Safehaven

by Zein_Valhein

Summary:

An ancient relic—its existence known only to a few—resurfaces, dragging Sakura into a dangerous hunt entwined with secrecy and power. What begins as a hidden mission quickly spirals into political games, with Sakura’s every move watched.

As the relic hunt collides with politics, the real question becomes not whether Sakura can endure the weight of her heritage, but how far Ino will go to protect her… even if it means smothering her beneath a love so fierce it devours, until protection and possession are the same.

 

Or:

Slug Sage and Senju! Haruno Sakura x Mokuton user Yamanaka Ino

 

COMPLETED.

 

Note: This is the fourth part of the series. It's recommended to read the ones before this.

Chapter 1

 

Sakura’s study smelled faintly of dust and sandalwood, the kind of room that held more silence than use. The polished desk was stacked with unopened scrolls, an untouched teacup cooling beside them, steam long since gone. A single lamp burned low in the corner, throwing amber light across the paper-strewn table where Sakura now sat, head bent over reports she didn't have time to do back in the hospital today. Outside, the cicadas droned in the warm evening air, the heavy summer stillness pressing against the glass panes.

 

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle its frame.

 

Sakura’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing even before she saw who stood there. Ino’s silhouette filled the doorway, shoulders tense, pale hair unbound and damp at the ends as though she’d walked through that earlier evening drizzle without caring. Her usual grace was sharpened into something dangerous.

 

“What,” Ino said, her voice tight and clipped, “did you do?”

 

Sakura blinked. “What about?"

 

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Ino stepped inside, sliding the door shut with deliberate slowness that didn’t hide the tremor of her anger. “The Council suddenly retracting their demands this afternoon? That wasn’t luck, and it sure as hell wasn’t because they had a change of heart overnight.”

 

“Ino,” she said, voice calm but guarded.

 

“Don’t ‘Ino’ me.” The blonde’s voice was clipped, precise—the kind of tone she used when she was a heartbeat away from losing her temper. “What the hell did you do?”

 

Sakura set her pen down deliberately, buying herself a second before meeting Ino’s eyes. They were sharp, blue and bright, like ice catching sunlight. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

 

“Oh, I’ll be specific.” Ino stepped fully inside, footsteps heavy on the floor as she slammed her palms on the table. “The Council. The same pompous bastards who’ve been screaming for my head on a pike for two weeks suddenly decided to retract their demands. And do you know what I heard from a very reliable source?” Her lips curled into a humorless smile. “That they had a nice little meeting with you.”

 

Sakura leaned back in her chair, hands folding on the desk. “I talked to them, yes.”

 

“Talked?” Ino’s laugh was sharp. “You convinced them, which means you gave them something. You meddled, promised them something. And I want to know exactly what you traded away to make them back off me.”

 

“I didn’t meddle,” Sakura said, standing now, keeping her voice calm. “I didn't have to trade anything. I simply talked to them.”

 

“You interfered in my work.” Ino’s tone cracked, just slightly, as if her anger was fraying into something more volatile. “I told you I was handling it. I’ve been handling it for weeks. And you—” She broke off, taking a step forward, her boots soundless on the tatami. “—decided to walk into the middle of it without telling me.”

 

“You’ve been ignoring their summons,” Sakura said sharply. “They were ready to make a full mess out of it. I just—”

 

“You just what? Decided I couldn’t handle my own damn mess?” Ino’s voice was rising now, not shouting but cutting, each word deliberate. “Or did you decide that since the Sapphire Coast, you have to wrap me in bubble wrap before I step outside?”

 

Sakura’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re twisting this.”

 

“I’m not.” Ino closed the distance between them, close enough now that Sakura could see the faint redness in her eyes, the tension in her jaw. “Ever since that island, you’ve been inserting yourself into every fight, every meeting, every problem I’m dealing with. You hover. You second-guess my decisions. You act like you have to protect me.”

 

“And what’s so wrong with that?” The words slipped out sharper than Sakura meant them to, but she didn’t pull them back. “I watched you burn an entire country to the ground for me. I’m not going to stand by and—”

 

“That’s my job, Sakura!” Ino’s hands flexed at her sides, as if resisting the urge to grab something—someone. “You don’t see me meddling with your diagnosis reports, do you? I don’t hover over you in the hospital telling you how to stitch, how to heal, how to save your patients.”

 

She took a step back, but her gaze stayed locked, fierce and aching all at once. “You don’t trust me to handle my own battles. Every time you step in, it feels like you’re saying I’m not enough on my own and I can’t—” Her voice dropped low, dangerously quiet. “I can’t be the person you lean on if you don’t believe I can stand.”

 

Sakura exhaled slowly, but her hands curled into fists at her sides. “It’s not about that, Ino. I do believe in you." Sakura’s jaw tightened. “I simply wasn’t about to let them keep pushing you into a corner. You can’t fight every battle at once.”

 

“I was fighting it. You just decided you didn’t like my pace. I had everything under control, I was handling it.” Ino’s hands flexed at her sides, restless energy practically humming under her skin. “You’ve been doing this ever since Sapphire Coast—hovering, interfering, protecting me like I’m the one who needs shielding.”

 

“That’s not what this is about,” Sakura said, though the heat in her chest betrayed her calm tone.

 

“Really?” Ino’s voice softened, but it was the dangerous kind of soft—the kind that made the air feel heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath. "Because it looks to me like you've started doubting my capabilities."

 

Sakura's eyes widened, immediately standing up from her seat and walked in front of her. "What? N-no, Ino—that's not—"

 

"Is it because I made the mistake of letting those criminals enter this village and take you right under our noses? Because I wasn’t more tight with my security—"

 

"Ino—"

 

"—or is it because ever since the Sapphire Coast, you’ve decided you need to handle me? That I’m suddenly unstable? Because newsflash, Sakura, it's my damn responsibility in this relationship to keep you safe, unstable or not!" Ino’s voice cracked at the edges, frustration laced with something rawer.

 

Sakura flinched, but her eyes flashed. “And what, I’m just supposed to sit back and do nothing while you throw yourself into danger every time?!"

 

“That’s what I’m here for!” Ino’s words were sharp, cutting through the small space between them. “I take the hits so you don’t have to!”

 

“And I’m supposed to what? Watch? Pretend it doesn’t scare me to death every single time you charge straight on into enemy lines?!” Sakura’s voice rose, trembling with the weight she’d been holding in. “What happened in the Coast could have ended badly for you! What if your Mokuton hadn't been able to save you from the blast of their artilleries?” She broke off, swallowing hard. “What if for one second, your hold against those giant waves of water snapped and drowned you out into the depths of the sea?! Do you have any idea what feeling it gave me when I read the reports?"

 

Ino’s breath hitched, but her jaw stayed tight. “And do you have any idea what it does to me when you start stepping into my line of fire? When you start making decisions about my work—my job—like you know better? Like you think I can’t handle myself?!"

 

Sakura’s fists clenched at her sides. “I’m not doubting you. I’m—dammit, I’m trying to protect you! Is that so hard to understand?”

