

This was his dominion. The shadows. The aftermath. The battlefield, whether with swords or words.

His gaze cut to Sakura as she was ushered toward the carriage, pale-faced, clinging to Naruto’s sleeve.

He met her eyes  and for the first time, the calculated cold was replaced by something quieter. Not kindness, not apology.

A warning.

This is what I am. What I’ve always been.

And then it was gone.

“Commander,” Shisui called, awaiting further orders.

Itachi turned, his voice calm and deadly.

“ Hunt them down. I want their heads.”

The night swallowed him whole.

The ride back to the province was swift and silent.

The road was lined with lantern posts, but every shadow felt sharper than usual. Sakura sat between Naruto and Kushina in the carriage, Jiraiya riding ahead with three Uchiha guards flanking them. The tension was a living thing, coiled tight in every movement.

Naruto squeezed her hand once.

“You okay?”

She nodded — a lie.

“Are you okay Naruto, you didn’t get hurt did you?” Sakura whispered, her green eyes glancing at Naruto for signs of injury.

”I-I’m okay sakura-chan.” Naruto said shakily, casting a glance at his father, his face splattered with blood.

As they neared the gates, a sharp whistle split the air. From the trees and high watchtowers, Uchiha guards materialised like ghosts in the mist, their dark-clad figures with the fan crest stitched over their hearts, weapons gleaming.

At least four patrols she could see at a glance, more likely beyond the tree line.

The main gate stood open but heavily fortified. Lanterns burned high above, and artillery men lined the inner walls.

At the front, a tall figure awaited them.

Itachi.

No trace of blood remained on him now, his hair retied, his expression carved from stone. The mantle of command fit him as naturally as his skin.

The carriage rolled to a halt. Jiraiya dismounted.

“Province secured,” Itachi said, voice carrying cleanly in the night. “Perimeter sealed. All border posts reported clear. No other threats detected.”

“Thank you,” Jiraiya grunted. “I’ll take them to the estate.”

”I’ve placed extra guards at the Hokage’s residence as well as yours too, Jiraiya.” Itachi’s gaze flicked to Sakura.

Brief. Measured. 

“Aoba and his squad will remain stationed at the Senju estate until further notice.”

Her stomach dipped at that, whether from unease or something colder, she didn’t know.

“And the province?” Kushina asked, her voice tight.

“Under full lockdown until morning.”

No protest followed. No one questioned Itachi’s authority now.

The Uchiha command was absolute.

Later that night, unable to sleep, Sakura slipped out to the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard.

The province was different now.

Guards paced along the walls. Lanterns burned through every pathway. Every few minutes, sharp whistles signaled shifts in patrol. No laughter in the streets. No music from the teahouses.

It was a province on edge.

And at its center, she could feel Itachi’s hand in every movement. Not by showy displays of power — but by the ruthless precision of it all. The air itself felt sharper under his command.

A pair of Uchiha guards passed beneath the balcony, their eyes sweeping every shadow.

“Three stationed at the north quarter, perimeter sweep complete,” one murmured.

“Orders hold until Commander Uchiha says otherwise.”

Commander Uchiha.

Not Lord Madara. Not the Hokage.

Itachi.

Sakura’s grip tightened on the balcony rail. She thought of the assassin’s blood, the gleam of Itachi’s blade, the terrible grace of him in that room.

A man born to wield a province like a weapon.

And somehow… she was under his protection now.

Whether she wanted to be or not.

Sakura moved without remembering how.

And still her mind’s gaze stayed on Itachi, the bloodstained warrior framed by lantern light, cold as a midnight storm.

She would never forget it.

Itachi stood alone on the balcony of the Uchiha estate, the wind carrying the scent of rain and smoke through the darkened gardens below. The storm had passed, but the clouds hung low, the occasional rumble of distant thunder reminding him it wasn’t over. Not really.

A single cigarette smoldered between his fingers, its tip a dying ember in the night. He took a slow drag, the familiar burn grounding him in the aftermath. Smoke curled from his lips, dissipating into the cold air as quickly as it came.

Below, the Uchiha guards moved, torches throwing restless light against the walls as they swept the grounds and sealed the perimeter.

His soldiers. His orders.

The weight of responsibility pressed against his ribs like an old, well-worn ache.

A servant approached, careful to keep his gaze lowered.

“Lord Itachi,” the man murmured, bowing deeply. “The council awaits your orders.”

Itachi flicked the cigarette over the balcony’s edge, the ember trailing down into the darkness. He exhaled a final plume of smoke before speaking.

“Double the patrols. Close the roads leading out of the capital. I want a full lockdown until dawn. No one leaves, no one enters.” His voice was low, even, devoid of mercy.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And,” Itachi added, turning his head slightly, “send word to Madara.”

The servant bowed again, vanishing like mist.

Itachi remained, staring out over the city as the wind tugged at his cloak. He reached into the inner pocket of his haori and withdrew another cigarette, lighting it with a sharp flick of his flint.

The first inhale was bitter, acrid, a taste of old battles, of unspoken fears, of control maintained by the narrowest thread.

He let the smoke bleed from his lungs, and turned back inside.

The rain had come with the night and followed into the morning.

It swept over the province in cold, steady sheets, clinging to the tiled rooftops and turning the earth to dark, heavy mud. The Senju estate sat in uneasy silence, its lanterns dim, its corridors deserted. Servants moved like whispers through the halls, eyes downcast, wordless. The tension in the air was palpable, all the staff were in high alert and the Uchiha guards patrolling were a constant reminder, someone had tried to kill the Hokage.

In her chambers, Sakura sat motionless by the fire.The letter to Madara had been sent. The ink on her fingers had dried. And still, her anxiety hadn’t slowed since the night before, since the blood, the breaking glass, the sound of death.

Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

She’d told herself to stay composed, to remain still and gracious as a Senju should, but the weight of it, the horror of how close death had come to Minato, to Naruto, to herself, it clung to her bones like frost.

A knock split the quiet.

Before she could answer, the door was flung open, and Tsunade swept inside.

Her hair was unbound, damp from the rain, her cloak half-fastened in her haste. She looked half a storm herself with eyes wide, skin pale with fury and fear.

“Sakura!”

The name was barely a breath before Tsunade crossed the room and hauled her into an embrace.

For a moment, Sakura stayed stiff in her arms — the Senju heiress, the geisha, the poised figure she’d been trained to be.

And then it cracked.

A single sob burst from her throat, raw and sudden, and her fingers clutched at Tsunade’s shoulders, desperate and childlike.

“I—I tried,” Sakura whispered, her voice breaking. “I tried to stay calm, I—I didn’t scream, I did everything you taught me but—”

But the blood. The glass. The sound of Itachi’s sword.

Tsunade’s arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of Sakura’s head. “You’re safe,” she murmured, her voice rough with emotion. “You’re alive, do you hear me? You’re here with me, and that’s what matters.”

The words shouldn’t have undone her.

But they did.

Sakura wept.

It wasn’t graceful, wasn’t quiet, it was the pent-up terror and loneliness of weeks without Madara, the constant prodding of Ino, the cold glances at every gathering, the knowing she was surrounded by men waiting to own her, waiting to claim her name and life for themselves.

She wept for all of it.

And Tsunade held her through every shudder, murmuring old, half-remembered lullabies in a voice made to command soldiers but soft enough now to cradle broken things.

When the worst of it passed, Sakura sagged against her, boneless and exhausted, her face hidden against Tsunade’s shoulder.

“I was so scared,” Sakura whispered.

“I know,” Tsunade said quietly, brushing a hand through her hair. “And you’ll be scared again, but you’ll survive it. Because you’re my girl. My blood.”

She pulled back, cupping Sakura’s face in both hands, her thumbs brushing away tears.

“Itachi will have the assassins beheaded for this,” Tsunade muttered darkly, a glint of the old war general in her eyes. 

Sakura gave a watery, unsteady laugh.

The storm pressed against the windows, and for the first time since the attack, Sakura didn’t feel quite so cold.

Tsunade rose, pulling the covers around Sakura’s shoulders.

“Sleep now. I’ll see to everything else.”

Hokage Tower

Around the long lacquered table, the highest authorities in Fire Country had gathered, their expressions grim, voices low as they waited for the Hokage to begin.

Minato stood at the head of the table, his eyes hollow with fatigue. He hadn’t slept since the attempt on his life. A shallow cut still scarred his left cheekbone, a cruel reminder of how close death had come.

To his right sat Shikaku Nara, calm as ever, though the sharp line of his jaw spoke of deeper worries. Beside him, Inoichi wore a careful neutrality, while Lord Hiashi Hyuga’s pale eyes flickered toward each speaker with hawk-like precision.

Further down the line, the elder Koharu Utatane watched everyone with the sharp gaze of a woman who’d survived four wars and countless regimes. Homura Mitokado sat beside her, his face carefully composed.

And then there was Itachi.

He occupied Madara’s vacant chair, the crest of the Uchiha clan emblazoned on the fabric behind him. Dressed in full council robes, his hair tied neatly at the nape, Itachi looked every inch his uncle’s heir. The room shifted subtly around him, wary of the name and the power it carried. There was something colder about him tonight. The boy had died long ago, and what remained was a commander.

At the far end, seated quietly behind Tsunade’s place, was Sakura.

The Senju heiress wore formal robes of silver and white. She had no voice in this gathering — not yet — but her presence was permitted as Tsunade’s daughter, a symbol of the Senju’s relevance. No one spoke to her, but more than one pair of eyes noted her stillness.

A servant refilled the ink wells in silence.

At last, Minato cleared his throat.

“The inquiry will commence.”

The chamber stilled.

“The attempt on my life, carried out within our own borders, during a sanctioned gathering of the imperial family, is a failure of our security and a grave insult to this nation,” Minato began, voice brittle with restrained anger.

“We are here to determine how it happened, who was responsible, and what measures must be taken.”

A pause.

“I’ll hear from Commander Uchiha first.”

Itachi inclined his head. “Hokage-sama.”

His voice was low, even, and utterly without fear. “As of this morning, the assassin’s identity has been confirmed. A mercenary operative, hired through proxies in the Land of Rivers. No clan affiliation, no loyalty to any known lord. Paid in advance through a series of falsified ledgers traced back to a noble estate in Northern Fire Country.”

A ripple of unease.

“Do you have the name of that estate?” Koharu pressed, eyes sharp.

“Not yet,” Itachi answered. “But we have reason to believe the funds were funneled through agricultural proxies—fertilizer shipments, land tax payments. Untraceable without full access to tax records held by the Ministry of Finance.”

Homura sniffed. “You’re suggesting a member of our own nobility backed this attempt? This nasty business wouldn't have happened if you Uchiha just did your job prope-”

“I’m stating facts,” Itachi replied coldly, cutting off the elder with a sharp glance. “And facts lead us inward, not across the border.”

An ugly silence settled.

Sakura’s stomach twisted.

Minato ran a hand down his face. “Commander Uchiha, outline your immediate response.”

Itachi’s gaze sharpened. “Upon neutralising the threat, my men secured the Ichiraku Teahouse . A perimeter was established within three minutes. The Uchiha garrison corps locked down the district, and the military command was mobilised. Konoha and the province have been placed under restricted movement orders until further notice. No one leaves, no one enters without written clearance from either myself or the Hokage.”

Shikaku nodded faintly, impressed despite himself.

“And your recommendation moving forward?” Inoichi asked, one brow raised.

“Full mobilisation,” Itachi answered. “I want every border fortified. Increase surveillance on noble estates outside the capital. No one makes a move without our knowledge. I also recommend postponing the public festival for Naruto’s birthday. There is no guarantee the assassin worked alone.”

Koharu folded her hands. “And Madara’s absence?”

The words hung like a knife in the air.

Itachi didn’t flinch. “My uncle entrusted me with command in his absence. His authority stands through me.”

“And if a second attempt is made?” Homura murmured.

“Then it will be my hands around their throat,” Itachi said, so quietly it didn’t feel like a threat — it felt like prophecy.

A muscle ticked in Minato’s jaw.

He knew, everyone in this room knew, that for all his attempts to balance power, the Uchiha held Konoha in a careful, blood-soaked grip. And with Madara in Suna, Itachi had proved himself more than capable of wielding that grip in his stead.

“I’ll consider your recommendations,” Minato said stiffly. “This council is adjourned for tonight. My decision will be made at first light.”

Chairs scraped softly as the council members rose. Polite bows were exchanged, though none of them felt sincere.

Itachi stood, smoothing the dark sleeves of his robe, and his gaze fell on Sakura.

She met it.

A long, unreadable look.

He inclined his head, a faint sardonic tilt to his mouth — a silent acknowledgment of the game being played, of the lines being drawn in ink and blood.

And without a word, he left the chamber, his soldiers trailing behind him like a second shadow.

Sakura exhaled slowly. The storm was far from over.

And when Madara returned, the earth would shake.

The rain had eased by evening, leaving the garden glazed in mist and the stone paths slick and dark. Sakura sat by the window of her chamber, a blanket over her shoulders, watching the mist creep along the hedges.

A soft knock came.

Before Sakura could answer, the door opened and Ino stepped inside.

She didn’t wear the elaborate formal robes of a patron-hunting night. Just a simple soft lavender kimono, her hair loosely pinned, a small lacquered box in her hands.

“I heard what happened, I’m so sorry Sakura what an awful thing. I brought these,” Ino said gently, lifting the box. “From the old tea room. Thought we might… play a little.”

Sakura blinked. “Go stones?”

Ino shrugged, setting the box down on the low table. “I figured it might help. Get you thinking. Focused. You always were annoyingly good at it.”

Sakura let out a faint, dry sound that was not quite a laugh, but close.

They settled at the table, the storm’s dying wind sighing against the shutters. Ino poured tea while Sakura laid out the board.

For a while, they played in near silence. The soft clack of stones against wood was the only sound between them. Ino let Sakura be quiet, didn’t press with questions or opinions.

After several moves, Ino spoke softly. “I know it’s been… a lot.”

Sakura kept her eyes on the board.

“I remember after the Third Nation War when I was maybe six, we lost two dancers from the okiya in a bombing. The days after, everything felt… brittle. Like the world was too sharp, too loud.”

Sakura’s throat tightened.Ino placed another stone. “You don’t have to be made of iron, you know.”

Sakura’s hand hovered over a move, faltering. “I thought you’d be angry. The lockdown. The parties.”

“I am,” Ino admitted, managing a crooked smile. “But you come first. You always have. And you’ll get through this. We both will.”

Sakura looked up, met her gaze. For the first time in days, the knot in her chest loosened.

“Thank you, Ino.”

Ino reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “It’s nothing. Just don’t let yourself fade away in this place, okay? Not before I’ve thrashed you at this game.”

A flicker of something close to warmth passed between them, a thread from childhood days when the world was simpler and their futures weren’t bartered in parlors and war councils.

Sakura set a stone down with a sharp, satisfying click. “Your move.”

Suna - Land of Wind

The evening wind rattled the screens of the estate, carrying with it the dry heat of the desert and the dry scent of oil lamps burning in the streets below. Suna by night was a maze of dust-choked alleyways and flickering lights, but within the compound of the Kazekage’s private residence, it was all heavy silk drapes and the low, constant murmur of plotting men.

Madara sat alone in his chamber, a decanter of plum wine untouched at his elbow, the faint glow of the lanterns brushing over the sharp lines of his face. A small stack of correspondence lay on the low table before him — military reports, trade proposals, and intelligence dispatches. Most were written in cold, clipped characters.

But one letter was penned in a hand he knew instantly.

Sakura.

He reached for it, the wax seal of the Senju emblem cracked by his attendant, but the paper still smelling faintly of cherry blossom oil. He unfolded it, the thin parchment hissing as it opened, and began to read.

My lord,

I pray this letter reaches you safely, and that your business in Suna continues to prosper.