 

Ino’s voice rose, sharp and relentless, every word like the crack of a whip. "It is when protecting me means treating me like I’m some delicate thing you have to keep behind glass. I’m not, Sakura. I never was. I grew up killing people—don’t you dare forget that. I slit throats in the dark when we were still growing teenagers. I destroyed Danzo and tore Root out from its rotting core. I stared down the God of Shinobi and stood my ground. I made a decent challenge against Madara. I faced Kaguya and didn’t blink!”

 

Her chest heaved, the veins in her neck standing out. “So don’t you fucking dare look at me like I’ll shatter in your hands. You know what I am. You know what I’ve done. If anyone here’s fragile, it’s not me.”

 

Sakura’s nails dug into her palms so hard she felt skin break, but she forced her voice low, even—though it trembled at the edges.

 

“You think I don’t know all that? You think I don’t remember every time you threw yourself into hell and clawed your way out? I know, Ino. I know better than anyone. That’s why I can’t—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard, jaw tight. “That’s why I can’t just stand by while you burn yourself out again.”

 

Ino’s lip curled, somewhere between a snarl and a broken laugh. “So you get to decide things for me now?"

 

Sakura’s restraint cracked, the composure she’d been clinging to splintering under the weight of it all. “I’m trying to keep you alive!” Her voice broke, ragged and raw. “Don’t act like you’re not doing the same thing to me. I can barely go anywhere without you knowing—without your damn agents following me like I’m some helpless civilian and not a Sage who saved the world!”

 

Ino’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second, then hardened again. “The point is, I don’t ever meddle with your work, Sakura. I trust you to handle your battles, your patients, your decisions. So don’t you dare start interfering with mine!"

 

The words slammed into the air like a thrown kunai. Silence stretched between them, taut and suffocating.

 

Until Sakura’s eyes narrowed when Ino's words truly sank, her chest rising and falling with rapid, uneven breaths. “You think I’m stepping into your work because I don’t trust you, Ino? That I think you can’t handle it?” Her voice shook with a mixture of anger and desperation. “No. I’m doing it because I can’t stand by while you put a target on yourself! Every time you throw yourself into something, I feel like I’m dying a little, and I cannot lose you.”

 

Ino gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with both fury and vulnerability. “And do you think I don’t feel the same way? Do you think I like having to monitor your every move, tail you, make sure you’re alive? I do it because I have to! Because the second something happens to you, I’ll never live with myself. And yes—it scares the hell out of me every single day!”

 

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their admissions sinking down on them. Their breaths mingled, hot and heavy, the anger slowly curdling into raw, desperate need.

 

Sakura’s voice softened, trembling. “I'm a Senju, Ino. One word of my name and they will bend. You give me everything and yet when I offer you all that I have, you never take it." Sakura looked up at her, eyes glazing with sincerity. "Use me. My reputation. My status. All of it."

 

Ino’s eyes softened, but the fire in them didn’t dim. “That’s not all you are, Sakura,” she said quietly, almost reverently. She traced a finger along Sakura’s jaw, tilting her face up. “You are a Senju by blood, yes—but you still go by Haruno. In every introduction, every report, every paper—you’ve built yourself from scratch. Every skill, every reputation you earned… it’s all because of who you are, not because of Tsunade or Jiraiya. You don’t want anyone to think otherwise, and I’ve never forgotten that.”

 

She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “That’s why I’ve never thrown your political weight around, never used your status or power as if it were mine to leverage. Because I know exactly what it means to you and I respect that… I respect you.”

 

Sakura’s chest tightened, the warmth of Ino’s words pressing against the ache in her heart. “I… I just want to give you everything I have,” she whispered, voice so small that made Ino's chest tighten a little more.

 

Ino’s gaze lingered on her, dark and intense, a storm barely contained behind the soft curve of her smile. “You’ve already given me everything. Every piece of your heart, every ounce of your strength… I feel it."

 

She paused, her fingers catching the stray strands on Sakura's face. “But not that. Not your status, you power, your name. Those things are yours, Sakura. Yours alone. But you… you’ve already given me more than I could ever ask for. Your trust, your heart, your body… every piece of you belongs to me, if I’m allowed to take it.”

 

Sakura’s knees felt weak, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered near Ino’s chest, unsure whether to push away or press closer. “I… I trust you,” she whispered, voice fragile but firm. “You can take everything. You know you can."

 

Ino’s fingers traced a slow line down Sakura’s arm, deliberate, teasing, commanding. “Good,” she murmured, her tone low and dangerous. “Because I will. And you’re going to feel every second of it, every inch of it… because l own you, and I intend to take it all.”

 

Sakura swallowed hard, a shiver running through her. Her fear, her desire, her love—it all tangled into one taut wire, vibrating between them, impossible to ignore. And Ino, sensing every tremor, leaned in, pressing her lips to Sakura’s, a dark promise and a claim all at once.

 

The kiss was not gentle. It was searing, demanding, and the air between them thickened with every heartbeat. When Ino finally pulled back, her breath was ragged, her eyes burning bright in the dim light of the study.

 

“Don’t think I’ll let this go,” she murmured, voice low, velvet-wrapped steel. A slender vine, summoned from her Mokuton chakra, curled lazily around Sakura’s wrist, tightening just enough to remind her she was caught. “You went behind my back, pet. You meddled when you promised me your trust. And now…” Her thumb brushed along Sakura’s jawline, soft, at odds with the restraint curling up her arm. “…now I have to remind you who you belong to.”

 

Sakura’s breath almost stopped, her pulse jumping. The vines crept higher, twining around her other wrist, binding her slowly, deliberately—like Ino wanted her to feel every moment of surrender.

 

Roots broke through the polished wooden floorboards, slow at first, then quick as serpents uncoiling. They twisted around her ankles, warm and alive, their pulse thrumming faintly against her skin like Ino’s chakra carried through bark and vine. The first tug sent her breath hitching, dragging her down until her knees pressed hard into the floor.

 

Her palms instinctively shot out for balance, but the roots were faster. Smooth tendrils coiled around her wrists and yanked them back behind her spine. Her body bowed forward, caught in the sudden loss of balance, chest thrust out, vulnerable.

 

Another root followed, curling around her other ankle, almost pulling her legs apart with a slow, deliberate inevitability. Every inch it climbed sent a prickle of awareness through her body, the pressure drawing her attention to places she couldn’t ignore.

 

The Mokuton felt alive—because it was alive—responding to Ino’s chakra, responding to Ino’s will. Each tendril that pressed against her thigh, her waist, her wrists wasn’t just wood. It was Ino herself, touching her everywhere at once, holding her in place, binding her to the earth.

 

The vines tightened around Sakura’s wrists behind her back. The texture was rougher here, scraping lightly against her skin as they crossed over one another, locking her arms into a helpless knot. The slight burn made her shiver. The friction was nothing compared to the deeper pressure at her hips, where thicker roots coiled around and pinned her in place, making her hyper-aware of how exposed she was becoming.

 

Her body betrayed her. Her pulse thudded in her throat, heat flooding her skin. Every nerve seemed tuned to the sensation of being restrained, of being undone. The roots crept higher, curling over the curve of her shoulders, pressing down until her chest was forced presentably forward, her breathing shallow. She gasped, the air coming fast and sharp, her body trembling at the mix of fear and desire winding tight in her stomach.