There was an attempt on Lord Hokage’s life. It happened during a small gathering for Naruto’s birthday at the Ichiraku Teahouse. The assailant breached the tearoom and Itachi…

He acted without hesitation. I have never seen anything like it. He commanded the Uchiha guard, sealed the area, took charge of the entire district within minutes. His orders were swift, precise, and final. No one questioned him.

Since then, an inquiry has been convened. Lord Minato looks… older. More wary. The nation feels tense, as though the very air waits for something to shatter.

I confess, my lord that without your presence here, I have felt uneasy. There is a weight to these halls without you in them. But in your absence… I have begun to find a strange sense of safety in Lord Itachi’s cold efficiency. It is not warmth, but it is a certainty. A steady thing to anchor to when so much feels adrift.

I miss your counsel. I miss your company.

I miss you.

Respectfully,

Sakura

Madara’s mouth curled into the faintest shadow of a smile. 

“Itachi,” he murmured to the empty room, a quiet, approving note beneath the name.

The pieces were settling into place.

The Kazekage would be pleased.

But it was his game-board.

And his darling, stubborn girl was exactly where he’d left her, tethered to him by longing, by fear, by loyalty, and now… by the very man she seemed to resent.

“Good girl,” Madara murmured to the letter as the wind keened against the shutters.

Chapter Text

Uchiha Compound

The main gates of the Uchiha compound no longer gleamed with quiet affluence, they were bolted with iron reinforcements and flanked by watchtowers. What once resembled a noble’s estate now pulsed with the energy of a wartime command post. Paper-lanterns had been replaced with lantern oil torches. Silk banners were gone, replaced by Uchiha crests stamped in red paint across rows of sandbags and mobile barracks.

Sakura stood outside the grand hall, her hands folded politely before her. She recognized several of the officers moving in and out of the chamber, most had a clan insignia from allied houses or military branches. Some nodded to her with respectful glances. Others, unused to seeing a geisha here, gave her curious looks.

The doors opened with a firm scrape.

A cluster of men exited in quiet discussion, their voices heavy with exhaustion and urgency. Among them was Shikaku Nara, arms crossed loosely, his expression unreadable as always. When he spotted her, however, a genuine warmth stirred in his tired eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t Sakura-San, it’s been a while.”

His voice was casual, but kind.

She dipped her head politely. “Shikaku-san.”

He glanced behind him, ensuring no one needed him urgently and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Yoshino keeps pestering me to ask how you’re doing. Shikamaru too. The house has been quieter without your visits.”

Sakura smiled faintly. “I miss them too. Tell Yoshino-san I’ll stop by for cards soon.”

He gave a soft grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “Good. Yoshino says she needs someone more gracious to beat than me.”

The moment passed, and one of the Uchiha attendants emerged at the doorway, bowing low.

“Sakura-sama. Commander Uchiha will see you now.”

She nodded, following the servant into the hall.

The air inside was cooler and still smelling faintly of incense, but overridden now by parchment, ink, and sweat. Large maps lay stretched across the low central table. Discarded cups of half-drunk tea and ink-stained reports lined the sideboards.

At the far end, Itachi stood with Shisui.

They were speaking in low tones, their postures relaxed but alert. Shisui caught sight of her first, raising a brow and offering a wink as he stepped past her on his way out. His warmth always lingered a few paces longer than he did.

And then, she was alone with Itachi.

He didn’t speak right away.

His posture was stiff, his black uniform pressed, haori exchanged for his field cloak, command seal embroidered in silver thread across the chest. The flickering lanternlight painted his features in stark shadow and gleam.

“Sit,” he said simply, his voice even.

She lowered herself to the cushion across from his standing form. For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of her kimono settling into place.

“Thank you,” she began quietly. “For what you did that night. If you hadn’t—Minato-sama…”

His eyes met hers, steady. “It was my duty to defend him.”

A long pause followed.

Then he shifted, resting one hand on the table, the other loosely at his hip.

“In light of the attack,” he said, “I won’t be able to summon you the way Madara-sama once did. I’ll be based in Gion for at least a month dealing council meetings, security preparations, and troop coordination.”

Her voice came quieter than she expected, slipping between her lips without ceremony.

“…First Madara left. And now you’re going too.”

He regarded her for a beat longer than necessary. Then, gently but firmly:

“I imagine a great many will leave the province after this. When I return, I will summon you again. In the meantime, if you need anything then contact me through the military lines. I’ve already spoken with the phone operator at the Senju estate. If you need anything they’ll know how to reach me.”

“…Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, folding the map on the table with precision. “Then we understand each other.”

Sakura nodded, but her eyes remained on the folded edge of the map between them. Her poise held, but only barely.

“I understand,” she said at last, though her voice was thinner now. “I’ll manage.”

Itachi studied her more carefully now.

Outside the shoji walls, the compound buzzed faintly; boots on gravel, orders murmured between patrols. But inside, a quiet curtain had fallen between them. He didn’t sit. He hardly ever did, not during war briefings or private meetings. But he lingered longer than usual at the edge of the table, the lamplight tracing the cut of his jaw.

“You look weary sakura.”

She blinked, startled. “I’m fine.”

He said nothing to contradict her.

But his gaze moved subtly across her cheekbone, her sleeve, the tension in her shoulders. He had been trained to read weakness on the battlefield. He recognized it in people too, even when they dressed it in silk and jewels.

Still, he didn’t pry.

“I’ll leave word at the estate gate when I return,” he said finally. “My summons will be direct.”

“…I see.”

He stepped aside, hands folding behind his back as he moved toward the window. The moonlight through the paper screen caught in his hair, turning the black strands silver-blue. He paused, just before turning away entirely.

“Sakura.”

She looked up, immediately.

“If something happens and I’m not reachable,” he said, still facing the screen, “go to Shisui. Or Jiraiya, if needed.”

Her heart twisted slightly at the implication that he might be unreachable. That Gion, with all its polished walls and political rot, could swallow him like the others.

“…Alright.”

He inclined his head once, and the moment passed.

She rose to her feet with careful grace and offered a final bow, lingering at the door longer than etiquette demanded.

He didn’t stop her. But as she crossed the threshold, she felt it — his eyes on her back.

“You’ll need something subdued, the Hyūga can be so fickle,” Ino said, fingers rifling through layers of silk. “Not too bright, not too soft. Ivory, maybe. Or pale lilac. Something with weight.”

Beside her, Kanna held out a folded silver kimono, its orange embroidered koi stiff along the hemline. “This was Masuru-sama’s. Tsunade-sama said it was restored for occasions such as this.”

Sakura reached out gently, brushing the sleeve. It was heavier than what she was used to. The weave fine, but severe. The embroidered threads shimmered only when struck directly by light, and never otherwise.

Ino nodded with approval. “Perfect. It’s the first formal gathering since the attack. If we show face; quiet, composed, proper, then the other houses will follow. And if the Hyūga are praying for the nation’s safety, well—” She adjusted the collar with a precise touch. “We’ll pray right beside them.”

The Hyūga estate rose from the hillside like a pale spectre, it’s stone walls too smooth, too wide, every surface unmarred by age. It lacked the wood-and-flame warmth of the Senju estate. No laughter echoed in the courtyards here. Just the quiet sound of sandals on marble, and the soft rustle of ceremonial robes.

The sky hung heavy with late-autumn cloud, casting the pale stone in tones of bone and frost.

Sakura walked with Ino beneath the soaring gates, following the others toward the temple’s inner sanctum. The other noblewomen wore shades of moonlight: washed lavender, dove grey, snow-white. Every movement was small. Every expression restrained.

She felt it immediately: the hush, the judgment.

No one said a word to her. But she could feel their eyes trace the sweep of her collar, the curve of her lips, the combs in her hair.

The shrine at the center of the Hyūga temple complex was constructed entirely from white wood and polished stone. The floor chilled her even through her socks. A long red carpet had been unfurled down the center, leading to the altar: black lacquer, inlaid with a single polished opal representing the moon deity.

A slow, rhythmic gong began to sound.

The congregation knelt.

Hiashi stood before the altar, his white prayer robes untouched by wind or dust, his head bowed. Behind him, the flame of the ceremonial brazier flickered but never crackled, as though it too had been trained to remain silent in this place.

He spoke the prayers aloud in perfect rhythm. Not warm. Not passionate. But exact. As if the gods themselves would respond only to perfect diction and precise syllables.

Sakura bowed her head as the rest did, reciting the lines Ino had drilled into her the night before. Her throat felt tight.

She prayed for safety, for peace, for something to loosen the cold that had sunk into her bones.

After the final bell had rung and the assembly slowly began to rise, Hiashi descended from the altar steps and turned toward the crowd.

He did not smile. But when his gaze fell on her, he approached with the kind of gravity only men like him could carry, where acknowledgment was a calculated act of status, not warmth.

“Senju-sama,” he said, offering a shallow bow. “Allow me to congratulate you. Tsunade has made a wise, if unconventional, decision.”

Sakura bowed in return. “Thank you, Hiashi-sama. Your prayers were beautifully delivered.”

He inclined his head.

Then, in the same measured tone, he added, “Though if I may offer a word of counsel… a young woman of such noble lineage should take care not to wear her hair in such modern styles. It implies an affection for fashion over history. One hopes the Senju heir would show better judgment in such matters.”

The words were delivered with impeccable formality. Onlookers bowed, approving. A few even smiled.

Sakura held her bow just a moment longer than etiquette required, the only resistance she could offer.

“Of course, Hiashi-sama,” she said quietly. “I will keep that in mind.”

The moment they passed beyond the temple gates and into the outer gardens, Sakura’s posture began to unravel.

Not her shoulders, they stayed high, held in place by years of training. Not her expression, that remained still, unreadable.

But her silence trembled at the edges. Like a lot of wood split along the grain.

The carriage came into view beneath the bare trees. As they approached it, she spoke at last, low, sharp:

“‘A woman of such noble lineage,’” she quoted under her breath. “‘One hopes the Senju heir would show better judgment.’”

Ino turned, lifting a brow. “Here we go.”

“Why even bother congratulating me if he just wanted to insult me?” Sakura said, still quiet but fierce now. “I bowed. I used the old forms. I wore the silver kimono. I didn’t say a single word out of place.”

Ino held the carriage door open and let her climb in first.

Inside, the air was warmer. But Sakura’s pulse hadn’t slowed.

She turned to face Ino as the door shut behind them. “And he still found a way to humiliate me. In front of everyone. Like I was a child playing dress-up.”

Ino settled beside her, hands smoothing the folds of her own kimono. “He was never going to compliment you, sister. That wasn’t the point of going.”

Sakura stared at her. “Then what was the point?”

Ino met her gaze calmly. “To make sure he and everyone else there couldn’t ignore you. That’s what the Senju emblem does. It reminds them they can’t erase you. You walked in as Senju Sakura. You bowed like nobility. You prayed like a proper heir. That’s more than most of those women could say at your age.”

Sakura glanced down at her lap, where her hands had twisted the edge of her sleeve so tightly the embroidery was warping. She let go slowly.

“I’m trying,” she muttered.

“I know.” Ino reached over and gently untangled the silk. “But you don’t have to win him over. You just have to survive here long enough that one day, you’re the one deciding who sits at these shrines.”

Sakura looked out the window. The Hyūga temple receded into the mist, perfect and pale and unmoved by anything human.

“I don’t want to survive him,” she said. “I want to outlive him.”

Ino blinked. Then smiled slow and fierce.

“Now that’s a Senju.”

Hokage Residence

The low hum of rain filled the silence between clinking bowls and the distant rustle of bamboo outside the screen doors. The room was dimly lit by lanterns, their golden glow pooling across the tatami, catching on the red threadwork of Kushina’s sleeve as she poured tea for Sakura.

Sakura bowed her head in thanks. “It’s strange,” she said quietly. “How peaceful it all seems here. Like nothing’s changed. But outside… the province feels like it’s holding its breath.”

Kushina paused, her hand still resting lightly on the teapot. Naruto looked up from his bowl of rice, his expression uncertain. Across the room, the gentle patter of rain had begun, just barely audible.

“I keep thinking about what happened to the Hokage,” Sakura went on, her voice barely above a whisper. “If itachi hadn’t been there…” Her throat tightened. “I can’t stop seeing it in my head. The sound of the glass breaking. The blood. I never imagined I’d feel so frightened… all the time.”

“I’ll protect you,” Naruto said suddenly, lifting his head with all the earnestness of seventeen years. “You don’t need to worry, Sakura-chan. If anyone comes near you, I’ll—!”

Kushina gently placed a hand on his wrist.

“Sweetheart,” she said with a quiet sigh, “you’re brave. But you’re not ready for the kind of war that’s coming.”

Naruto flushed and looked down. Sakura gave him a soft smile, touched by his sincerity, but her eyes returned to Kushina, searching.

“Madara used to make me feel safe,” she said. “And then Itachi took that role. But now… he’s gone too. War meetings. Fortifications. It’s like everyone’s being pulled in different directions and I’m just standing still.”

Kushina reached over and laid her hand over Sakura’s.

“You’re not alone, Sakura. Itachi may be quiet, but he’s his uncle’s heir in every way. He doesn’t just fight for the clan, he protects what Madara once did. And that includes all of us.” Her smile was warm, but her eyes were watery. “He wouldn’t leave you undefended.”

There was a knock at the sliding door. It creaked open and Ino, windblown and flushed, stepped in with a faint bow, Jiraiya trailing behind her, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry we’re late,” Ino murmured, eyes apologetic as she moved to sit beside Sakura. “There was a gathering in Gion we had to attend.”

“Full of spiced wine and foolish politicians,” Jiraiya muttered as he poured himself a drink, his gaze flickering toward Kushina.

She nodded, then took a slow breath.

“I have news for us all,” she said, setting her cup down with a deliberate quietness that stilled the room. “Minato has given the order. Naruto and I will be returning to the Land of Whirlpools at dawn. The country becoming unstable. Our clan is safer there… and Naruto is expected there. As heir.”

Naruto’s head whipped toward her. “Wait—what?”

“It’s already been arranged,” Kushina said softly. “We’ll stay for a few months, maybe longer. Until things here settle.”

Ino gasped softly, but nodded, understanding the gravity of the choice.

“And you two as well, Jiraiya,” Kushina turned to him and Ino, “Minato is likely to send you to the Land of Wind. Your history there—and your mentorship—make you a useful emissary. And perhaps someone needs to keep an eye on things there in our stead.”

Jiraiya gave a half-smile, not denying it. Ino glanced at him with surprise, but said nothing. Her blue eyes drifted toward Sakura, as if finally realizing what all of this meant.

Naruto stood up, fists clenched. “Wait—so we’re all leaving? What about Sakura-chan?”

“Sakura can come with us, nobody is leaving her behind,” Kushina said gently, turning her gaze back to the girl. “There’s plenty room, my clan has ruled over the nation for generations, we will all be safer there. And the sea air might help you feel at ease again. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Naruto turned to her with hope in his eyes. “Please, Sakura-chan. Come with us. You’ll be safe there.”

But Sakura, already shaking her head, offered them a wan smile.

“I can’t,” she said softly. “As a Senju, I answer to Tsunade-sama and she has chosen to stay in Konoha. If anything, I’ll return to the okiya. That’s home. I’ll wait until all of you return… and things are better.”

“But—” Naruto started, only to fall silent as Sakura reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s alright,” she said. “You’re going to be just where you need to be. So will I.”

A long silence settled over the table. Rain fell harder against the wood beyond the doors. No one said what they all felt: that nothing would be the same when they saw each other again.

Jiraiya’s Estate

The shutters were cracked open just enough to let in the silver light of the moon. The paper screens glowed blue, casting long shadows as Ino folded the last of her robes into a lacquered trunk. The scent of cherrywood and lavender hung faintly in the air, remnants of bath salts, the ones she had gifted Ino last spring.