 

When the first tear of fabric came, it was startlingly loud. The roots slid beneath her clothing, prying it away with patient force, shredding cotton as though it were paper. The cool air against her newly bared skin made her flush hotter, the contrast dizzying. Every sound of tearing cloth was another declaration that she wasn’t in control, that Ino was stripping her bare in more ways than one.

 

Sakura bit her lip, her chest rising and falling as her clothes fell away in ribbons. The Mokuton caressed, but never soft enough to let her relax—always with pressure, with intention. The sensation left goosebumps blooming across her arms and thighs, a pulsing ache building deep inside her from being displayed like this, pinned and held down by her lover’s will.

 

And through it all, Ino stood above her, watching, her blue eyes burning with the same possessiveness that thrummed through every root. Sakura could feel it—Ino’s chakra, her dominance, her claim—thrumming through the living wood pressing into her skin. The restraint wasn’t just physical. It was emotional—like Ino herself was wrapping her entirely.

 

Sakura’s breath trembled as she knelt there, bound and half-bared, heat pooling in her belly, her body shaking with the knowledge that she wanted this. That she wanted her.

 

“Mistress...” Sakura started, the word breaking halfway between protest and plea. 

 

But she knew it was the call Ino needed to hear, the word that gave her the the signal that Sakura was allowing her control. She almost missed the look of warmth on Ino's face before returning her expression to the role.

 

“Quiet,” Ino’s voice cut through the room, low and sharp, a blade sliding across silk. She stepped forward, deliberate, her shadow falling across Sakura’s hunched form. Her eyes burned like fire, not cruel, but consuming, demanding. 

 

The roots obeyed her chakra as though they were her own fingers. They slid higher, curling around Sakura’s thighs, binding them apart until she was forced into a spread-knee posture. The stretch burned in Sakura’s hips, humbling, intimate, a position that made her acutely aware of just how much control Ino had over her body.

 

Sakura’s breath came in shallow bursts, ragged with frustration and raw want. The roots had spread her legs wide, keeping her helpless on her knees before Ino, her back arched by the subtle pressure of wooden tendrils across her shoulders and hips. Every inch of her skin felt alive, hypersensitive, rubbed and squeezed by the grain and texture of living wood. It wasn’t just restraint—it was stimulation, a constant reminder that she was caught, claimed, owned.

 

And Ino… gods, Ino knew it.

 

The blonde’s smirk was sharp, dangerous, her eyes lit with that molten mix of fury and hunger that made Sakura’s stomach swoop and her thighs tremble. She crouched low, close enough that Sakura could feel her breath against her flushed skin, but not close enough to give what she needed. Ino’s voice dripped venom and desire all at once.

 

“Look at you,” Ino purred, her lips brushing the shell of Sakura’s ear before biting it just hard enough to make her cry out. “So wet, so desperate… you act like you’re strong enough to stand against me, and yet here you are, begging with your body.”

 

The roots flexed around Sakura’s thighs, tightening and then loosening, mimicking the pressure of hands spreading her apart. Every pulse of movement sent heat racing through her, her body aching, clenching, trembling for more. She couldn’t stop the little whimpers that fell from her lips, couldn’t control the way her hips strained against the restraints, searching for friction that Ino cruelly refused to give.

 

“You’re beautiful like this,” Ino murmured, voice low enough to hum against Sakura’s skin. “Shaking, straining… and you haven’t even realized you’re already begging without words.”

 

Her knees ached faintly from kneeling on the floor, but even that ache was swallowed by the storm of sensation coursing through her. She was bound, bare, trembling—and the heat in her center made her entire body feel like it was vibrating.

 

Sakura tried to hold her ground, to keep her voice steady, but the roots shifted at her thighs, parting them wider with a patience that made her burn. Her breath caught—sharp, audible—and she hated that the sound was a confession in itself.

 

Ino smiled wider. She leaned closer, her breath brushing Sakura’s ear as she whispered, almost tenderly, “Say it. Say what you want.”

 

Sakura’s nails dug into the roots holding her wrists, her pride warring with the ache swelling in her body. “I… I want…” The words broke, cracked, because the next movement of the vines—just a subtle drag, an insistent press—made her hips jerk forward helplessly. “Mistress—please—”

 

The sound of that word please tore something open inside Ino. Her smirk sharpened, but her eyes softened, both predator and lover at once. She kissed the corner of Sakura’s mouth sweetly, mockingly, before drawing back just enough to speak.

 

“Please what? You’ll have to be specific, pet,” Ino teased, the title now thick with possession. She let her fingers trace the slope of Sakura’s thigh, nails grazing just enough to raise goosebumps. “Do you want me to touch you? Let you fall? Let you come apart for me?”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, her whole body shaking as though those words themselves had weight. “Yes. Gods, yes—I’m sorry, Mistress, I shouldn’t have—just—please—”

 

Ino’s expression darkened, heat flashing through her blue eyes. She kissed Sakura deeply then, hard enough to leave her lips swollen, biting down just enough to make Sakura gasp. And then she pulled away with a cruel kind of slowness, pressing her forehead to Sakura’s so she could feel every ragged breath.

 

“You want it too easy,” Ino whispered. “You think you can meddle, cross my line, then crawl back to me and get exactly what you want? No.”

 

The roots pulsed against Sakura’s thighs—mocking pressure, almost enough to tip her over the edge, but never quite. Ino guided it with cruel precision, teasing and withdrawing, dragging her right to the brink and yanking her back.

 

Sakura choked on a sound, head dropping forward as sweat beaded along her temple. “Please, Mistress, please—I need—”

 

Ino lifted her chin with a finger, forcing Sakura to meet her gaze. “Need isn’t enough. Beg properly. Beg like you mean it.”

 

The demand shredded Sakura’s defenses. Her voice broke with desperation, pleading rawly, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I’ll never go behind your back again—just please, please let me—”

 

For a heartbeat, Ino seemed to waver, as if the sight of Sakura’s tears pooling in the corners of her eyes softened something. But then she smirked again, leaned in, and kissed those tears away before whispering against her cheek, “Not yet.”

 

The roots froze, denying Sakura the friction her body craved. The absence was worse than the teasing. Her body convulsed with need, straining against bonds that didn’t budge, her pulse hammering everywhere.

 

She sobbed once, half-choked, caught between humiliation and unbearable desire. “Mistress, please—I can’t—”

 

Ino hushed her with a finger on her lips, the gesture at once tender and ruthless. “Yes, you can. You’ll hold it. You’ll hold it because I said so. Because you’re mine, Sakura, and good girls do what I say.”

 

The words struck like lightning through Sakura’s spine, her whole body tightening against the command. She nodded shakily, lips trembling against Ino’s finger.

 

And Ino smiled—dark, victorious, yet affectionate. She pressed a gentle kiss to Sakura’s damp forehead, whispering, “That’s it. Good girl. Hold it for me.”