Sakura sat quietly on the floor cushion by the door, arms wrapped around her knees. She hadn’t said much at dinner, and even less since then.

“Do you want to help me choose a travel comb?” Ino asked softly, her tone light, even playful.

Sakura didn’t answer for a moment. Then: “I don’t want you to go.”

Ino’s hands stilled over the velvet-lined case. Her throat tightened.

“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want to either.”

There was a beat of silence, then the rustle of Sakura’s silks as she moved closer and knelt beside her.

“It feels like everyone’s leaving,” Sakura said. “Naruto, Kushina, you… Even Itachi. I keep thinking, What if this is the last quiet moment we have? What if something happens, and we don’t even get to say goodbye?”

“You’re not going to die, Sakura,” Ino said, too sharply.

“I didn’t say me,” she replied, her voice brittle. “I meant any of us.”

Ino’s eyes shimmered, and she sat down beside her, brushing her shoulder against Sakura’s.

“I hate this,” she said at last. “I hate that I’m going to miss everything. That I won’t be here to pick out your kimono or scold you when you forget your posture or pull you back when you start worrying too much. That you’re going to have to carry all of this alone.”

“I’ll be at the okiya,” Sakura offered weakly. “Tsunade-sama will keep me safe. Karin can’t harm me now.”

“But I won’t be there with you,” Ino whispered. 

Sakura didn’t reply, only nodded once, tight and ashamed.

Ino reached for her hand, threading their fingers together.

Ino pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her.

They stayed like that a long time. Then Ino murmured into her hair:

“Promise me something?”

Sakura nodded against her shoulder.

“If things get bad, if you’re scared or hurt or even just lonely, you write to me. Or Madara. Or Naruto. Or anyone you trust. Even Itachi, for heaven’s sake. But don’t suffer in silence. You are loved, and you are not alone.”

Sakura pulled back slightly, her cheeks wet.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” she asked. “When Jiraiya-sama’s mission ends?”

“I swear it,” Ino said. “And when I do, we’ll go to the bathhouse and eat too many dumplings and I’ll scold you for all the ways you’ve overworked yourself while I was gone.”

Sakura gave a trembling laugh. “Promise?”

“On my honor as your sister,” Ino said solemnly, and they pressed their foreheads together — a quiet vow sealed between their hearts.

Senju Estate 

The halls had fallen into a hush.

The fire had burned low. Outside, the frost clung to the windowpanes like breath held too long. Somewhere in the distance, a maid’s soft footsteps echoed, then faded.

Sakura sat on the edge of a fainting couch in the salon, still wearing the kimono she hadn’t changed out of since her talk with Ino. Her hair was loosened now, long and slightly tangled from the weight of the day.

Kanna entered quietly, her arms folded in the sleeves of a warm gray robe. Her face, as always, was composed but her eyes scanned Sakura closely.

“You’ve been quiet, Sakura-sama,” she said gently.

Sakura looked up. Her voice was soft, flat. “It’s been a long day.”

Kanna nodded and approached, taking the chair across from her.

“I heard Lady Kushina and Master Naruto are departing at first light,” she said. “The Land of Whirlpools is… far.”

“It is,” Sakura murmured.

A pause.

Kanna tilted her head slightly. “Are you going with them?”

Sakura looked down at her hands. “No.”

Kanna blinked, surprised though not displeased.

“I’m going back to the okiya,” Sakura said quietly. “To be with Mother. The okiya will be quiet, but not… lonely.”

There was a pause. The fire cracked gently in the hearth.

“I thought I might feel like I was running away,” Sakura continued. “But now I think… I need to return. Even if just for a while. With everyone leaving I thought it best to leave too.”

Kanna exhaled slowly, as if she’d been holding her breath.

“Then you’ve made the right decision.”

Sakura’s eyes lifted.

Kanna stood, crossed the space between them, and gathered Sakura in a firm, quiet hug, the kind that said everything words couldn’t.

Sakura didn’t cry, but her arms wrapped tightly around the older woman, and for a moment, she let herself feel the relief of being understood.

Kanna pulled back and gave her shoulders a squeeze.

“I’ll summon the staff to begin packing your rooms,” she said softly. “And we’ll begin closing off the west wing. It’ll be some time before this house sees another season like this.”

“I’ll come back,” Sakura said quickly. “Before the solstice.”

“I know,” Kanna said with a faint smile. “You’ll return when the night is long.”

As she left to summon the maids, Sakura remained seated, watching the dim orange firelight dance against the dark windows. The quiet felt different now.

Less like isolation.

More like something she could live with, at least for a little while.

konoha- early winter

The gates of the Senju Okiya creaked open, just as they always had only this time, the air that greeted Sakura was colder than she remembered.

She stepped across the threshold quietly, a pale travel cloak clutched around her shoulders. Snow clung to the hems of her sandals. Inside, it was warm. Still. The scent of oil and wine drifted faintly through the corridor, mixed with something older that smelled like home.

“Sakura?”

Shizune’s voice echoed from the hall. A second later, she appeared at the corner, a tray of letters in her arms and an ink stain on hand.

She froze. The scrolls tipped sideways.

Then she was across the hall in an instant, scrolls abandoned on the floor, arms flung tight around Sakura’s shoulders.

“You’re back—thank the gods—” she breathed, clutching her like she might vanish again.

Sakura let her arms fold around Shizune in return, stiff at first, then slowly melting. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“You should’ve sent word ahead,” Shizune scolded gently, pulling back only enough to look at her face. “Tsunade-sama’s upstairs in a meeting. I thought you’d be staying in the province with Lady Kushina for longer—” Her hands came up instinctively, brushing Sakura’s cheeks, her brow. “You’re freezing. And too pale. Sit down, I’ll have something hot brought—”

“Aunty.”

The words were soft, tired.

Shizune paused.

Sakura’s smile had faltered.

“I—” she started, then stopped. Her eyes lowered, lashes trembling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Shizune’s expression shifted. The warmth in her eyes didn’t fade, but it steadied and softened at the edges with something deeper. Quiet understanding.

“I heard,” she said gently. “About what happened.”

Sakura didn’t speak. Her fingers clenched faintly at the edge of her cloak.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Shizune added quickly, her voice low. “But if you ever want to… I’m here. We all are.”

“I know.”

“You were there weren’t you,” Shizune asked, carefully. “The night of the attack?”

Sakura nodded once. “I saw it. There was blood everywhere. I thought Minato-sama was… I thought he was sure to be dead.”

“Oh, Sakura…” Shizune’s voice broke. She reached for her again, wrapping her in another hug, this one slower, firmer. “You should’ve come home sooner.”

“I couldn’t. Everything was chaos. And then Ino left. Naruto, too. Itachi—” she stopped herself, biting back the name like it tasted bitter.

Shizune smoothed her hair gently, thumb brushing a dried flake of snow from her shoulder.

“You’re here now,” she said softly. “That’s what matters. Come. I’ll run the bath, and you’ll eat something warm.”

Sakura didn’t answer right away.

But her eyes were glossy, and her throat was tight.

And when she finally whispered, “Alright,” it was barely a breath.

Shizune gave her one last squeeze, then called for the housemaids to prepare the bath and unpack her things. As they disappeared into the west wing, she turned back to Sakura with a fond smile.

“You’ll stay a while this time, won’t you?”

Sakura nodded.

“At least until the solstice.”

Shizune smiled wider. “Good. Then we’ll light the lanterns early this year.”

In the amber light of morning, Tsunade summoned her into the study.

“You are the Senju heir,” Tsunade said, her voice brisk, “that means it’s time for you to exchange rooms with them.”

Sakura hesitated.

On the surface, it was a promotion and a rightful one. Yet the thought of stepping into Karin’s old room left her hollow. They had managed to live side by side for years by maintaining an unspoken truce, circling each other like rival cats. But Sakura had always regarded Karin as a sleeping tiger, not a defeated one. This move would provoke her. Karin wouldn’t see it as a simple reassignment, she would see it as Sakura taking what was hers.

The next morning, Auntie came upstairs to lay out the rules.

“This corner here,” she said, gesturing to a precise square of space in Karin’s room, “belongs to you now, Sakura. No one else is to touch it. You may place your things here until the rest is sorted.”

Sakura bowed slightly in acknowledgment. Moments later, Auntie led Karin and Hinata into the much smaller room that had until recently been hers, offering them a similar arrangement. Neither girl spoke. The tension was brittle, like frost over stone.

That afternoon, Sakura began moving her belongings. She worked silently and efficiently, moving her cosmetics, books, a small stack of magazines, the hairpin itachi had once gifted her, all arranged neatly into her allotted corner. But as night fell the following evening, Karin and Hinata still hadn’t started moving out.

By the third day, Sakura had had enough.

Returning from a walk at noon, she climbed the stairs with a resolve that cooled her nerves. If Karin’s bottles and ointments were still cluttering the vanity, she would go to Auntie and ask her to intervene.

But as she reached the landing, she saw both doors ajar, hers and Karin’s. A broken jar of white ointment lay shattered in the hallway, leaking across the floor like spilt milk. She stepped into her room.

Karin sat at her little table, sipping from a small glass of what looked like water. A familiar notebook lay open in her lap.

“Why, Sakura, I’m so pleased to see you,” Karin said brightly. “I’ve been waiting to tell you how much I’m enjoying your little diary. Some of the entries are most interesting… and really, your writing style is charming! I’m not much impressed with your calligraphy, but—”

“Did you happen to notice the note I wrote on the front page?” Sakura asked, her voice low.

Karin turned the cover with a mock-innocent smile. “Let’s see… ‘Private.’ Well, now here’s an example of what I was saying about your handwriting.”

“Karin, please put the book down and leave my room.”

“Really!” Karin feigned insult. “I’m shocked at you, Sakura. I’m only trying to help! For example: why on earth did you name Commander Uchiha ‘Mr. Tsu’? It doesn’t suit him at all, don’t you think? You can change it, of course — and you don’t even have to credit me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t written anything about anyone.”

Karin sighed and began flipping through the pages.

“If it isn’t him you were writing about, I want you to tell me the name of the man you’re referring to here. Let’s see… ah, here it is. ‘Sometimes I see Mr. Tsu’s face blooming with anger when a geisha has been staring at him. But for my part, I can look at him as long as I want, and he seems to be pleased by it.’ So you must know someone else who looks just like Itachi. You should introduce them!”

Sakura’s stomach churned. It was one thing to have your secrets exposed, but another to have them unearthed through your own foolishness. She had only written thoughts, never names. Even the most dangerous men had been reduced to symbols — Mr. Tsu, Mr. Haa — but still. Karin had found her way in.

Sakura stepped forward to reclaim the journal, but Karin stood and clutched it to her chest, her other hand swirling the glass of sake, not water, as Sakura had assumed.

“Sakura, of course I’ll give it back. But I haven’t finished reading it yet.” She smirked. “Unless you’d rather I took it to Mother. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to read your musings on her leadership.”

Karin turned to leave and stepped directly into the broken ointment jar. There was a sharp cry of pain, a gasp, and then she hobbled into her room.

Sakura’s mind raced.

She could wrestle the journal from Karin’s hands now… but if she waited, caught her off guard…

No.

She saw it too clearly: Karin hiding it somewhere permanent, somewhere she’d never find it.

Karin’s door clicked shut.

Sakura waited a breath, then knocked. “Karin-san. I’m sorry if I seemed upset. May I come in?”

“No, you may not.”

Sakura slid the door open anyway.

The room was a disaster. Underclothes strewn across the floor. Bottles of perfume spilled. And the closet was open and overflowing, her jewellery box left ajar with ornaments glittering across the tatami.

And there, nestled between a crushed necklace and a pair of silk gloves, was the emerald brooch.

The brooch Karin had once accused her of stealing.

Sakura’s breath caught. Without hesitation, she stepped toward the closet and plucked it from the mess.

“What a wonderful idea,” Karin said lazily. “Go ahead and steal a piece of my jewelry. I’d rather have the cash you’ll owe me for it.”

“How much will I owe you?” Sakura replied smoothly, holding it up.

Karin’s smirk faltered. In that moment she didn’t notice Sakura’s other hand slipping behind her to take back the journal.

Sakura turned and left.

She stashed the journal quickly in the hall closet, slipping it between two out-of-season kimono. Her back prickled with tension, imagining Karin opening her door any second.

Then she returned to her room and noisily opened her makeup drawers for show.

Sure enough, when she stepped back into the hall, Karin was watching her with that wicked little smile.

Sakura held the brooch in her hand and made her way to Tsunade’s room. The okiya’s matriarch glanced up from her book as Sakura placed it on the table.

“This is a lovely piece Sakura, very vintage,” Tsunade said. “But it won’t fetch much these days. No one pays much for styles like this anymore.”

“I’m sure Karin will,” Sakura replied. “Do you remember the brooch I was accused of stealing? The one added to my debts? This is it. I found it in her room.”

From the doorway behind her came Karin’s voice. “You know, I believe Sakura is right. That does look like the brooch I lost. I never thought I’d see it again.”

“Yes,” Sakura said coolly, “it’s difficult to find things when you’re drunk all the time. If only you’d looked in your own jewelry box more closely.”

Karin sniffed. “I found it in her room. She’d hidden it in her makeup stand.”

“Why were you looking through my daughter’s things?” Tsunade asked angrily.

“I didn’t want to say,” Karin said sweetly. “But Sakura left something out. I was trying to hide it for her. She’s been keeping a journal. She showed it to me last year and there are some very incriminating things. About men. And… you too, Mother.”

“There is no journal,” Sakura said calmly. “Karin is making it up.”

“I’ll just go find it then,” Karin said, walking back toward the room.

The hallway was smeared with blood and ointment. Karin’s own room was worse.

Tsunade followed in silence as Karin knelt at Sakura’s dressing table, opening drawers with painstaking slowness. Karin’s fingers shook with fury as she turned the drawers upside down in search for the diary, but nothing materialises. She looked deflated.

“What journal is she talking about?” Tsunade whispered.

“If there’s a journal,” Sakura said, “I’m sure she’ll find it.”

Karin gave a quiet laugh, as if to say: you’ve bested me — for now.

Tsunade folded her arms, fury radiating off her. “You’ll repay Sakura for the brooch,” she said flatly. “And you’ll cover the cost of the damaged tatami. This has already been a very costly day for you, Karin. Shall I wait till the evening to calculate the total… just in case you’re not quite finished?”

Sakura said nothing, but felt Karin’s glare burn into her back.

It wasn’t victory that settled over her, not quite, but something close to justice. And that would be enough.

That evening, the three women settled into the lounge just like they had done for countless evenings before Sakure left for the Province. The informal lounge was cozy and bright with lanterns and candles casting soft pools of light over lacquered tables. The air was fragrant with simmering miso and freshly steamed fish, and the radio hummed softly in the corner, playing a familiar folk tune that made the small room feel like a refuge from the winter chill outside.

Sakura sat between Tsunade and Shizune, chopsticks poised over a bowl of simmered vegetables, her cheeks flushed with warmth. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Tsunade said, lifting her tea cup with a small smile.

Shizune nodded vigorously, her eyes bright. “Dinners have been quieter without you here.”

Sakura caught Shizune’s gaze and smiled, grateful for the genuine affection. “I’m glad to be back, even if it’s only for a little while.”

A soft ding broke the peaceful bubble, the ringing of the telephone from Tsunade’s office.

A maid hurried in, breathless. “The private phone line is ringing, Lady Tsunade. It’s urgent.”

Shizune rose immediately, smoothing her sleeves. “I’ll get it.”

A few moments later, Shizune returned, her face pale and eyes wide with surprise, a slight tremor in her hand.