 

Sakura’s body was no longer her own—it was Ino’s, utterly, devastatingly claimed. Every breath she drew was ragged, every inch of her skin slick with sweat, trembling under the endless caress and restraint of the Mokuton roots. She had begged already, each one stretching her to the edge of collapse, and now, her body quaked as though it couldn’t survive another denial.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

First of all, I just gotta say that this is probably the most interesting arc I've ever written about Sakura and Ino.

I will upload the chapters all at once since this is basically finished already.

Just a warning though, I think I have to remind people that this is a dark romance.

Again, if you're still here, I hope you have a happy read!

Chapter 2

 

“Pathetic,” Ino hissed, though her voice was trembling too, rich with arousal. “My brilliant, stubborn flower reduced to begging on her knees. Gods, you don’t even realize how beautiful you are when you break like this.”

 

The roots shifted again, deliberately brushing her inner thighs, grazing against swollen nerves but never giving the final push. It was unbearable—every tease like a spark that could never ignite into flame, every almost-touch a reminder that Ino controlled her entirely.

 

Ino leaned closer, her lips hovering just above Sakura’s trembling mouth, her voice a growl. “You want me to let you cum, don’t you? You want it so badly you’d do whatever I ask for it."

 

“Yes!” Sakura sobbed, her hips jerking uselessly against the vines. “Yes, I want it, please, Mistress, I’ll do anything—”

 

Ino chuckled darkly, low in her throat, the sound vibrating against Sakura’s skin as she kissed down her jaw, biting hard at the junction of neck and shoulder until Sakura gasped. “Anything, huh? You’d let me ruin you again and again, wouldn’t you? You’d let me remind you who owns this body, who decides when you get to feel good, when you get to fall apart.”

 

Sakura’s answer was a strangled cry, her body shuddering against the wood’s grip, every nerve ending screaming for release.

 

But Ino didn’t give it. Not yet.

 

She pulled back, smirk curling like a blade. “No. Not until I decide you’ve earned it. And right now, you haven’t. You’ll stay right there, desperate and dripping, until I’m convinced you’ve learned your lesson.”

 

Her words sank into Sakura like a brand—equal parts humiliation and ecstasy. Every denial was agony, but every second under Ino’s control only pulled her deeper, wound her tighter, made her want it more.

 

The roots squeezed again, teasing her with just enough sensation to keep her on the edge but never allowing the fall.

 

Sakura sobbed against the restraint, her forehead pressing to Ino’s thigh, body writhing as much as it could against the hold. “Please, Mistress, please—I’ll be good, I’ll never go behind your back again, I’ll do anything—just let me cum, please—”

 

But Ino only dragged her nails down Sakura’s back, slow and sharp, before whispering the cruelest word of all:

 

“Not yet.”

 

The roots shifted again, alive with Ino’s chakra, brushing Sakura’s thighs, her stomach, the small of her back, as though savoring every twitch of her trembling frame. They cinched her posture back into humiliating perfection—kneeling, back arched, arms restrained so tightly that even the smallest movement felt impossible. The pressure of the wood dug into her skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that there was no escape.

 

“Mistress,” Sakura gasped, her voice half-broken, lips swollen from biting down on them so hard. “Please… I can’t take it anymore—”

 

A vine slid along her side, tightening against her waist, a deliberate shiver of command. Ino’s voice came low, velvet-dark, brushing against Sakura’s ear with cruel sweetness.

 

“You can’t what, pet?” She murmured, her lips grazing the shell of Sakura’s ear. “Can’t take another second of this? Can’t keep yourself from falling apart? Or can’t admit how much you love being under me like this?”

 

Sakura shuddered violently, her head tipping forward, hair spilling over her face. She couldn’t answer, not without betraying everything. And yet her silence was an answer of its own.

 

Ino chuckled—low, amused, predatory. “Gods, you’re shaking,” she whispered, fingertips trailing down Sakura’s chest, light as a feather, before pinching her hardened nipple, causing another strangled moan. “You’re trembling like you’re about to break. And you want me to let you? Just like that? After you went behind my back?”

 

The roots pulsed again, dragging Sakura’s thighs wider once more after Sakura tried to close them. She groaned, the sound desperate and raw, hips jerking instinctively against her restraints. But Ino caught the movement, held her tighter, denying her even that small freedom.

 

“Please!” Sakura sobbed, lifting her face finally, her green eyes blurred with tears, mouth parted in helpless pleading. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll never—I’ll never meddle again, just please—”

 

Her words dissolved into a ragged gasp as Ino cupped her chin, tilting her head up sharply. Their eyes locked—blue fire against emerald storm—and Ino’s gaze pinned her more ruthlessly than the vines ever could.

 

“Say it properly,” Ino commanded, her tone sharp, almost cruel, but undercut with that intimate softness only Sakura could ever hear. “Say you belong to me. That you’re mine."

 

Sakura’s lips trembled. The confession burned on her tongue, searing her pride, but she was too far gone, too desperate, her body wound tight as a bowstring. “I’m yours,” she gasped, voice cracking. “Mistress—I’m yours, only yours, please—”

 

The words hit Ino like lightning, her pupils dilating with a rush of possessive satisfaction. She leaned in, kissing Sakura with bruising force, her tongue claiming, devouring, silencing her pleas. When she pulled back, Sakura was panting into her mouth, broken and needy.

 

But Ino wasn’t merciful—still not yet.

 

Her hand slid down, almost granting what Sakura begged for, almost letting the pressure tip her over the edge—then stopping, pulling back just as Sakura cried out, body convulsing with denial. The roots shifted in tandem, tightening cruelly against her thighs and waist, locking her in place as if mocking her helplessness.

 

Sakura screamed—a sound of pure frustration, her body wracked with sobs. She collapsed against the restraints, forehead pressing to Ino’s chest, whimpering like she might collapse completely.

 

Ino stroked her hair almost tenderly, fingers weaving through sweat-soaked pink strands, her lips brushing Sakura’s temple. “Not yet, Love,” she murmured, sweet poison in her voice. “Not until I say. You’ll hold it for me. You’ll suffer for me. And when I finally let you break, it’ll be because I decided you’ve earned it.”

 

The duality of her words—the cruelty of denial laced with the intimacy of her call sign—made Sakura’s whole body seize with longing. She clung to Ino’s voice like a lifeline, nodding frantically even as tears streaked her cheeks.

 

“Good girl,” Ino whispered, savoring the sight of her trembling, desperate lover. “You’re mine, and I’ll decide when you shatter.”

 

Sakura was no longer sure how many times her breath had caught in her throat. Her body burned, every inch of skin a canvas painted with pressure—roots tightening and loosening, brushing and pulling, each touch designed by Ino’s will.

 

Her thighs ached from being forced apart, spread wider than she’d ever dared on her own. The vines that held her were mercilessly patient, digging against the sensitive hollows of her hips, her breast, her wrists, pressuring her neck, the backs of her knees, her waist. Every squeeze reminded her that she wasn’t moving anywhere. Not unless Ino allowed it.

 

Sweat ran down her back, dripping into the waistband of what little clothing still clung to her body. The roots had shredded most of it away—teasing, tearing piece by piece until her chest was bared, until the night air kissed her flushed skin.