“It’s Commander Uchiha,” she said, voice tight. “He wants to speak with Sakura-chan.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

Sakura’s chopsticks paused mid-air. Her breath caught.

“Why would Itachi be calling me?” she murmured.

Shizune shook her head. “I have no idea. He’s the second most important man in the country. It’s… I’m not sure.”

Tsunade’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Well then, let’s not keep him waiting,” Tsunade said, gesturing toward her office.

The three of them moved into the study, the warmth of the room wrapping around them. Sakura lifted the receiver with a steady hand, heart pounding just beneath her calm facade.

A low, clipped voice came through the line. “It’s about time you answered.” 

A pause.

“Next time you change locations, you would do well to inform me.”Then Itachi’s voice, dry and unamused.

“Inform you? As if your soldiers weren’t reporting to you the moment I left the province and entered Konoha.” Sakura’s reply was immediate, fiery.

“Courtesy doesn’t kill. You wouldn’t behave so insolently with Madara.” A faint, humourless laugh from the other end, Sakura could just imagine his smirk.

“When you become half the man your uncle is, I’ll consider it.” Sakura tilted her head, amused despite herself. She could see Shizune’s eyes widen in shock at her rude tone.

“Geisha. Always so stubborn and annoying.”

“Uchiha,” she shot back, “always an insufferable one.”

Itachi scoffed.

“Just because you’re now in Konoha doesn’t mean I will call on you. I’m busy.”

“For such a busy man, you have no issue making unnecessary phone calls to my okiya.”

“Now, Sakura-hime, no need to hit me where it hurts,” he said mockingly. “It was to inform you I’ve sent a squad to stand guard at the Senju okiya.”

Sakura blinked, then raised an eyebrow.

“Is that necessary? Konoha already feels like a fortress, your soldiers are everywhere as it is.”

“Simply a precaution. Be grateful it’s me handling this and not Madara. He would’ve chained you to his side since the moment this mess began.”

Sakura’s smile was unimpressed. “I’ll be sure to inform Lady Tsunade of your decision then.”

“Good.” A brief pause.

The line went dead.

Shizune’s mouth hung slightly open.

Tsunade chuckled quietly, shaking her head.

Sakura replaced the receiver with a satisfied grin.

“Stupid jerk,” she muttered.

“Sakura-chan,” Shizune said softly, voice almost trembling, “you mustn’t speak to the commander in such a way. It’s… most improper.”

Tsunade, seated nearby, gave a small, amused smile but said nothing.

Shizune glanced at her, waiting for confirmation.

Tsunade’s eyes sparkled with quiet amusement as she finally spoke, voice low and knowing.

“Every time Sakura and Itachi share the same space, they end up bickering. It’s their way of speaking to one another.”

Sakura’s blush deepened, and she looked away, fiddling with her sleeve.

“He’s arrogant,” she said quickly, voice edged with frustration. “I can’t help the way I speak to him.”

She glanced back, eyes fierce but honest.

“And he’s not exactly respectful to me, either.”

Tsunade chuckled softly, shaking her head.

Senju Okiya

Tsunade sat with a cup of tea in her hands, her sharp eyes fixed on Sakura.

“Sakura,” she began, voice calm but firm, “starting next week, you will accompany me to the weekly council meetings.”

Sakura blinked in surprise. “Me? But—”

“No buts,” Tsunade interrupted, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “One day, you will be the leader of the Senju. You’ll sit in this very chair,” she tapped her own seat with a finger, “and that means you’ll be part of this country’s council.”

Sakura’s heart fluttered, excitement mixed with nerves.

“So, you might as well get used to it now.”

At that moment, Shizune entered, followed by Mr. Shiranui.

“Tsunade-sama,” Shizune said with a small bow, “we have selected some kimonos suitable for Sakura-sama’s first meeting.”

The soft rustle of silk filled the air as Sakura stood quietly while Shizune and Mr. Shiranui moved with practiced efficiency around her. The wooden floor beneath her feet was cool, but the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the paper screens lent a gentle glow to the room.

Shizune’s hands were deft and gentle as she carefully brushed Sakura’s long dark hair, drawing it up into an elegant, traditional style — a high bun secured with delicate pins covered with small cherry blossoms carved from jade. Each strand was meticulously placed, framing her face with soft wisps that softened her sharp jawline.

The kimono they selected was a masterpiece of understated elegance. Crafted from fine silk dyed in a crisp grey, it bore the subtle embroidery of snowy leaves cascading along the hem and sleeves in gold thread that caught the light with every slight movement. The wide obi, tied expertly, emphasised the slender curve of her waist.

As the fabric settled around her, Sakura’s delicate hands smoothed the folds, the layers creating a harmonious silhouette that blended grace with quiet strength.

Shizune stepped back, her eyes approving as she applied a touch of pale rose blush to Sakura’s cheeks and a soft pink hue to her lips. There was no need for heavy makeup; Sakura’s natural beauty, clear skin, keen eyes, and poised posture, spoke volumes on its own.

Tsunade, watching from the doorway, gave a small nod of satisfaction.

“Sakura,” she said softly, “you are ready to face the council.”

Sakura met her own reflection in the polished mirror — the poised young woman before her looked every inch the future leader her clan needed.

Gion

The council chamber was built to impress. Marble floors. Dark oak walls. A table so long it felt like a corridor of power rather than a place to speak. Sakura sat beside Tsunade near the far end, beneath a golden banner stitched with the Leaf crest.

Her palms rested in her lap, steady, though her mind wasn’t. She had never set foot in such a building before and the nerves were eating her alive. Taking a series of deep breaths, she reminded herself that she was the Senju heir. Her place was beside her mother.

Tsunade leaned in and murmured, “Eyes open. Mouth shut—for now.”

Sakura nodded once. Shizune gave her an encouraging smile before taking her seat further behind, along with all the other servants and retainers.

On the other side of the table, familiar faces trickled in. Asuma Sarutobi gave her a slight nod. Shikaku Nara, hair tied high and eyes unreadable, lifted a hand in greeting. Kakashi entered quietly, late as always, and sat without a word, his mask in place and posture deceptively relaxed.

Minato was already seated at the head of the table, flanked by the village elders: Homura and Koharu, both rigid as ever, Sakura looked at their wrinkled faces with curiosity. Despite their presence, there was no official start to the meeting. The room waited stiffly, held taut with anticipation.And then the doors opened.

Two soldiers from the Uchiha private guard strode in first, boots clicking against marble. Between them walked Commander Uchiha Itachi. He wore no armor today, only a black high-collared robe lined with crimson thread. His presence seemed to silence even the air.

He took the seat to Minato’s right.

Madara’s seat.

Sakura felt her breath catch, and her pulse quicken. Itachi’s gaze swept the room and paused. Just a second. Just long enough for his dark eyes to find hers. A subtle nod. No smile. No warmth.

She hated how much it thrilled her.

Minato cleared his throat, but it was already too late. The murmurs began before the first word was spoken.

“Why is Minato presiding over this?” one councilor whispered.

“Where is Madara when you need him?”

“Is this a coup in everything but name?”

“I trust the Uchiha with steel—not state matters.”

Sakura watched as the tension rose in waves; cresting, swelling, breaking. She thought she understood politics. But this was something rawer. Feral.

Then Homura stood. “Let’s speak plainly. Starvation is at our doorstep. The Land of Grass has collapsed, our allies are starving, our borders are battlegrounds. And our Hokage—” he paused, looking directly at Minato, “—has done nothing but bury his head in his tower.”

A shock ran through the room.

Shikaku snapped forward. “That’s untrue, and you know it.”

“Oh?” scoffed Koharu, eyes narrowed. “Tell us, Nara. What has the Hokage done? He sent his wife and child to hide in another land. The boy is the heir to the Uzumaki clan, and we sent him away.”

Whispers turned to shouting.

One man barked, “And who saved the borders? Not the Hokage—him!” He jabbed a finger toward Itachi. “And where is Lord Madara now? In the Land of Wind. Forging alliances! The Hokage is neglecting his duties”

Another slammed a fist to the table. “We follow shadows while our crops get sent abroad! What good is a leader who won’t lead?”

“Madara should have taken the tower years ago—”

“You dare say that aloud?” Asuma growled, shooting to his feet. “Don’t speak of coups when we’re standing in the Hokage’s Tower.”

Kakashi hadn’t moved. He simply exhaled, long and slow, as though he’d seen this fire before and knew it would burn itself out.

Tsunade leaned back, unfazed. Sakura felt her heart race.

This wasn’t a council meeting. This was a battleground with velvet chairs.

Suddenly, Itachi lifted his hand.

The room froze.

“Enough.”

His voice was calm. Cold. Measured. But final. A sword in silk.

“Arguing,” he said, “will not feed a single family. Nor will it win a single ally. Blame is for cowards. And cowards have no place on this council.”

No one dared speak.

Sakura stared at him. In this light, he didn’t look twenty-five. He looked older. Tired. Like the burden of the entire country had carved itself into his spine.

He continued, “I bring word from Lord Madara and Lord Jiraiya. Talks with the Kazekage are progressing swiftly. If secured, we will consolidate power and begin military operations to stabilise the Land of Grass.”

A murmur of relief rippled.

“And the famine?” someone asked quietly.

“We are redirecting more grain and crops from Uchiha farmland to our own borders starting next week, that will put an end to the food shortages.”

Gasps. Cheers. Claps at the table.

Sakura’s throat tightened. She was proud and terrified.

Her gaze drifted back to Itachi, who hadn’t looked her way again since his entrance.

But even from across the room, she could feel the weight of him. The precision. The power.

She suddenly understood why people whispered about the Uchiha.

The sound of arguing still echoed in Sakura’s head as they stepped out of the council chamber.

Tsunade paused just outside, speaking in a low, nostalgic voice with Asuma, who leaned against the corridor wall, smoking the end of a cigarette.

“They’d tear him apart now,” he said softly. “The old man would’ve hated all this.”

Tsunade smiled faintly. “Your father believed in patience. In trusting people to come to their own wisdom, even if it took a lifetime. That’s what made him Hokage.”

Asuma gave a quiet huff of agreement, but Sakura barely registered their words.

Her thoughts were still spinning with the shouting, the insults, the sudden silences that fell at Itachi’s hand. She had never seen power wielded like that before. Not even Tsunade commanded a room with such force.

She drifted toward the window, heart still thudding, until—

A hand settled firmly at her waist.

She shivered, not violently, but enough that her breath caught in her throat.

Itachi stood beside her.

“I thought I might find you here,” he murmured into her ear. “It’s quieter in my office.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, he just turned, silent and certain, and walked down the hallway.

She followed without thinking.

The hallways of the Hokage Tower were dimmer now, quiet in a way the rest of the building wasn’t. The carpet muffled their steps. His office was near the east wing, not as large Madara’s, but still grand, with scrolls tucked neatly into shelves and an ornate desk built of dark, fire-polished wood.

He gestured to a chair.

Sakura sat.

“Well?” he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against the desk. “What did you think?”

Sakura looked up at him, lips parted, then shook her head slowly.

“It was chaos,” she said honestly. “I don’t know what I expected but not that.”

Itachi exhaled something like a laugh. He sounded exhausted.

“They’re the ones steering the country,” he said. “Every decision, every bill, comes after five hours of that.”

“I don’t know how you stand it.”

“I don’t,” he replied. “But I’m the only one they’ll listen to when Madara’s not here.”

At the mention of his name, Sakura’s expression softened. She stared at her hands for a moment before glancing up.

“Has he… said anything?”

“No,” Itachi said simply. 

“It just feels like he’s been gone forever. Even though I know it’s only been a few months…”

Itachi nodded slowly, turning to face the window.

“Even with his… flaws,” he said, voice quieter now, “Madara brings order. The country holds its breath when he’s not here.”

A knock interrupted them.

A servant bowed from the doorway. “Pardon me, Commander. Lady Tsunade is ready to depart. She requests that Sakura-sama return to the carriage.”

Itachi gave a faint nod of dismissal. The servant vanished.

Sakura rose slowly.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Itachi stepped forward and, without touching her again, opened the door for her.

“I’ll see you next week,” he said.

She arched an eyebrow. “Council again?”

A flicker of amusement. “Unless you’d prefer the garden.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled faintly and left.

Tsunade sat cross-legged, sipping from a chipped tea cup, her hair loose around her shoulders. Shizune was standing a few steps behind her, watching the koi drift listlessly in the pond.

“I have concerns, about him,” Shizune said quietly, as if the fish might overhear.

Tsunade didn’t look up. “Hm.”

“This is serious,” Shizune pressed. “Last night he touched her. Whispered to her. She followed him through the tower without hesitation.”

Tsunade took a long, slow sip.

“She’s not a child anymore, Shizune. And she’s spent more time around that clan than her own, of course they’re familiar.”

“I know that. But… Itachi Uchiha? We all know the stories that surround him, he’s dangerous.” Shizune’s brow furrowed. “It was bad enough with Lord Madara’s interest, but this! It’s—jarring.”

Tsunade chuckled.

“They’ve always had that tension. The bickering. The stares.”

Shizune blanched. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m always serious when I’m drinking tea.” Tsunade glanced up, eyes glinting. 

“But—”

“But,” Tsunade interrupted, setting her cup down with a clink, “I’m watching. Closely. If it gets out of hand, I’ll put a stop to it. Itachi isn’t Madara and if Minato and Jiraiya trust him then so should we.”

Shizune nodded, still clearly unsettled.

Tsunade reached for her cup again. “Let the girl breathe, Shizune. When Madara returns in sure we will all be seeing more of the Uchiha clan around her..”

The moon hung low outside the window of Itachi’s chamber, casting pale light across the sparse room. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, but his mind was far from rest.

Council meetings had become a mess of clashing voices, stubborn elders, and simmering resentments. No amount of logic or sharp commands seemed to tame the chaos. 

And yet, tonight, a thought had taken root—unwanted but insistent.

The geisha.

Sakura.

He had long dismissed her world as frivolous, a gilded cage of silk and poetry, a distraction from the harsh realities of power. But beneath her sharp tongue and clever retorts, there was something he had underestimated: influence.

Not the brute force of soldiers or the weight of titles, but something quieter. The art of steering conversation, softening hard edges, coaxing allies from rivals with a smile and a well-placed word.

He recalled their sharp exchange as she sat with her feet dangling, defiant beneath the weight of her heavy kimono, unafraid to meet his cold gaze with fire in her eyes. Her stubbornness grated against him, yet there was an undeniable strength behind it—an intelligence and a will that couldn’t be ignored.

Small gatherings, away from the grand chambers. Intimate parties where Sakura, with her keen mind and spirited will, could guide the stubborn elders. Where disputes might soften over shared tea and whispered conversations, rather than raised voices.

It was a gamble. A far cry from his usual methods. But one worth trying.

He sat up, the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t about feelings, it was strategy. And if Sakura was the instrument to bring order to the chaos, then so be it.

Tomorrow, he would speak to her. Not as commander and subordinate, but as an unlikely partner in a delicate game.

And perhaps, he allowed himself a flicker of something almost like anticipation, this arrangement might suit both of them better than expected.

The early morning frost has yet to melt, its patters still on the window. Itachi stood with a composed stillness, his dark eyes steady as he faced Minato.

“I have an idea,” Itachi began, voice low and measured. “The council meetings are becoming increasingly divisive. The elders’ stubbornness undermines every effort to present a unified front.”

Minato nodded, his gaze thoughtful.

“It’s really no different from the diplomatic missions Jiraiya undertakes,” Itachi continued. “Ino-san accompanies him, smoothing the path, easing tensions, and guiding conversations in ways Jiraiya’s straightforward manner can’t. I believe something similar could work here.”

Minato regarded him for a moment before replying.

“You’re suggesting using Sakura as a sort of… host for smaller, more intimate gatherings?”