 

Her hand trailed lower, sliding down the trembling line of Sakura’s throat, pressing just enough to remind her of the pulse hammering beneath. She didn’t squeeze—she didn’t need to. The vines did everything. They were Ino’s hands, Ino’s will, everywhere at once.

 

When Ino’s fingers brushed between Sakura’s thighs, Sakura sobbed—a sound caught between pleasure and desperation. Her body arched against the bindings, straining, muscles quivering. She was wet, unbearably wet, slick heat betraying how much she wanted release.

 

But Ino only traced her, never entering, never giving. Her fingers and the roots stroked the edges of sensation, fanning the flame but never letting it burn free.

 

The first denial had left Sakura panting, stunned at how close she’d been. The second had shattered her composure—crying openly, voice cracking as she begged. The third almost completely ruined her. The fourth had her desperate, so desperate she was willing to do anything to be granted release. Until it extended to fifth, the sixth—Sakura lost count when she was edged for the tenth time and didn't bother noting. All she wanted was to come, even just once—but she hadn't earned it. Always not yet.

 

Her hips jerked involuntarily, grinding against nothing, searching for friction she couldn’t have. Every time her body trembled on the edge, Ino would stop—pull her hand away, ease the pressure just enough to let the desperate wave recede.

 

“Not yet,” Ino whispered, leaning close to kiss the tear from her jawline. “You’re not breaking yet, pet. I want you right on the edge, trembling for me.”

 

Sakura sobbed again, shaking her head weakly, hair damp and sticking to her flushed skin. “Mistress, I—I can’t… I can’t hold it anymore…I really can't..."

 

“Yes, you can,” Ino said firmly, brushing her thumb across Sakura’s swollen lower lip. “You’re strong enough. You’re mine. Hold it for me.”

 

Another wave rolled through Sakura, sharp enough to make her scream into the dark. Her arms strained uselessly against the roots that pinned them behind her back. Her thighs trembled violently, every muscle tight with need. Her chest rose and fell in frantic heaves.

 

And then suddenly—her body jerked hard, too hard. The roots quivered with the motion, shuddering as Sakura’s muscles fought against them, unbidden. Her breath hitched in a way that wasn’t entirely lust, wasn’t entirely surrender. It was not the shiver of pleasure Ino had come to know, not the writhing she drew out so carefully, but a violent spasm that seized her all at once.

 

For a moment, Ino froze.

 

Her hands stilled. The roots slackened their pull, still holding but loosening just enough that Sakura could feel the sudden shift. It was like a rope stretched to breaking suddenly gone soft, and the absence of pressure made the air in the room feel sharp, heavy. Her breath hitched—high, sharp, broken.

 

It felt wrong.

 

Ino’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic flashing in her chest. She leaned forward immediately, cupping Sakura’s flushed face in her palms. “Sakura,” she said quickly, the usual velvet of her voice cutting sharp now, urgent. “Color. Right now.”

 

Sakura murmured something inaudible, like she was too far gone to catch the command. Her breath rattled in her throat, broken and uneven. Ino’s heart leapt into her mouth. She shook her head once, blonde hair falling around them like a curtain. “Baby—look at me. Color.”

 

Sakura’s head lolled forward. For a sickening heartbeat, she didn’t respond—her lips parted, a faint, rattling breath tearing from her throat but no words followed. Her lashes fluttered like she couldn’t quite force her eyes open.

 

“Sakura," her chest seized, pulse spiking as panic threaded through her stomach as she called again, with thumbs brushing fevered skin that felt too hot, too damp. "Focus on me, please."

 

Ino’s stomach lurched. Gods no—did I push her too far? Did I—

 

Her heart hammered so hard it made her lightheaded. She shook her head once, blonde hair falling forward, creating a curtain around them as if she could shut the rest of the world out. Her voice broke, raw with desperation.

 

“Baby. Look at me. Please—color.”

 

Her thumb stroked frantically across Sakura’s cheek, grounding her, begging for any sign.

 

Finally—finally—Sakura’s lashes dragged upward. Her eyes cracked open, hazy, glassy green swimming with tears. Her pupils were blown wide, disoriented, and for one gut-wrenching second, Ino thought she might not recognize her at all.

 

“Come back to me,” Ino whispered fiercely, forehead pressing to Sakura’s as though touch alone could anchor her. “Sakura. You're safe. I need your color.”

 

Sakura blinked. Her lips trembled, then parted, but what came out first was only a gasp, a thin, broken thread of sound. She swallowed convulsively, throat working around the dry ache there. Her gaze darted, unfocused, before locking back on Ino.

 

Sakura’s eyes cracked open, hazy green and glazed with tears. For the smallest, gut-wrenching moment, Ino thought she might say nothing at all—that she might have pushed too far. But then Sakura’s lips parted and a gasp tore free, shaky but certain.

 

“Yellow,” she whispered, voice raw.

 

Relief didn’t flood Ino so much as crash through her. Her knees almost buckled with it. But before she let herself breathe, she searched Sakura’s face again.

 

Sakura's throat worked, swallowing hard before she pushed the word again, firmer this time, anchoring herself. “Yellow, Ino. But don't stop.” Her body trembled against the bindings, skin flushed, veins thrumming under the surface. She dragged in a ragged breath, shuddering from crown to toe.

 

She shifted weakly in the bindings, a tremor rolling through her body like an aftershock, her skin flushed scarlet, slick with heat. Every vein seemed to pulse visibly beneath the surface, and still she rasped the words again, sharper now, defiant. “Please—please, don’t stop.”

 

Ino’s chest loosened at once, the spike of fear melting into something deeper, heavier. Relief and desire tangled so fiercely that she thought it might undo her. She pressed her forehead more firmly against Sakura’s, grounding them both, before kissing her. Not the punishing kiss of before, but something slow, trembling, reverent. A kiss that let Sakura breathe into her, steady herself, remember where she was—who she was with.

 

“You scared me,” Ino murmured, her voice thick, trembling in a way she rarely let anyone hear. She kissed her—slow, soft, lingering, letting Sakura breathe into her mouth, not demanding, not claiming, just holding. The taste of salt and heat and trust filled her tongue.

 

Sakura kissed back, weakly at first, then with firmer pressure, like pushing through fog. Her body sagged forward into the touch, surrendering not from exhaustion alone but because she chose to. She dragged in a shuddering breath and whispered against Ino’s mouth, “I’m okay.”

 

“Are you sure?” Ino pulled back just enough to see her properly, eyes burning into hers. Her thumbs swept across her jawline, grounding, soothing. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Not tonight. Not ever. If this is too much, if your body’s screaming stop even if your mouth won’t—I need you to tell me. I’ll stop. I swear I’ll stop.”

 

Sakura’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath dragging deep into her chest. Ino could see the inward turn—the deliberate moment of self-check, of dragging herself through the haze and testing her limits.

 

Her heart was pounding so hard it made her ribs ache. Her lungs were raw, dragging ragged air in and out. Her thighs trembled violently against the vines, every muscle burning with tension. But beneath the ache, beneath the heat, she could feel it still: the steady center, the line between pain and desire. The roots dug into her skin, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was grounding. The trembling wasn’t breaking. It was need.

 

Sakura opened her eyes again, fixing them on Ino’s. Clearer this time, sharper despite the tears.

 

“I can keep up,” she said firmly, the words ragged but true. Her lips quivered, but she breathed through it, steadying herself. “I want to keep up. I need this, Ino.”

 

Ino’s chest clenched, eyes softening as tears prickled at her own lashes. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sakura’s temple, letting it linger. Her voice dropped, reverent and sure.

 

"Then give me your color."

 

"Green, Mistress."

 

Ino’s throat tightened, but she nodded slowly. She brushed damp strands of pink hair from Sakura’s temple, pressing a kiss there like a seal. “Good girl,” she whispered, every syllable low and careful, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile balance. “Thank you for telling me. I’ve got you.”

 

The roots shifted again, subtly re-tightening, but gentler this time. Not punishment, not pressure—just presence, a reminder that she was still held, still anchored.

 

And as Sakura exhaled, trembling but resolute, Ino pressed her lips to hers once more, grounding them both in that choice, in that single green light burning bright between them.

 

Ino’s lips lingered at the corner of Sakura’s mouth, trailing downward until they brushed her jaw. She didn’t move fast; she let the kiss dissolve into a slow drag of breath across Sakura’s skin, warm and deliberate, her thumb circling against the damp inside of Sakura’s wrist where the roots had curled loose just enough. Sakura’s pulse thundered beneath her skin, frantic, stuttering, but steady enough.

 

“You’re still here,” Ino murmured, almost reverent, letting her words hover just above Sakura’s ear. “Still with me.”

 

Sakura managed the barest nod, hair sticking to her damp temples. Her lungs clawed for air in heavy pulls, but she drew one in deep and purposeful just to prove to herself she could. She whispered, “With you.”

 

That was enough for Ino. She kissed her forehead once, then straightened, the weight of her gaze shifting—softer warmth hardening into that familiar steel again. Her hands slid down along Sakura’s arms, reclaiming her hold as the roots slowly pulled taut again. Not crushing this time, not punishing, but reclaiming. Containment with just enough give to make Sakura aware that she was at Ino’s mercy.

 

“Then we keep going.”

 

The words alone made Sakura’s stomach flutter. Her body tensed as if bracing—then melted at the press of Ino’s palm to her thigh, coaxing rather than forcing. She whimpered, part relief, part anticipation, hips already twitching like she couldn’t help herself.

 

This time Ino didn’t make her wait long. She slid her hand in slow, measured strokes, edging her carefully, watching Sakura’s every reaction. The pace wasn’t cruel anymore; it was knowing, calculated. She’d push her right to the edge and pull back just enough to let her teeter, but not enough to break.

 

Sakura gasped, her head rolling against the roots that framed her. “Please,” she rasped, the word spilling out almost instantly. No buildup this time, no restraint. Just need.

 

Ino’s mouth quirked faintly, though her eyes stayed intent, tracking every twitch of Sakura’s body. She pressed closer, lips ghosting along her temple. “I know. I know you want it.” Her fingers shifted, pressure building just enough that Sakura’s whole body jolted, thighs straining against the living restraints.

 

She nearly came right then—nearly. Ino felt the shiver spike through her, the trembling coil pulling taut, and she slowed deliberately, grounding the edge just before it snapped.

 

Sakura sobbed. There was no other word for it, a broken, needy sound that cracked from her throat. “Mistress—I can’t, I can’t—please, please let me—”

 

Ino kissed the corner of her mouth again, softer this time, a ribbon of mercy laced into the dominance. “You’re going to. Soon. I promise.” Her voice dipped, pledge heavy. “But not yet.”

 

The denial should have crushed Sakura, but the way Ino said it—like an oath—made it bearable. Made it worse and better all at once. She arched desperately into Ino’s hand, chasing friction, but Ino controlled every ounce of it.

 

She didn’t pull away completely this time. She let Sakura ride the edge, trembling, whimpering, begging. She guided her through it instead of abandoning her there, making her endure it but not alone.

 

“Stay with me,” Ino whispered against her ear, tone commanding and tender in the same breath. Her pace quickened just a fraction, enough to make Sakura’s vision blur. “You’re almost there.”

 

Sakura sobbed again, tears streaking hot against her flushed cheeks, her body trembling so violently the roots quivered with her. Her voice was ragged, pleading without restraint. “Please—I’ll do anything—just, please—”

 

And Ino’s reply was quiet but absolute, the kind of vow that wrapped around Sakura like chains and sanctuary both:

 

“You already are. You’re mine. And I’m going to take you all the way.”

 

Ino could feel it now—the tremors running through Sakura weren’t just from restraint. Her whole body was a taut string on the verge of snapping. Every shallow breath, every desperate arch of her back, every strangled whimper of “please” told Ino the same thing: Sakura’s limit was not only close, it was already quivering in her grasp.

 

Ino leaned down, lips brushing against her ear, soft but commanding. “That’s enough, my flower. You’ve bled yourself on the edge for me long enough.”

 

The roots flexed once more, not with restraint this time, but with release. They loosened, peeled back just enough to allow the pressure that had been building in Sakura’s body to surge toward its inevitable crest.

 

Ino’s hand never left her, fingers slick and sure, stroking with a pace that was no longer teasing but deliberate, devastating. She wasn’t cruel now—no more denial, no more stops and starts—just a steady, merciless rhythm that drove Sakura straight toward the edge she had been clawing at for what felt like hours.

 

Sakura’s body convulsed. Every nerve screamed, every muscle shuddered. The ache in her thighs gave way to fire, trembling violently as the tension that had been coiled inside her finally began to snap.

 

Her breath tore out of her in ragged, broken gasps. “Miss—Misstress—I can’t—I can’t—” Her voice was high, almost panicked, but it wasn’t fear. It was the desperation of release.

 

“I know,” Ino murmured, lips brushing her ear as her hand pressed harder, sliding with unrelenting precision. Her other hand cradled Sakura’s face, holding her steady as she shook. “Let go, pet. Don’t fight it anymore. I’ve got you. Always.”

 

And then it broke.

 

Sakura’s cry split the air, raw and unrestrained. Her body bowed hard against the restraints, veins standing out along her neck and arms as wave after wave ripped through her. The roots dug into her skin as she arched, thrashing in the hold, every muscle seizing with unbearable intensity.

 

Her world went white. The pressure in her chest burst into searing heat, coursing out through every trembling limb. She sobbed as she came, breathless, voice shredded by the sheer force of it.

 

Ino held her through all of it. Her hand never faltered, drawing out every tremor, every convulsion, until Sakura was shuddering so violently her vision blurred with tears. Ino kissed them away as quickly as they fell.

 

“That’s it,” she whispered, her own voice shaking with awe. “That’s it, my love. Let it all go.”

 

Sakura couldn’t even speak. She clung to Ino with what little strength she had left, trembling helplessly in the roots as her climax tore through her again and again, aftershocks making her hips jolt and her breath break into uneven sobs.