“It’s precisely that,” Itachi said. “Her presence and influence could steer the council in a more… cooperative direction, away from the chaos and open hostility.”

Minato smiled faintly, approving the practicality of the suggestion.

“Itachi, it’s a sound plan. But you’ll need Tsunade’s approval. The Senju won’t be pleased if you act behind her back.”

Itachi’s lips twitched in a brief, almost imperceptible smile.

“I understand. I will speak with her before moving forward.”

Minato gave a curt nod.

“Good. Send word to expect your presence then.”

Senju Okiya

The gates of the Senju okiya glistened under the soft light of afternoon. He felt a tick of frustration building, he hated Konoha and he hated the Okiya district, the sooner he got it over with the quicker he’d be able to leave.

Itachi didn’t wait to be announced before walking through the gates.

He moved like a blade, silent, direct, impossible to ignore. The guards stationed at the door bowed deeply as he passed, and a hush fell over the courtyard. House maids froze mid-step. The scent of perfume and garden plum hung in the air.

Then, an irritating voice screeched.

“Oh—Commander Uchiha!”

A geisha.

She swept across the hallway, all painted smile and rigid posture, bowing low, her hands folded sweetly, it made him sick. “What an unexpected pleasure. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we were introduced at the gathering for your birthda —”

“I don’t remember,” Itachi said flatly, not even slowing.

Karin faltered a beat but recovered quickly, teeth flashing. “Allow me to introduce myself again then Commander, I am Karin of the Senju Okiya. How are you? You must be exhausted, running the capital in your uncle’s stead. I do hope you’ll let me prepare tea—”

“I’d sooner drink from a dog’s bowl,” he said coolly.

Karin’s face cracked. She stood dumbfounded, lips parted in shock. Maids passing nearby ducked their heads to hide their laughter.

At that moment, a door slid open down the corridor.

“Itachi?” Sakura’s voice rang out.

He turned slightly. She was stepping out of Tsunade’s office, still dressed in dark blue winter silks, cheeks flushed from warmth or irritation—it was hard to tell.

Her gaze narrowed the moment she saw Karin’s stunned expression.

“Was that necessary?” Sakura said sharply, marching up to him.

He arched a brow. “She was attempting conversation.”

“Courtesy doesn’t kill,” she snapped, using his own phrase against him.

He gave an exaggerated, mocking bow. “Of course, please forgive me, Sakura-hime.”

Karin’s face flushed with rage.

Itachi didn’t spare her another glance. His hand rested on Sakura’s hip with practiced ease, both possessive and infuriating. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.

“Let’s go,” he murmured in her ear, before steering them both toward the inner corridor where Tsunade waited.

Behind them, Karin stood trembling, speechless, her painted smile gone entirely.

“You’re insufferable,” she hissed, voice low and furious. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“I greeted your colleague,” Itachi said blandly, eyes forward.

“You humiliated her in front of half the house!”

“She asked if I remembered her. I answered truthfully. Would you rather I lied?”

Sakura nearly tripped on the hem of her kimono. “You didn’t have to insult her.”

“And you need to stop doing that,” she snapped, her voice sharp and quiet.

The moment they turned the corner and left the courtesans’ eyes behind, Sakura swatted his hand away.

Itachi didn’t miss a step. “Doing what?”

“Touching me like you have the right,” she said. “In front of everyone. Every time you see me. You did it after the council meeting too!”

He paused mid-stride, then turned to face her, brow slightly lifted. “It unsettles them. Makes them second-guess what you are to me.”

“And what am I to you?” Sakura challenged, eyes narrowing. “Some accessory? A message? A threat?”

He looked at her for a beat too long.

“You’re the Senju heir,” he said finally, calmly. “And one day you will be Madara’s ward. You’re safer when people think you belong to someone powerful.”

“I belong to myself.”

“You belong to this clan,” he corrected, voice low. “Which means you belong to Konoha. And right now, people are watching you very closely. If they know you have my protection, they’re less likely to test your limits.”

Her jaw clenched. “You didn’t answer the question.”

He tilted his head, not unkindly. “You didn’t ask one.”

She exhaled tightly. “Why do you keep touching me?”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes then, not amusement this time. Something quieter.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I forget you’re not mine to touch.”

That stole her breath more than she wanted to admit.

She stepped back, clearing her throat. “Try to remember. Because it’s irritating.”

Itachi’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable. Then, very softly:

“Understood.”

They turned back toward the shoji door. She stopped just before they reached it and looked at him again, voice gentler now.

”What is this meeting even about?” Sakura whispered, “Mother hasn’t mentioned anything to me, she didn’t even mention you were coming here until this morning.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Itachi said, his dark eyes meeting her green.

“You’re going to be polite, right?”

“I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”

That earned her the barest smirk. “Yes, Sakura-hime.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder with her fan, but there was no real anger in it. He didn’t flinch, only let her go ahead of him as the door slid open and they both stepped into the room.

The shoji screen slid open with a quiet swish.

Tsunade sat coolly behind her desk, but there was steel in her gaze and tension in her jaw. Her elbow rested on the armrest, a cup of cooling tea in hand. She did not stand to greet him.

Sakura stepped aside as Itachi entered, then took her place beside Tsunade. She lowered herself to her knees, quiet and poised, eyes cast slightly down.

Itachi stood for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. Then, calmly, he bowed.

“Lady Tsunade.”

“You’re bold to walk in here with this kind of proposal,” Tsunade said, skipping any pleasantries.

“I came because it requires your permission,” he said simply.

Tsunade scoffed. “Then you know how outrageous this sounds.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” Her voice sharpened. “You want to use a seventeen-year-old girl—my daughter—to soften council politics like she’s a bottle of plum wine.”

Sakura did not flinch, but her shoulders stiffened. Itachi could see the confusion in her eyes.

Itachi remained composed, hands clasped behind his back. “She won’t be alone. She’ll be with me.”

“That’s supposed to reassure me?” Tsunade snapped. “You may be a commander, but Sakura is not a weapon. She’s not bait. And she’s not some ornament to be paraded around a room of greedy old men.”

Itachi’s gaze flicked to Sakura who was still silent, still stiff, and then back to Tsunade.

“She’s not an ornament,” he said quietly. “She’s a Senju. And will be Madara’s ward. She’s the only person in the Leaf that the council will tolerate in that kind of space who isn’t an elder.”

“And that’s exactly why she should stay out of it,” Tsunade growled. “The weight of two clans sits on her back and you want to throw her into closed-door dinners and political traps. You may be a fully grown man, Itachi, but she’s still seventeen. You have no idea how dangerous those rooms can be for girls like her.”

There was a long, simmering pause.

Itachi’s voice came level. “She’ll be guarded. Constantly. I’ll be there. There will be no private moments she doesn’t agree to.”

“And what about her safety from you?” Tsunade asked coldly. “Your clan has a history of taking what it wants. Your own reputation is the thing of nightmares. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”

Sakura’s head dipped further. She wasn’t embarrassed — she was trying not to burn.

“You know me,” Itachi said. “I don’t act on impulse.”

“No,” Tsunade muttered. “You act on calculation.”

“I act for the good of the country.” His tone grew firmer. “You of all people know how slow and fractured the council has been. Madara’s gone. The old guard is floundering. We’re weeks behind on key decisions. If we don’t consolidate, we will lose our grip on the Land of Grass—and everything with it.”

Tsunade’s jaw tensed.

“None of them are anywhere near the level of Madara,” Itachi added carefully. “And she’s been interacting with him for months with no trouble.”

That was the thing that finally made Tsunade lean back. Her face was unreadable now, eyes sharp but clouded.

Sakura sat still, her breathing quiet but steady. She didn’t speak.

“Hmph,” Tsunade said after a long, heavy pause. “You’ll have my answer in a few days. Don’t press me before then.”

Itachi nodded once.

Tsunade rose and turned her back, walking toward the window. “And Itachi—if even a rumor reaches me that she was touched, threatened, or used against her will…”

She trailed off.

But her anger was already rising.

“…You’ll lose more than a political ally.”

Chapter Text

Senju Okiya

Itachi rose smoothly to his feet.

“I look forward to your response, Lady Tsunade,” he said, dipping his head with a rigid formality that was almost mocking. Then he gave Sakura a brief glance and a stiff nod.

Sakura returned the look with quiet confusion, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had been bewildered throughout the entire meeting, listening in silence while Itachi and Tsunade discussed something half in riddles.

Now, Itachi turned to go. Shizune, who had been standing near the entrance like a ghost, startled slightly when he moved and stepped forward to escort him out. Her hands were shaking.

“Th—this way, Commander Uchiha,” she murmured.

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

He followed her with measured steps, silent as smoke. And though he did not look back, Sakura had the distinct sensation that some invisible thread had been tied between them. Something delicate, something strategic.

The sliding door closed behind him with a gentle click. For a moment, only the sound of Shizune’s hurried sandals and the soft creak of the floorboards lingered.

Sakura waited. Tsunade said nothing.

At last, Sakura spoke. “Would you like me to call a maid to clear the tea, mother?”

“No,” Tsunade said quietly. Then, “Stay.”

Sakura settled back on her cushion, spine straight.

“Mother?” she asked. “What was that about?”

Tsunade sighed, and wearily rubbed her face. She leaned back, lifting her teacup with both hands, but did not drink.

“Itachi,” she said, “has proposed something reckless, manipulative, and probably necessary.”

When nothing came, she asked gently, “And it involves me?”

Tsunade’s eyes flicked to her, sharp with something like guilt or perhaps reluctance.

“It does,” she said.

Sakura nodded, lips pressed in a thoughtful line. “I see.”

She didn’t press. Not yet. But Tsunade could see the questions gathering in her expression like snow before a storm.

So she set her teacup down and folded her hands.

“Itachi believes the council is…fractured,” she said. “With Madara gone, the elders don’t trust one another and faith in Minato is at a record low. They respect Itachi’s military authority, but it’s hard to trust a stranger’s judgment. He doesn’t have the history with them. They see him as an outsider, distant, hard to read. And the situation is shifting too quickly for protocol.”

Sakura listened, still and poised.

Tsunade continued. “He thinks their opinions can be softened. But not by debate. By influence. Familiarity. By being made to feel… seen. Heard. Entertained.”

A long pause.

“And he thinks you can do that.”

Sakura blinked. “Me?”

Tsunade gave a single, slow nod.

“You’re not a councilwoman. You’re not a soldier. But you’re a Senju Geisha. You’re my daughter, my heir. Since the very first lesson you had at the academy, you’ve been trained and raised to entertain, to persuade, to- to just be in these circles and hold your own. This is what geisha are made for, they keep the company of the men who can pay their fees. And the only men capable of paying your fees sit on our Nation’s council.”

A quiet pulse of wind stirred the paper screens.

Sakura lowered her eyes. “So I’m meant to… what? Sit beside Itachi while he argues policy?”

“No,” Tsunade said. “You’re meant to do what you’ve always done. Be present. Listen. Laugh at the right moment. Serve tea. Reframe the setting. He’ll handle the policy. You soften the blow.”

Sakura’s fingers curled lightly around her cup.

“And if I fail?”

“You won’t,” Tsunade said simply. “But if you do they’ll blame Itachi.”

Sakura didn’t answer. The steam from her tea curled faintly toward her face, catching the light.

Tsunade leaned forward.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like him dragging you into these games. But he’s right about one thing.”

Sakura looked up.

“You’re the only one who can do it.”

Sakura sat still for a long moment, her cup cooling between her palms.

Then, softly, she said, “ I still think it’s a ridiculous idea but, I’ll do my best.”

Tsunade gave a slight nod of understanding.

“No one can know what you’re doing,” she said. “Not the elders. Not the court. Not even the other girls.”

Sakura looked up. “Not even Ino?”

Tsunade hesitated. “Especially not Ino.”

That stung more than she expected. But Sakura didn’t let it show. She only nodded and stood, smoothing her kimono, her motions practiced and silent.

Tsunade reached for her arm. “Sakura.”

She paused.

“You don’t owe this to anyone,” Tsunade said quietly. “Not to Lord Hokage. Not to me. Not even to Itachi.”

Sakura smiled, small and blue. “I know, but I’ve seen the council meetings too… and if I feel in over my head then I can stop? But it’s worth a try, Mother .”

So this was what Itachi had meant. All that talk of balance and leverage, of presence being power. She had thought it was abstract or philosophical, even. But no. He had been planning this. Preparing the ground like a gardener waiting for spring.

And now here she was: a bloom summoned to soften the battlefield.

They wouldn’t see her as a strategist. Just a geisha in silk, laughing gently beside the Uchiha heir. They wouldn’t realize until too late that she was there to change their minds.

She didn’t know if she was ready.

But she did know how to smile.

A few minutes passed in silence before it eased open once more, and Shizune reappeared with her cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted as though she’d forgotten how to breathe. She crossed the threshold, shut the door behind her, and exhaled in one long breath.

Tsunade said nothing, only lifted one brow.

Shizune dropped to her knees beside the brazier and began fussing with the teapot unnecessarily, as it was still half-full.

“He’s—” she began, then hesitated, fanning her face slightly with her sleeve. “Commander Uchiha. He’s… very difficult to speak to.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the breathless tone.

Shizune pressed her lips together, then whispered, almost conspiratorially, “He’s so cold. But elegant. He barely looked at me and I still felt like I was being dissected.”

She poured the tea with trembling hands, then added in a rush, “And good heavens, he’s handsome.”

Sakura turned away slightly, pretending to adjust the edge of her sleeve.

“I don’t know how you manage to speak to him without spluttering, Sakura-chan,” Shizune went on, now staring at Sakura with sincere awe. “If he so much as glanced at me again, I might’ve burst into flames.”

“I doubt that, Aunty,” Sakura said softly, though her lips curved. 

Tsunade grunted from her place by the window turning to shizune. “You’d do better to worry less about his face and more about his ambition.” 

Shizune bowed her head, properly chastised,  but Sakura caught the quiet, dazed smile still playing at the corners of her mouth.

Suna- Land of Wind

The heat pressed in like a second skin.

Even inside the sandstone council hall, where shades hung over the windows and urns of cooled water sat in the corners, the air felt thick, not just with warmth, but with tension.

Jiraiya adjusted the collar of his robe, resisting the urge to tug at the damp fabric clinging to the back of his neck. He’d spent years in harsher climates than this, but something about the Kazekage’s hall made him sweat in places that had nothing to do with heat.

Across from him, the Kazekage sat half-reclined on a low divan draped in gold and crimson silk, one gloved hand lazily turning the stem of a goblet. His face was impassive, almost bored, except for the faint, dry amusement that played at the corners of his mouth whenever Jiraiya spoke.

“I understand your hesitation,” Jiraiya was saying, voice even, diplomatic. “But I truly believe that an alliance between our two nations could bring stability not just to the borderlands, but to the entire continent. Your people have been starving for years, this could be the turning point.”

The Kazekage said nothing. He took a slow sip of his wine.

Madara, seated to the Kazekage’s right, offered no interjection. He looked perfectly relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded loosely in his lap. The subtle gleam of his armor caught the filtered sunlight, his expression unreadable.

Jiraiya pressed on. “Konoha’s surplus grain is being rationed with care. If Suna provides its soldiers to help secure the Land of Grass, we can begin rebuilding the fields before next harvest. It’s a simple arrangement, your strength, our supplies. Shared risk, shared reward.”

The Kazekage finally moved though not to respond, but to gesture lazily toward a servant, who stepped forward to refill his glass.

“You say ‘simple,’” he drawled, “but nothing is ever simple when it comes to Fire country. You all arrive with open hands and half-written promises. I’ve yet to see a treaty that didn’t leave Suna hungrier.”

Jiraiya’s jaw tensed, just slightly.

Madara turned his head, offering the Kazekage a mild smile. “You wound your guest, Lord Kazekage. Master Jiraiya is simply stating the Hokage’s terms.”

“Do I?” the Kazekage said, swirling his wine. “He wounds himself with optimism.”

Jiraiya leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “What is it exactly that you’re looking for? If we’re not speaking honestly, there’s no point in pretending we are.”

There was a long pause.

Then, the Kazekage smiled.

“A refreshing candor,” he said. “Rare in diplomats. But I think your answer lies in your own silence.” He glanced sidelong at Madara. “Why is it your Hokage sends a poet?”

“I served in two wars,” Jiraiya said flatly.

“And yet you speak like a tutor,” the Kazekage replied, all silk and sand. “It’s no insult. Just an observation.”

There was something practiced about it, the evasiveness, the riddles dressed as insight. Jiraiya recognized it now: the Kazekage wasn’t being stubborn. He was performing.

And Madara wasn’t interrupting.

Because he didn’t need to.

Because this had been the plan all along.

Jiraiya kept his expression neutral, though his eyes sharpened.

“Is that why you’ve refused every draft we’ve sent?” he asked, voice stern.

The Kazekage gave a faint chuckle. “No. I’ve refused every draft because your offers are generous… but directionless. You offer food, yes — but only after reminding us how generous the Fire Nation is. Your Hokage seeks stability, but with terms so vague they can be undone the moment your own fields begin to strain. He sends words without teeth.”

“Words without teeth,” Jiraiya echoed, glancing toward Madara. “Interesting phrase.”

Madara, to his credit, only smiled. “The Hokage means well. But meaning well doesn’t mean being effective. Thats why we are here, to come to an agreement.”

The Kazekage laughed outright at that. “Indeed.”

Jiraiya stood slowly, the gesture deliberate. “Then perhaps I’ll send word to Konoha — and suggest some clearer terms.”

“Do that,” the Kazekage said. “We’ll be waiting.”

Jiraiya bowed, short and professional. “Then I’ll take my leave, Lord Kazekage.”

He didn’t look at Madara again as he turned and strode from the chamber, though he could feel the Uchiha’s gaze on his back like a blade still in its sheath.

As the great doors shut behind Jiraiya and the heavy lock slid into place, Madara leaned slightly toward the Kazekage.

“You played your part beautifully.”

The Kazekage tilted his goblet toward him. “I’m a generous host.”

“And now,” Madara murmured, “the Hokage will begin to panic. All we need is patience.”

By dusk, the sharpness of the council hall had faded into the soft hush of velvet and candlelight.

The Suna palace’s private lounge was cooler than the rest of the estate, built low into the stone, with sunken floors and carved lattice screens that let in just enough air to carry the scent of crushed mint and desert herbs. A trio of oil lamps glowed along the walls, casting everything in gold.

The heat of the day had drained away, but something heavier lingered in the air.

Tension, coiled and silent.

Ino stepped into the lounge with her usual grace, a silver jug balanced in one hand, a tray in the other. She was dressed in pale cotton, the colour of cream, her hair drawn up with delicate gold pins shaped like falling leaves. She looked, as always, composed, but her eyes flickered with something else when she saw Jiraiya seated stiffly beside the low table.

“Lord Kazekage has the most varied wine cellar I have had the pleasure of seeing,” she said lightly, pouring him a drink without waiting for a reply.

Jiraiya accepted the cup with a grunt. “How generous of you to bring wine instead of answers.”

“I bring relaxation,” Ino said with a faint smirk, then turned to Madara. “Good evening, Lord Uchiha.”

Madara inclined his head, watching her closely.

Ino seated herself between them, folding her legs beneath her with practiced ease. She poured for Madara next, and when she handed him the cup, their fingers didn’t quite touch though it felt as if the air shifted anyway.

“Not joining us?” Jiraiya asked.

“Too much wine is bad for the mind,” Ino replied. “Right now I’m here to keep you company.”

“A fool’s errand,” Jiraiya muttered.

Madara chuckled softly, the sound low and unhurried. “Come now. We’ve earned a moment’s reprieve.”

The wine was dry and sharp, its bite softened by the faint sweetness of honey. Jiraiya drank in silence. Madara only sipped.

A soft knock tapped against the wooden screen.

Jiraiya groaned. “Can’t even drink in peace.”

The screen slid open just enough for a palace servant to bow. “Pardon, my lord. A message has arrived. The courier said it was marked urgent.”

Jiraiya downed the rest of his cup. “Of course it is.”

He pushed himself up with a grunt, muttering something about diplomats and their impeccable timing, then nodded to Madara and Ino in turn.

“Don’t get too comfortable without me,” he said on his way out.

Madara didn’t answer. He simply raised his empty cup in a silent farewell.

When the screen slid shut again, the room felt markedly quieter. The hush wasn’t peaceful, it was expectant.

Ino reached forward, refilled Madara’s cup, then her own. Her motions were careful, deliberate. She didn’t speak first.

Madara took his time, watching the wine swirl in his cup before asking, “Does she resent me?”

The quiet held for a time.

Ino blinked. “She?”

“Sakura.”

Ino didn’t answer immediately. Her back straightened slightly, as if bracing for something.

Madara didn’t press. He only looked at her, calm and expectant.

“ I can’t imagine why Sakura-chan would feel such a way towards you, Madara-sama.” Ino responded, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

“My departure to Suna was sudden, and with the attempt on Minato’s life…”

“She’s been recovering,” Ino said finally. “The attack shook her. It shook all of us.”

Madara nodded once. “And since then?”

“She’s… scared,” Ino said. “Withdrawn. She returned to the Senju Okiya not long ago. The province lays empty now. ”

A pause. Then: “Why do you ask?”

Madara’s gaze didn’t leave her face. “Because I left her in a stable country. And I returned to find the floor ripped out beneath her.”

Jiraiya exhaled slowly.

Ino looked at him, then back at Madara. “She’s not broken, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I never said she was.”

Another silence fell, this one heavier.

Then Madara drained the rest of his wine.

Senju Okiya

Four days later, under a soft veil of falling snow, the Senju Okiya was quiet again.

Konoha remained locked in a state of uneasy calm, its gates watched, its streets patrolled but here, past the frosty gardens and the warm light of paper lanterns, the air was still. Still enough for a knock on the front gate to carry like thunder.

“…and then he had the nerve to say he’d done all the chopping!” Yoshino scoffed, slapping her cards down in a bold, reckless move that made Shikamaru wince.

Tsunade barked a laugh, her sleeve falling back as she reached for the sake bottle with a flourish. “You’re telling me your husband tried to take credit for your chef’s miso hotpot? Poor fool.”

“I said the same thing,” Yoshino sniffed, but she was smiling too, her cheeks flushed with warmth, with drink, with the rare comfort of friends. “Honestly, I don’t know how Shikaku’s survived this long. He should thank the gods every night I don’t poison his rice.”

Sakura laughed, quiet but real, her hand resting beside her half-full cup. The table was cluttered with lacquered trays: grilled salmon and vegetable stew, pale slices of pickled lotus, bowls of steaming rice slick with sesame oil — and between all of it, half-played rounds of hanafuda cards.

Shikamaru took a lazy sip of sake. “It feels strange without Naruto around. Haven’t seen him storming down the street yelling about rice balls in days.”

Sakura smiled into her cup. “No doubt he’s terrorising the Land of Whirlpools.” Her voice was wry. “They offered to take me with them. Said it’d do me good.”

Tsunade raised a brow. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with them,”

“I said I’d rather be here in Konoha,” Sakura replied smoothly, reaching for a pickled plum. “Kushina-sama understood but Naruto... Naruto looked personally offended.”

“He always does when someone declines a holiday,” Shikamaru muttered. “Poor guy thinks everyone wants to play in the snow.”

“They do, when they’re not ancient and exhausted,” Yoshino chimed in, elbowing her son. “I’m the only one in this room allowed to refuse a vacation.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Tsunade said dryly. “I heard you turned the whole Nara estate upside down last week reorganizing the storerooms.”

“Because half the clan left the Province to return to the main clan grounds,” Yoshino sniffed, folding her arms. “I needed something to keep my hands busy.”

“You could’ve gone with them,” Tsunade said, half-accusing, half-gentle.

“I could’ve,” Yoshino agreed, taking another sip of sake, “but Shikaku’s stuck here until the war council settles, so we’re using the Gion townhouse.”

“Because it’s closer to the council chambers,” Shikamaru added, already bored of this conversation and sorting through the hanafuda cards instead. “And Mother hates sleeping alone.”

“Not true,” Yoshino said. “I just hate waking up without someone to shout at.”

That made Sakura laugh, soft and surprised, and Tsunade shook her head fondly.

“Do you think Kushina-san and Naruto will stay long?” Sakura asked after a moment.

Tsunade shrugged. “Depends on the wind. But she’ll write. She always does.”

“Too much, if you ask me,” Shikamaru muttered. “Last time she sent Naruto a letter that was thirty-two pages long.”

“She loves him,” Sakura said softly.

Yoshino gave her a long, quiet look, then smiled. “We all love our boys. Doesn’t mean they aren’t idiots.”

That drew another round of laughter, fuller this time, even Tsunade chuckled into her sleeve, and Shikamaru didn’t bother hiding his smirk.

“Did he ever find the gloves you hid last winter?” she asked.

Yoshino’s eyes glittered. “He didn’t dare look for them. Walked around sulking with red fingers for a week.”

“Troublesome woman,” Shikamaru muttered behind his sleeve, more amused than irritated.

“Say that again, I’ll throw you in the snow.”

He raised a lazy brow. “It’d be warmer than the council chambers.”

Tsunade chuckled. “Yes, it has been bad”

Shikamaru exhaled through his nose and reached for the sake. “Worse than bad. Everyone’s fighting like cats. Some want to pull back our trade routes, others want to send more grain to Wind to win them over, and half the elders are waiting for Madara to return so they can stop pretending to like Itachi.”

Sakura glanced up at that, her chopsticks pausing mid-air.

“They don’t trust him?” she asked carefully.

“No. They trust him.” Shikamaru poured sake into his cup and then his mother’s. “They just don’t know him. He spent his youth on campaign with Madara, then half a decade at the Natsu outpost leading the border forces with a constant trickle of horror stories from his ruthlessness. To most of them, he’s still Madara’s enforcer.”

“He’s more than that,” Yoshino said with surprising sharpness. “And they’ll learn it soon enough.”

There was a brief hush.

Sakura folded her hands in her lap. “He’s doing what he can.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Tsunade said softly, meeting her gaze across the table. “To make sure you’re doing what you can, too.”

Sakura nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

Outside, snow settled quietly in the lantern-lit garden.

Later that night, after the cards were packed away and the laughter had dwindled to soft hums, the Senju Okiya returned to stillness.

Tsunade retired to her chambers with a soft yawn and a warning not to drink any more sake, and Yoshino and Shikamaru left soon after — muttering about early council meetings and how someone would regret the hangover more than they admitted.

Only Sakura remained in the main parlor, kneeling alone at the low table, turning an empty cup in her hands. The fire had burned low. Snow tapped faintly at the shoji screens like a second heartbeat.

The quiet was welcome.

But it wasn’t peace.

The snow hadn’t melted, it only deepened. In the space of five days, the city had grown quieter, muffled beneath a soft white hush. Carriages moved slower. Lanterns burned longer. And the wind carried the scent of ink and pine from the scroll-making quarter into the heart of Gion.

The Senju Okiya was already awake when the Uchiha carriage arrived.

Sakura stepped out in lavender silk, her sleeves lined in storm cloud grey — quiet, composed, and far colder than she looked.

Itachi was already waiting inside. The carriage wheels turned steadily through the snow, cutting pale lines through the frost-hardened roads of Gion.

Inside, it was quiet.

Thick woolen curtains dulled the sounds of the street, and only the rhythmic creak of the lacquered frame marked time. A charcoal brazier burned low between them, giving off the faint scent of pine resin, but neither seemed to notice.

Itachi sat with his hands folded, his posture relaxed but unreadable, eyes half-lidded, the tips of his fingers gloved in fine black leather. His gaze flicked once toward the window, then toward Sakura.

She didn’t speak. Not yet. Her hands were tucked neatly beneath her sleeves, her back straight, her expression composed but her eyes held a glint of something wary, something quietly bracing.

Snow gathered on the carriage roof above them.

Finally, Itachi spoke.

“We’re meeting two councilmen this morning — Ueno and Masaki,” he said, his tone calm but sharp-edged, like ink drying on a contract. “Both are from the old families. Neither is fond of feeding anyone but their own.”

He paused a moment, then added, “They were against the military relief fund. Against the Suna grain transports. And against every peacekeeping motion Madara ever proposed.”

His gaze lingered on her. “That’s who we’re dealing with.”

He didn’t wait for her reply.

“Since the fall of the Land of Grass, our continent has become a map of hunger,” he said, voice low, eyes on the brazier now. “Suna can no longer feed itself. The northern valleys in the Land of sound have been parched by war. And Lightning refuses to share grain without extortionate trade terms.”

Another pause, not for effect, just calculation.

“The Land of Fire was untouched. We are self-sufficient. Our granaries are full. For the past three years, we’ve sent our excess harvests to our allies  but the demands have grown. Too many mouths to feed. Too little trust between nations.”

He glanced toward the window, where the snowy world rolled slowly by.

“We have no choice but to act. If we do nothing, these smaller countries will starve. If we continue giving without expectation, our own people will start to turn. But if we form a strategic alliance — crops for soldiers — we can stabilize the region together. Fire and Wind.”

His eyes met hers again.

“That is the deal Minato wants. That is the deal I want. And that is the deal they”—he meant the councilmen—“intend to sabotage.”

His expression didn’t change, but something colder crept into his tone.

“They want to hoard what’s ours. They think the rest of the world’s suffering isn’t our concern. You will help me convince them otherwise.”

Sakura’s fingers tightened lightly on the edge of her sleeve.

She met Itachi’s gaze, voice soft but steady.

“I understand why the alliance is necessary… but why me? Why do I have to be the one to change their minds?”

Her breath caught briefly, the weight of the task settling over her like winter’s chill.

“They’re councilmen. Politicians used to power and tradition. I’m just… a geisha. What if I fail? What if I make things worse?”

She looked away, staring at the flickering shadows cast by the brazier.

“Itachi, I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice steady and without warmth.

“You’re not ‘just’ a geisha. You’re the daughter of the Senju Okiya. That gives you leverage others lack.”

He paused, voice dropping an octave, precise and unyielding.

“Councilmen don’t respond to threats or force. They respond to appearances, to influence disguised as grace. That is your strength, hime.”

His gaze locked onto hers.

“If you fail, it won’t be because you’re unprepared. It will be because you chose to be.”

Sakura’s eyes flickered, the chill of uncertainty still present beneath the surface.

She drew a slow breath, her hands tightening in her lap. “I don’t know if I can carry that weight.”

Itachi’s expression softened just fractionally, though his eyes remained steady and measured.

He then leaned forward slightly, voice lowering as he grabbed her hand encouragingly.

“You may not see what you’re capable of yet. But I do. I see you Sakura.”

He sat back, watching her closely.

Hokage Tower

The light in Minato’s study was soft and fading, filtering through papered shoji screens and casting long, lazy shadows across stacks of scrolls and maps.

He sat behind a low wooden desk, fingers lightly resting on a sealed letter , the handwriting was familiar, yet the weight of its contents heavier than any seal could contain.

With a practiced motion, Minato broke the wax and unfolded the paper.

The letter was brief, but the words were sharp.

Lord Kazekage remains steadfast in his obstruction. Every proposal we offer is met with veiled hostility, and his tone grows colder by the day. It’s clear he is not acting alone.

I am unsure if the alliance can be forged without direct intervention. The Kazekage’s reluctance threatens to unravel what fragile peace remains.