 

The world narrowed to sensation—the unbearable overstimulation, the throbbing heat between her thighs, the ache in her bound limbs. But beneath it all was Ino: steady, grounding, whispering her back into herself.

 

When at last the storm began to ebb, Ino slowed. The roots loosened further, easing their grip so Sakura could sag into Ino’s waiting arms. Her chest still heaved with ragged breaths, skin damp with sweat, strands of pink hair sticking to her flushed face.

 

Ino pressed a kiss to her temple. “Breathe with me,” she murmured, chest rising and falling against Sakura’s back, guiding her pace. “In and out. That’s it, love.”

 

Sakura followed, shaky but obedient, matching Ino’s rhythm until her body began to calm, though the tremors still danced through her muscles.

 

“You’re shaking so much,” Ino whispered, a tender awe in her tone. “Gods, you’re beautiful like this. But we’re done now. You did so good for me.”

 

Sakura gave a weak, broken laugh, voice hoarse. “Y-you… really went hard there."

 

Ino chuckled softly, brushing damp hair from her face. “You really scared me there. Thank you for staying with me, you did good."

 

She kissed her again, long and grounding, until Sakura melted into her touch completely. The roots finally fully retracted, releasing her wrists and ankles. Without hesitation, Ino pulled her in tighter, cradling her as if she were fragile porcelain, even though she knew her lover was anything but fragile.

 

Sakura collapsed into her chest, boneless, utterly spent. “I can’t feel my legs…” she mumbled.

 

“That’s fine. You don’t need them right now. Just rest.” Ino stroked her back in slow circles, letting the aftershocks run their course. “I’ve got you.”

 

And for long minutes, that was all there was—the sound of Sakura’s trembling breaths, the slow return of steadiness, and the warmth of Ino’s arms keeping her tethered.

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The room felt impossibly quiet after the storm they had just weathered. Sakura’s body lay limp in the tangle of sheets, every muscle trembling with the force of what she had just endured. Her chest heaved, each inhale shuddering as if her lungs were trying to catch up with the sheer demand of oxygen her body had burned through. Sweat clung to her flushed skin, dampening the fine strands of pink hair plastered to her temples.

 

Ino stayed with her on the floor of the study for a long while, murmuring soft things against Sakura’s hair, stroking her back in long, steady passes. Sakura’s chest was still hitching with those uneven aftershocks—half-breaths, half-sobs, her body trying to catch up to itself after being wrung so mercilessly.

 

"Shh, you're alright now." Her dominant tone from before was gone, stripped away. What remained was something softer, rawer—an open wound of love and worry. She reached up, brushing Sakura’s hair back from her sticky forehead with the tenderness of someone touching something precious and breakable.

 

Sakura’s eyes fluttered half open. They were glassy, unfocused, but she still tried to meet Ino’s gaze, as if tethering herself to that anchor was the only thing keeping her grounded.

 

“There you are,” Ino murmured, kissing her temple. “That’s it. Just look at me. You’re safe.”

 

Her hands—so merciless before—were now a balm. She rubbed circles into Sakura’s arms, her back, coaxing every knotted muscle to release. One hand cradled the nape of Sakura’s neck, feeling the damp warmth of her skin, while the other stroked slowly down her spine.

 

“You’re alright, love,” Ino whispered again, grounding herself as much as she was grounding Sakura. She tilted her head to press another kiss into Sakura’s temple, feeling the damp strands of hair clinging there. “Breathe with me—nice and slow, match me. That’s it… good girl.”

 

Sakura tried, shaky at first, but then her inhales began to fall in rhythm with Ino’s, little by little. Her trembling didn’t stop, but it softened—less frantic, more like the ebb of a tide instead of a storm.

 

“You did so good for me tonight,” Ino whispered, rocking her slightly, as though soothing a child. “I’ve never seen you hold out that long. Gods, you’re incredible.”

 

Sakura’s lips moved against her shoulder, forming a sound that barely qualified as speech. “You… cruel…”

 

Ino smiled faintly, brushing her nose through pink hair. “Mhm. And you still begged me not to stop.”

 

That earned her a weak, breathless laugh, muffled against her. The sound made Ino’s chest ease—it meant Sakura was here, really here, no longer teetering on the edge of slipping away into pure exhaustion.

 

When Sakura’s body finally sagged into her fully, pliant and heavy in her arms, Ino knew she couldn’t leave her on the study floor any longer. The floor beneath them wasn’t forgiving, and Sakura deserved the softness of their bed.

 

“Alright, my little flower,” she murmured, shifting carefully. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

 

Sakura made a tiny noise of protest when Ino began adjusting her hold, but Ino hushed her with another kiss, whispering, “I’ve got you.”

 

With practiced ease, Ino slipped one arm under Sakura’s knees and the other around her back. The motion made Sakura stir, clutching weakly at Ino’s shirt, but Ino only held her closer, lifting her fully off the ground. Sakura wasn’t heavy to her—not anymore. Ino’s training and Mokuton strength made carrying her effortless, but it wasn’t the physical weight that she noticed. It was the way Sakura curled against her chest, trusting completely, too tired even to resist.

 

The study doors whispered open, and the quiet hallway beyond seemed to welcome them, dim and warm. Ino padded slowly down the short stretch, every step deliberate, as though the slightest jostle might undo the peace Sakura had just found.

 

She nudged open their bedroom door with her shoulder. The familiar scent of lavender and clean linen drifted out, soft light spilling from a lamp on the nightstand. Relief warmed her chest. This was their sanctuary.

 

Ino then proceeded to the bathroom with care, the sound of her footsteps softened by the tiles as she carried Sakura close against her chest. The smaller woman’s head lolled against Ino’s shoulder, pink strands damp against her flushed cheek. Ino shifted her grip just enough to open the tub faucet, letting warm water gush and steam into the porcelain basin.

 

She crouched, lowering Sakura slowly until her feet touched the floor, steadying her with an arm still around her waist. “Easy,” she whispered, pressing her lips briefly to Sakura’s temple. “I’ve got you. Always.”

 

Sakura leaned against her, the fight still trembling out of her muscles, and Ino gently guided her into the rising water. She let Sakura settle with a sigh as the warmth wrapped around her body.

 

Kneeling behind her, Ino dipped a pitcher into the tub and poured water down Sakura’s back, watching it bead and roll over her pale skin. She was careful, reverent, her hands smoothing over Sakura’s shoulders as if to remind her that she eas safe.

 

“Good girl,” Ino murmured against the curve of her ear. “You did so well for me tonight. I’m so proud of you.”

 

Sakura’s lashes fluttered, a soft sound catching in her throat—half relief, half exhaustion. She tilted her head back just enough for Ino to cradle her chin, lifting her face out of the steam.

 

Ino reached for the small vial of lavender soap and worked it between her palms until it lathered. Then, with slow, deliberate motions, she began to wash Sakura’s arms, trailing from her shoulders to her wrists. Each pass was tender, as though she could erase the shivers still lingering in Sakura’s muscles.

 

“Breathe with me again, one more time,” Ino said softly. “In… good. Out… there you go.”

 

Sakura obeyed, though ragged at first, her chest rising and falling more steadily as Ino guided her through each breath.