Minato’s lips pressed into a thin line as he read, his gaze darkening.

Outside, the wind shifted, rattling the paper lanterns.

He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his robes.

“Be strong Jiraiya-sensei.” he murmured.

Chapter Text

Ichiraku Teahouse - Winter

Laughter rippled through the Ichiraku Teahouse’s private room, warmed by the soft glow of candles and the scent of sweet rice wine. Polished game boards lay scattered between porcelain dishes of dried yuzu, roasted chestnuts, and steamed buns with lotus paste that were mostly uneaten, save for the ones Sakura had daintily bitten and placed to the side of her tray.

Masaki leaned back with a groan, his cheeks tinged pink from drink. “I’m telling you, Ueno — this girl’s cursed us.”

“I only cursed your luck,” Sakura replied sweetly, holding the dice cup between slender fingers. “Not your pride.”

Ueno chuckled, swirling his sake. “Both are already gone.”

The room was filled with warmth, not just from the brazier tucked in the corner, but from the merry haze of good food, games, and a geisha skilled in the art of subtle flattery.

Itachi, seated apart, sipped tea and offered little more than the occasional smile. He let the elders speak. He always let men like them speak.

Sakura leaned forward to roll, her sleeve slipping just enough to reveal the thin line of her wrist. The dice scattered like snowflakes. Pine and gourd.

“A win for me,” she said, tapping her lip. “Again.”

Masaki shook his head. “I need to relieve myself before you curse me further.”

“I’ll show you the way, Masaki-dono,” Sakura said brightly, standing with a graceful bow.

She led him down a narrow hall lit by candle sconces and soft gold shadows. As they walked, Masaki leaned slightly closer.

“You really are quite something,” he murmured, squinting at her face. “No wonder the meetings are livelier when you’re in the room. Less talk of tariffs, more reason to look forward.”

Sakura gave a soft, almost bashful laugh, pressing her sleeve to her lips. “Masaki-dono is too kind.”

He chuckled and excused himself. As the door shut behind him, Sakura’s smile dropped like silk. Her jaw clenched.

Old dog. I should pour sake on your lap next time.

But she took a breath, smoothed her expression, and waited. When the door creaked again, she turned with another shy smile.

“Did you find the towels to your liking?” she asked sweetly.

Masaki laughed. “You’re a treasure. Let’s not keep Ueno and the Commander waiting.”

They returned to the room, where Ueno had poured another cup for himself and Itachi. Sakura settled back between them, folding her legs neatly beneath her.

“I must say, Sakura-san ,” Itachi said, his tone calm and unassuming, “I’ve not seen that hairpin before. It isn’t of local design.”

“Oh?” she blinked, touching it as though she’d forgotten it was there. “This? It’s from Suna, actually.”

That was a lie but a purposeful one.

“Ino-chan sent it to me,” she added with a sigh, the wistfulness in her voice curling like a vine. “She always had a talent for picking things I didn’t know I needed. It’s been so long now… I do miss her dreadfully. The winter feels colder without her laughter.”

Masaki leaned in. “Ino-san and Master Jiraiya may be there longer than expected.”

Sakura blinked. “What do you mean?”

Ueno seemed pleased to know something she didn’t. “Talk is the Hokage and the Kazekage are building some kind of alliance. Fire’s crops in exchange for Wind’s soldiers. A joint effort to reclaim the Grass plains and start planting again.”

Sakura gasped, her hand to her mouth. “Truly? That’s what they’re working toward?”

“Fools’ work, if you ask me,” Ueno muttered. “Our own bellies aren’t full, and we’re tossing grain to the desert?”

Sakura’s brows drew together delicately. “Oh… that’s such a dark and depressing thought, I can’t bear to think about such a topic for much longer. Should we play again?” she offered brightly. “I’ll have the maid bring us more sake.”

She poured with practiced flourish, her laughter rising like music as she dealt the dice once more. The hour turned with games and riddles, and more than once she laughed too loudly at Ueno’s bad jokes or tapped Masaki’s shoulder with faux frustration when he beat her at fans.

Then, slowly, her smile began to fade.

One round ended. She paused, lowering her sleeve to her lap, lips pressing into a soft pout.

Ueno blinked at her. “What’s this now? Don’t look so melancholy my dear — it’s only a game.”

“Oh, it’s not the game,” Sakura said with a soft sniff. “It’s just… the teahouse has run out of pickled plums. They’re my favourite, and I’d so hoped to have them tonight.”

Masaki frowned. “Pickled plums?”

“I know,” she sighed dramatically. “It’s silly. But I thought  if I’m this upset over pickles, I can’t imagine how the people in The Wind feel. Their cupboards are truly empty.”

Silence fell like mist.

She looked away, as though ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… I feel so much sometimes. It must be my youth.”

Masaki cleared his throat. “Well. We’ll send someone for plums. You’ll have them tomorrow.”

“Oh, Masaki-dono,” she said, looking up, all soft lashes and sorrowful eyes, “you’re so kind.”

Ueno gave a gruff nod, but his voice was gentler. “Don’t worry yourself about Suna. The Hokage will decide.”

Sakura folded her hands. “My mother used to tell me the story of the swan who broke her wing and was taken in by a farmer. She wove him silk in return. It’s silly, but I always liked it. Even when we think someone has nothing to offer… sometimes, kindness reveals otherwise.”

She looked down again. “When Ichiraku makes more pickles, I’ll send a jar to Ino-chan. I wouldn’t want her to go hungry. Not like… the citizens of Suna.”

Both men chuckled.

“You’re too generous for your own good,” Masaki said, using the opportunity to place a treacherous hand over her thigh.

“Send some our way too,” Ueno added, grinning. “We’ll eat and remember you.”

Sakura giggled, brightening instantly, though all she wanted to do was smack Masaki’s hand away . “Oh, you all know where the Senju Okiya is. Call on me whenever you like — and next time, I will win again.”

They roared with laughter. The game ended. As the men began to gather their things, slipping into coats and scarves, Sakura was already waving toward the teahouse kitchen.

“Teuchi-san!” she called sweetly. “Do you think you could find any more pickled plums? I’ve made everyone desperate for them!”

The old chef laughed from behind his screen. “I’ll see what I can do, young lady.”

At the door, the councilmen bowed to Itachi.

“You’ve hosted us well, Lord Uchiha,” Masaki said. “It’s rare we’re given such ease. It might be… well, perhaps there is more to discuss regarding Wind. We didn’t consider the… long view.”

Itachi bowed low. “I will accept whatever wisdom the Council offers. I am only grateful you could rest in the company of such a fine, up-and-coming geisha.”

Masaki chuckled. “She’s should be present at more of these gatherings, do invite us to the next one.”

“I intend to,” Itachi replied smoothly.

The doors closed behind them, their laughter still echoing down the hall.

Sakura lingered a moment at the doorway of the Ichiraku Teahouse, eyes shining as she glanced back over her shoulder.

Itachi met her gaze from across the quiet room. He hadn’t moved. He just looked at her, unreadable, as always.

But she smiled anyway. A real, radiant smile.

Inside the Uchiha carriage, the mood was different. Still. Softly lit. Insulated from the cold with layers of velvet and heat stones tucked under the floorboards.

The wheels turned quietly beneath them, pulling away from the teahouse and into the winding roads of Konoha’s upper district.

Sakura was glowing.

“I think it went well. Masaki-dono smiled when I poured his sake. And Ueno-dono actually laughed, really laughed.” She glanced at Itachi, hopeful. “You said I could do this. That I could handle it. Thank you for believing in me.”

Itachi’s lips twitched into something like a smirk. “And to think I got help from a geisha.” He chuckled, light but edged with something sharp. “Unexpected, but surprisingly effective.”

He didn’t say it cruelly. In his mind, perhaps, it was a compliment, a nod to her influence. But it struck like a slap.

Sakura stilled.

“…A geisha,” she repeated, the glow in her face flickering. “That’s all?”

He looked at her again, puzzled at the sudden shift in her tone. “It’s what you are.”

Her mouth parted, not in shock, but in slow, gathering disbelief.

“It’s what I was trained to be,” she said tightly. “But you made me feel like I was more than that, you told me I wasn’t ‘just’ a geisha. Like I was your teammate. Like I had a place in all this.”

Itachi leaned back against the wooden frame, arms folding neatly. His voice lost the edge of amusement.

“You do have a place, Sakura.”

Her breath caught, too quiet to notice unless one was listening for it.

“You were useful today,” he continued calmly. “The councilmen were more pliable with you there. That’s the point, isn’t it? Painted faces and flattery to ease men into agreement. It worked. You should be proud.”

But there was no pride left in her expression now.

“And what does that make me?” she asked quietly.

Itachi didn’t answer right away.

Then, flatly: “A tool.”

Sakura blinked.

He didn’t stop.

“Tools can change history. They can shape alliances, win wars. That’s more than a geisha will ever do. Most spend their lives entertaining men who forget their names the next morning. You, at least, have the chance to do something worthwhile.”

Sakura scoffed, fire burning in her eyes at his obtuse opinions, “That’s really what you think of us?”

Her voice trembled, but it was fury barely held back.

“You think we’re ornaments? That we smile, pour tea, and vanish like smoke the moment the lights go out? You know nothing, Itachi.” Her hands were fists now, nails digging into her palms. “You see the powder and the paint and you think you’ve seen us but you never look beyond the mask.”

Her voice rose, cutting through the quiet like glass.

“You don’t see the women who were sold before they had a say. The girls who bleed through rehearsals, who dance till exhaustion because failure isn’t an option. You don’t see the choices we never had or the power we clawed back anyway. You don’t see the history that shaped us, the art we practice, or the discipline it takes to become someone that men in your position beg to be seated beside.”

She clenched her fists, breath hot with rage. “You think being a geisha means being forgotten? We’re the only ones who remember everything.”

Itachi’s expression didn’t shift. “So you remember,” he said, tone flat, “but memory isn’t power, Sakura. It doesn’t win wars.”

She glared at him. “And neither does reducing people to tools.”

A faint, mirthless smile pulled at his mouth. “People are tools. Tools that can be molded to achieve greatness.”

Then, as if to strip her argument of all its dignity, he added with quiet scorn, “But geisha? They’re just expensive bed warmers. Nothing more.”

He exhaled softly, the faint trace of a bitter laugh.

The carriage rocked gently around them. Sakura turned her face toward the window, swallowing against the sting in her throat.

The folding doors of the Senju Okiya opened with a soft shush of wood on tatami. A few maids bowed low as Sakura stepped inside, but she did not meet their eyes. Her geta clicked lightly across the entryway, the only sound in a house now long asleep.

“Shall I—” one girl began, rising to help her take off her shoes.

“No, thank you,” Sakura said softly. “I’ll manage.”

She ascended the stairs alone.

The air of her room was still, faintly perfumed from the incense she had burned earlier that morning. Her reflection waited for her in the mirror across the room, jewellery glittering, skin flushed with delicate rouge, a faint tint on her lips. She looked like the perfect apprentice.

Sakura sat.

One by one, she removed the pins from her hair, laying each one down with quiet care. Silver, gold, shell, wood — clinking softly as they met the tray. Her hair fell loose past her shoulders, heavy and warm. She unfastened her obi, her inner collar, folding them with mechanical precision.

Then she reached for the cloth by the mirror.

With practiced fingers, she wiped at the powder on her cheekbones. But the rouge clung. A stubborn petal of color beneath her eyes. She wiped again and again, until the skin beneath began to redden for real.

Her reflection blurred.

“They’re just expensive bed warmers. Nothing more.”

She could still hear it; his voice, cool as river stone. No venom. No heat. Just fact.

Slamming her hand on the table, the objects rattled with her force. She laughed bitterly, he didn’t even consider geisha to be people, let alone traditional artists with feelings and hopes and dreams of their own.

No.

To him, geisha were nothing more than upscale prostitutes, accessible for the right price.

The girl in the mirror was still smiling. Still wearing traces of the performance: the powder, the charm, the girl who had pleased the elders. Who had glowed under the praise.

Who had believed— believed —that someone had seen her for more than the mask she wore.

 With a shaking hand, she wiped the remaining makeup away.

The pigment smeared red across her palm.

And she just stared at it.

Like blood. Like proof. Like shame.

The silence wrapped around her, thick as snow.

She said nothing. No tears came. But her shoulders, slowly, sank. Her spine curled forward. And when her head finally bowed, her eyes stayed open and fixed on the floorboards as if she might fall through them.

Outside, wind tugged at the okiya shutters.

Inside, the girl they had painted to be perfect came undone — quietly, invisibly, entirely alone.

The Ichiraku Teahouse was basking in light and heat. Lanterns glowed soft gold behind panels of painted rice paper, casting a gentle flicker over the lacquered floors. Laughter rolled through the air like drumbeats.

The scent of sweet plum wine and sizzling soy-glazed eel curled around the crowds, mingling with the incense burning at each threshold. Somewhere in the back garden, a shamisen plucked lazily, drowned now and then by the burst of laughter or the crash of a cup knocked over in joy.

Sakura stepped in behind Tsunade, her obi tied in pale silver, a single winter flower pinned at her temple. Her sandals clicked against the wooden floor as she followed the curve of Tsunade’s frame through the maze of silk and laughter. Every woman in the room was beautiful. Every man slightly drunk. The air shimmered with warmth and vanity, like a court of snow foxes circling fire.

“Ah, Masaki-san,” Tsunade greeted, her voice wry and cutting through the noise like the snap of a whip.

Councilman Masaki turned toward them, smiling broadly. “Lady Tsunade. And my favorite apprentice, Sakura-san. You’re more dazzling every time I see you.”

Sakura gave a small, practiced bow. “You’ll turn my head with words like that, Masaki-sama.”

He grinned. “I still owe you and Ueno another match, you know. I’ve never been so roundly outwitted by a girl half my age.”

Sakura flushed, giggling with mock embarrassment. “Please, don’t say that in front of my mother. She’ll think I’ve been acting improperly.”

“Oh, quite the opposite,” Masaki said warmly. “You’re a credit to your house. I’ll be calling again soon.”

As he drifted away into the sea of robes and politicians, Tsunade leaned in close, raising a suspicious brow. “You want to explain that?”

Sakura opened her fan to cover her lips, leaning into Tsunade’s ear . “Itachi-san and I hosted him and Ueno-san two weeks ago. Political courtesy.”

Tsunade gave a hum, “I see.”

They made their way toward the dais, where Minato stood in soft blue robes, holding a shallow dish of sake and laughing with a cluster of elders. When he caught sight of Tsunade, his whole face lit up.

“Tsunade-shishō!” he called out, throwing his arms wide. “And Sakura-san, I’m so glad to see you both.”

Sakura bowed again, her cheeks pink from the warmth and the noise. Tsunade grabbed a cup from a passing tray and narrowed her eyes.

“This party’s lacking in proper liquor Minato, don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft.”

Minato gave a sheepish chuckle. “Maybe you’re the one who’s too generous with hers. Sakura, do you keep an eye on your mother’s drinking?”

Sakura sighed. “Aunty Shizune and I have tried everything. Locking the cellar. Hiding the cups. Begging the breweries to close. I suspect she’d drink paint if nothing else was available.”

Minato shook with laughter, even as Tsunade swatted at Sakura’s shoulder. 

Their banter dissolved into the chaos of the evening, the three of them moving around the room like a leaf in a pond. A low table had gathered a crowd of drunken councilmen and merchants, among them Masaki, Ueno, and several others with red cheeks and flushed necks. One of them spotted Sakura and immediately raised a cup.

“There she is!” he shouted. “Our undefeated champion. Come, girl—come test your skills again!”

Beside him was a younger apprentice geisha, Fumie, whose painted lips quivered into a weak smile. Her hands were tucked neatly in her lap, but her face was pale under the powder, and a thin sheen of sweat dotted her temples.

Sakura hesitated. “Are you feeling well, Fumie-san?” Shooting the girl a soothing smile.

“I’m fine, Sakura-Senpai.” the girl murmured. “Just a bit warm.”

Sakura lowered herself to the table as the men cheered. They started another drinking game, one involving riddles and forfeits, where the loser had to take two sips per mistake. Sakura let the warmth of the sake bloom in her chest, laughing easily as she outplayed Masaki twice and made Ueno groan in theatrical defeat.

Fumie, however, had barely drunk more than a few sips when her expression twisted.

“I—I’m sorry,” she mumbled, getting up unsteadily. “I need to—excuse me—”

She disappeared into the hallway without another word.

“Where’s she run off to,” one of the men muttered. “Someone fetch a maid to retrieve her.”

“I’m sure the maids are far too busy fetching more sake! I’ll fetch her instead.” Sakura said quickly, already rising. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“Now that’s a proper geisha,” Masaki called after her, raising his cup.

Sakura smiled, bowed her head, and turned away.

The hallway was dimmer than the party, lined with painted fans and winter murals. A draft crept through the cracks in the floorboards, pulling at her sleeves.

“Fumie-san, are you well?” she called gently. No answer.

She moved further down the corridor, passing shuttered tea rooms, the soft shuffle of sandals in the distance. The door to the back gardens had been left ajar, and a whisper of cold air rushed in from the dark.

Sakura slipped through.

The garden beyond the Ichiraku Teahouse was a maze of manicured hedges and twisting paths, lanterns unlit, the moon veiled behind drifting cloud. A few bamboo chimes clattered softly in the wind. The scent of wet stone and winter jasmine filled the night.

“Fumie?” she tried again, voice lower now, almost swallowed by the silence. She walked toward the koi pond, its surface ink-black, and then into the botanical grove, the thickest part of the garden.

The further she walked, the darker it became.

No signs of life. Only the rustle of branches, the squelch of her sandals on icy moss. A small breath of panic slid into her throat. She turned left. Then right. Then circled a hedge she thought she recognized only to find herself in another dead end of shadow.

“Fumie?” she whispered, this time strained. A wrong turn. A deeper darkness. Something scurried in the underbrush.

She could feel it now, the shift in the air, cold and biting. The kind of darkness that made a girl feel small again. Like a child in a vast house with too many locked doors. Her breath quickened. She stopped walking. The night felt enormous. The silence pressed against her chest like a hand.

A twig snapped nearby.

“Sakura.”

A thread of smoke curled past her cheek. She looked up into black hair, obsidian eyes. Itachi stood beside her, half in shadow, the end of a cigarette burning between his fingers.

She froze when she saw him. Not out of fear — that was long gone — but something darker, more potent. It hit her in the chest like a slap: Itachi. Standing there like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t dragged her dignity out into that carriage and gutted it with a smile.

She saw red.

Her fingers curled into the folds of her sleeves, nails biting skin. She hated the way he looked at her, cool, unreadable, like she was a chess piece he’d left in the wrong place and now had to rearrange. Like her feelings were an inconvenience. Like she was some silly girl too naive to notice when she was being used.

He had spoken to her like she was worthless.

And now here he was, stepping out from the shadows as though the garden belonged to him, as though he hadn’t dismissed her with all the grace of a blade.

Tools, he had said.

Bed warmers.

He didn’t see her rage or her poise or her fire, only utility.

She wanted to strike him. Not with her hands, but with words sharp enough to make him bleed. She wanted to humiliate him the way he had humiliated her. To strip away that carefully curated mask and make him feel.

But instead, she straightened her spine. Let him see nothing.

Let him wonder.

“This is no place for a young woman to be alone,” Itachi’s voice was a dark whisper, his presence folding around her like shadow and ice. He leaned close, so his words brushed her ear. “You never know who could be lurking in the dark.”

Sakura’s eyes flashed with fear and anger. “Maybe you shouldn’t be lurking, then!”

He chuckled, the sound low and dry, and took a slow drag of his cigarette. The ember flared briefly.

“I didn’t even know you were at the party,” she said, keeping her tone light, but there was steel beneath the softness.

“Of course I’m here,” he replied smoothly, exhaling smoke like a ghost. “Someone has to protect Minato.”

“A brilliant job you’re doing, Commander Uchiha,” Sakura shot back, voice edged with sarcasm. “Lurking in the gardens to smoke a cigarette — that’s a great way to defend the Hokage.”

Itachi’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’d love to see you do any better.”

Sakura’s eyebrows lifted in challenge. “Perhaps I will, once your cancer sticks kill you off. I didn’t even know the famous Itachi Uchiha had any vices.”

“Only expensive ones,” he said, his gaze sharpening with a hint of something unreadable.

The smell of smoke stuck to her and made her wrinkle her nose in disgust, Sakura decided to take a step back, only to slip on a hidden patch of ice. Her heart jumped as she lost balance, but before she could fall, Itachi’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her into the solid warmth of his chest.

And the scent that met her, smoke, faint sandalwood, the cold metal of winter steel, it was unmistakable. It flooded her nose and sent a pool of heat straight to her belly.

For a moment, her breath wouldn’t come. His touch was fire against the winter air.

He straightened her, deliberately slow, letting her regain her balance. Sakura found herself clutching the front of his coat, soft, high-grade uniform wool.

And when she looked up—

He was watching her.

Lit by moonlight, Itachi was devastatingly handsome.

The glow caught on his cheekbones, sharp as a blade’s edge, and shimmered across the hollows of his face. His lashes were long, dark, almost feminine and shadowed the curve of his  dark eyes, and his mouth, as always, gave away nothing. The snow hadn’t touched him. His hair was still perfectly smooth, gleaming like obsidian.

But it was his eyes that stopped her in her tracks, deep and bottomless, like the lake in winter. Eyes that saw too much. That made her feel transparent, vulnerable, caught in a net she hadn’t known was cast.

Sakura blinked up at him, face flushed, heart galloping. Whether from the fall or the closeness, she couldn’t tell. Her pulse thundered behind her ears, too loud for the quiet.

“Well,” he said dryly, voice teasing, “that was graceful. Minato will feel so very safe in your care.”

“Get off me,” Sakura demanded, trying to wriggle free unsuccessfully. “I have to find Fumie.”

“Who?” Itachi asked, eyebrow quirked.

“An apprentice,” Sakura explained, breath quickening. “We were playing a game together, and she ran off. She didn’t look well, I thought —”

“You thought what?” Itachi interrupted sharply, tone dripping with disbelief. “That you should go galloping alone through the dark like a ninja from one of Jiraiya’s idiotic novels?”

Sakura’s eyes flared with quiet fury. “She’s younger than me. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“And what will your noble concern accomplish,” Itachi challenged, voice low and dangerous, “if you fall on your face into the hedge?”

Sakura’s gaze snapped back to him. “You’re one to talk, lurking around the gardens like a —”

“Like a what?” he asked smoothly, pulling her in closer so the cold night air crackled between them. “A villain?”

”Like a man so used to being feared, he forgot he bleeds red just like the rest of us.” Sakura’s breath hitched, but she held his gaze.

“You should be careful, Sakura-hime. You’re starting to sound like one of those geisha who forgets her place.” His words were a razor’s edge.

“Better than being one of those men who pays to speak to a woman he despises,” she spat, voice sharp as frost.

Itachi’s lips curled into a dark smile, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t pay, then.”

They stood locked in the quiet storm between them, the garden around them cold and still.

Sakura stiffened at the remark, every inch of her pressed against the warm, unyielding wall of his chest. Snowflakes clung to the lacquered pins in her hair, and her breath came in short puffs that fogged the space between them. Itachi’s arm was still locked around her waist, his hands were steady and warm, his cigarette smouldering between two fingers at his side.

She opened her mouth to retort but faltered when she felt it: the slow, absentminded drag of his thumb tracing small, deliberate circles over the small of her back. The pressure was light, almost thoughtless, but it lit a low, unfamiliar heat beneath her skin. His hand rested with quiet certainty, like it had always belonged there; steady, unhurried, claiming nothing and yet saying everything.

It was soothing. Intimate. Infuriating.

“If you’re not paying for my company,” she said icily, “then kindly take your hands off me. Us ‘Expensive Bedwarmers’ aren’t free to be grabbed at your desire.”

He looked down at her slowly, like he’d only just realised he was touching her. One brow arched, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed that low, thoughtful sound of his. Then, without any rush, he brought the cigarette to his lips one final time, inhaled, and dropped it to the frost-covered stones.

His boot came down hard, crushing the embers with a hiss.

“Of course,” he said coolly, letting go of her waist with deliberate ease like she were some toy he’d grown bored of.

Without another glance, he turned on his heel and began walking back toward the path that wound out of the garden. Sakura stood in stunned silence, surrounded by the hush of frozen hedges and the far-off clamor of laughter spilling from the teahouse.

She gathered her sleeves and hurried after him, the sound of her sandals crunching over ice chasing his quiet footfalls. He didn’t slow. Didn’t look back.

And yet, when she caught up — breathless and red-cheeked — the garden path had narrowed, and his pace had eased just enough for her to follow beside him.

Close. But not too close.

As if he expected her to keep up.

Sakura returned to the low, lacquered table, her presence met with a ripple of applause and hearty voices.

“There she is!” bellowed Ueno, cheeks ruddy with sake. “We were beginning to worry you’d been spirited away by the moon!”

“I was about to send a search party,” Masaki added with a grin. “We feared the garden had swallowed you whole.”

Sakura laughed lightly, folding herself once again into the warmth of the circle. “Forgive me. My search took longer than expected, I didn’t manage to find Fumie—”

“Oh, Fumie?” a grey-haired merchant across from her interrupted. “Her sister took her home not long after you left.”

Relief passed through Sakura like breath. “Ah. Good.” Her voice dropped. “I was worried.”

“Such tenderness,” Masaki teased, swirling his cup. “You’ll make us all jealous.”

“She’s a true geisha,” said Ueno with exaggerated gravity, his fan clapping shut. “Devoted to her guests, to her sisters. Which is why—” he stood, raising his cup, “—we must resume our game at once, now that our dearest blossom has returned to us!”

Cheers followed, more cups were raised, and someone struck the table twice for good luck.

Sakura smiled and bowed slightly, her face still flushed from the cold—and something else she refused to name. She lifted her fan to hide the curl of her mouth, the breath catching at the base of her throat.

She felt it before she saw it.

A presence. Steady. Piercing.

She looked up.

Across the room, beyond the bright circle of the gathering, stood Itachi  half-obscured by a tall paper screen painted with mountains. He stood beside Shikaku Nara, their conversation low and grave, two shadows beneath a hanging lantern.

But his eyes…

His eyes were on her.

He said nothing. Did nothing.

And yet—

Behind Shikaku’s moving lips, behind the sake-slick laughter and the painted silks, behind the clatter of dice and the smoke curling from incense bowls.

He watched her.

And his eyes gleamed.

Suna - winter

The wind in the desert never truly stopped, but by late afternoon it thinned into a drier hush, a rasping breath across sandstone and silk awnings. From the balcony, Madara watched the dunes shift in slow motion, sculpted and undone again by time.

Behind him, servants whispered down marble halls, their shadows long in the light of the dying sun. Somewhere farther off, the Kazekage was entertaining a group of border merchants. Madara had politely declined the invitation.

He stood alone, a letter in hand, the seal already broken.

Dear Madara-sama,

I know I shouldn’t write to you about this. I know it may be improper, Mother forbade me from telling anyone. But keeping it from you feels wrong, and I think you’d rather know the truth than be protected from it.

Itachi came to the okiya some weeks ago.

Madara’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. Below the balcony, a pair of guards circled past the gardens, murmuring. He turned away from the view and stepped inside.

The inner room was cool, the gold-threaded curtain stirring faintly in the breeze. He sat, the letter resting in his lap.

He asked Tsunade-sama for permission to bring me to private meetings, political ones. Discreet, of course. Nothing official. His reasoning was that I could… influence certain opinions.

The state of the council has been abysmal since your departure. The council are at each other’s throats each meeting, shouting and tearing into one another. Hardly any decisions are made and while Itachi’s reputation from the border carries weight, the elders are unfamiliar with him and wary. Lord Hokage’s popularity is also sinking, half the elders attack him for a lack of action while the remainder accuse him of being too forward. Itachi believes that the key to success might not be in the Hokage Tower but in Teahouses and private parties.

At first, I felt honoured. Trusted. Like I was part of something greater. But the more I think about it, the more I realise I was just the most convenient option — an ornament with good timing. The Senju heir, a pretty face, a sociable girl. 

His jaw ticked once.

During one of our conversations, I told him I wasn’t sure I could carry the weight of it all; the pressure, the deception, the danger. He encouraged me. He told me I wasn’t ‘just’ a geisha.

And then, hours later, after I did exactly what he asked, he said something that made all of it feel hollow. He told me I was a ‘tool’ and that being a tool was better than being a bed warmer. That geisha were only ever seen that way. ‘Expensive bed warmers’ he called us. I certainly feel like a tool, a victim to his flattery and manipulative words so he could use me to further his agenda. To further whatever alliance he and Lord Hokage desperately need.

Madara’s fingers tightened slightly on the paper. He didn’t blink.

A soft knock echoed at the chamber door. He didn’t answer. The silence that followed was absolute.

I suppose I wanted to tell you because I know you don’t see us like that. You never made me feel like I was something to be used. You told me stories, you taught me names, you trusted me with ceremony and detail. I know you nurtured me with purpose but it never felt cruel.

Not like this.

I wish Itachi had inherited your sense of reverence. Your patience. Your understanding of tradition. He seems to think sentiment is weakness. That all women like me are dressed-up distractions to be wielded when needed and discarded when not.

And yet, here I am, doing exactly as he asks.

Lord Hokage hosted a gathering for the council and other esteemed guests some days ago. I believe, while certainly not his preferred pastime, that with the free-flowing wine Lord Hokage was able to diffuse some of the tensions and was able to better connect with the other council members. Only the coming weeks will tell us how successful this evening was at uniting the factions.

The last of the tea steamed quietly. Madara didn’t drink it. His gaze was fixed now,  unreadable to anyone but the shadows stretched along the walls.

 I hope you’re well. I hope you’re safe.

And if you have time, a response would be most welcome.

Yours,

Sakura

The letter rested in Madara’s lap, weighted more by what it left unsaid than what it confessed.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

The candle guttered in the dry Suna breeze, its flame bending like a bowstring before snapping upright again. Outside, the wind kicked grit against the lattice screens lika a hush, like distant applause.

She had written to him plainly, almost carelessly, in that earnest tone of hers. No flowery seduction, no desperate flattery, just the steady, uneasy words of a girl beginning to understand the value of her own presence. A girl who did not yet realise she had stopped being a girl the moment he chose her.

Madara’s thumb brushed a faint wrinkle in the parchment.

Itachi.

Of course.

He should’ve expected his nephew would eventually take Sakura into his schemes. The boy was slow to move, infuriatingly cautious, but not without potential. Madara had always wanted him in the game — not watching it. And now, at last, he was making moves. That pleased him.

But not how he handled her.

“A bedwarmer,” Madara murmured aloud, the phrase souring on his tongue.

He could picture Itachi’s voice — smooth, quiet, cruel. A blade of ice pretending to be silk.

How short-sighted.

Sakura was no mere pawn. She was a bridge, a mirror, a hand reaching between court and clan, artistry and war. The type of girl who made men underestimate her until they bled for it.

Itachi should have known better. If he didn’t, he would learn.

Madara leaned back into the shadows, expression unreadable. And yet… the council’s temperature was shifting. Sakura had said so herself — subtle, slow approval brewing beneath their sleeves, like rot beneath the floorboards.