 

When she reached Sakura’s hair, Ino filled the pitcher again, pouring it gently until the pink strands were slick and heavy. She massaged shampoo into the locks with her fingertips, working slowly at her scalp. Sakura sighed, eyes slipping closed as though the motion untangled something deeper than her hair—like Ino was combing through every knot of strain and fear.

 

“Feels nice?” Ino asked, voice lilting but soft.

 

“Mm… perfect,” Sakura murmured, nearly slurring with drowsiness. "Thank you, Ino."

 

“Good.” Ino bent to kiss the crown of her head. “You just let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything else.”

 

She rinsed the suds carefully, then followed with conditioner, never rushing. Every stroke through Sakura’s hair was an affirmation—of patience, of devotion, of love she couldn’t always put into words.

 

By the time Ino reached for a soft cloth to wash Sakura’s legs, the other woman was pliant in her hands, her head leaning back against the tub’s edge, lips parted with faint, sleepy breaths. Ino lingered over her knees, her calves, her feet, rubbing in small circles until she felt the last of the tremors stilling beneath her touch.

 

“There,” Ino said at last, wringing out the cloth. “All clean. My beautiful, strong Sakura.” She kissed her damp shoulder, nuzzling briefly. "You're always safe with me."

 

Sakura opened her eyes, glassy but shining, and whispered in a voice roughened by everything they had just shared: “I know.”

 

The sincerity of it stole Ino’s breath. She pressed her forehead to Sakura’s damp hair, holding her for a long moment in the warmth and the quiet rush of the water.

 

Finally, Ino helped her rise carefully from the tub, wrapping her in the fluffiest towel she had laid out before bringing her here. She dried her slowly, methodically, as though even the act of patting away droplets was part of the ritual of mending.

 

When she was finished, Ino scooped Sakura into her arms once more, swaddled in warmth, carrying her back toward the bedroom.

 

“You’re mine,” Ino whispered as she went, not possessive but reverent, almost like a prayer.

 

“And you’re mine,” Sakura answered softly, her arms tightening weakly around Ino’s neck.

 

Ino carried Sakura back into their shared bed, arms steady despite the fatigue weighing on her own body. She set her down carefully on soft mattress, the sheets already turned down, then slipped into gentleness—fetching the robe.

 

“Arms,” she murmured, coaxing Sakura into lifting them just enough. She slid the robe over her shoulders, tying it loosely at her waist so she wouldn’t feel constricted. The soft cotton draped against damp skin, making Sakura sigh as though even fabric felt like comfort.

 

Once she was settled, Ino uncapped a small ceramic jar and dipped her fingers into the balm inside. Its faint herbal fragrance—camphor, mint, something floral—rose into the air as she rubbed it between her palms to warm it. Then she began working it gently onto Sakura’s skin, starting at her neck where faint marks from the vines still lingered.

 

Her touch was feather-light, reverent. She traced each bruise as though memorizing it, easing the balm in with slow circles. “You’re beautiful,” Ino whispered against her temple. “Even when you’re marked up like this. Especially then.”

 

Sakura shivered softly but didn’t speak, only leaning into the touch, her breath easing out in uneven waves as Ino moved from her arms down along her ribs. She tended to every place the vines had pressed too tightly, her fingertips soothing away the ache with balm and kisses alike.

 

A soft knock broke the quiet. Ino lifted her head, sensing the presence she’d already called for in her mind while she was bathing Sakura earlier. She stood up and went to the door, the maid balancing a silver tray with a pitcher of water and a single glass. She bowed quickly, eyes respectfully lowered, and gave it to Ino.

 

“Thank you,” Ino said gently, her tone softening just for this. The maid nodded and withdrew without another word.

 

Ino set the tray down on a nearby table, poured a glass, but when she turned back, Sakura’s eyes were half-lidded, already following her every movement. She smiled faintly, too tired to reach for it herself.

 

Ino’s heart tugged. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, sliding an arm around her shoulders to lift her just enough. With the other, she held the glass to Sakura’s lips, tilting it carefully so she could sip. “Slow. Just a little at a time.”

 

Sakura obeyed, letting the cool water soothe her throat. When she finished, Ino set the glass aside, easing her back against the pillows, and stroked her long pink hair out of her face.

 

Ino sat perched on the edge of the bed, her hand never straying far from Sakura’s. The room was dim now, lit only by the faint golden glow of a single lamp. The air carried that faint, comforting scent of the balm she’d just rubbed into Sakura’s skin, a clean coolness lingering over bruises still fresh from where her vines had held her tight, but never enough to leave any lasting marks.

 

She traced light circles on the back of Sakura’s hand, grounding her without pressure, her voice a whisper that seemed made for this hush. “You’re safe. You did so well, Sakura… my strong, stubborn girl. Always pushing further than anyone expects.”

 

Sakura gave a tiny hum of acknowledgment, lids heavy, lashes trembling against flushed cheeks. She shifted just enough to curl into Ino’s warmth, and Ino adjusted instantly, pulling the robe tighter around her shoulders so she wouldn’t feel the cool of the room.

 

There was a fragile pause, then Sakura’s lips parted, her voice faint. “Ino… about earlier—”

 

But Ino’s hand moved, the lightest press of her fingertip against Sakura’s mouth, silencing her before the words could spill. She leaned down, her forehead brushing Sakura’s, their breath mingling in the quiet. “Shh… tomorrow,” she murmured, tender but firm. “Not now. You’re tired, Love. Rest. I’ll be right here.”

 

Sakura’s chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, but the tension melted from her at Ino’s tone, like she’d been waiting for someone to give her permission to let go. She breathed out shakily, then let her body sink into the mattress fully, into Ino’s presence.

 

Ino stroked her hair, smoothing strands back again and again, a rhythm meant only to soothe. “Sleep, Sakura. I’ll keep watch."

 

And as Sakura’s breaths deepened, evening out into the steady pull of exhaustion, Ino remained right there—her touch gentle, her whispers soft as a lullaby, as though every word was a thread weaving a cocoon of safety around the woman in her arms.

 

 

---

 

 

Sakura stirred to the pull of morning light breaking through the curtains, warm against her face. For a moment, she kept her eyes shut, letting herself float in the space between dreams and waking, aware of two things at once: the dull ache in her body, and the deep, almost guilty sense of satisfaction that came with it. Every muscle complained, but it wasn’t the sharp pain of strain—it was the kind that reminded her she had given herself over completely, trusted utterly, and been cared for until she could no longer fight sleep.

 

She shifted slightly under the blanket, a faint groan leaving her throat. Her body was heavy, but her heart felt startlingly light.

 

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw wasn’t the ceiling or the sunlight. It was Ino.

 

She was already awake—of course she was—perched in the armchair by the window with a stack of reports balanced on her lap. Her reading glasses caught the light, and her damp blonde hair clung in soft strands around her face. She must have bathed early; the faint scent of fresh soap and morning dew hung in the air, carried easily to the bed. Sakura breathed it in instinctively, comforted by it, warmed by it.

 

Ino’s robe had slipped open just enough at the collarbone as she leaned forward, scanning the papers with that sharp, focused expression Sakura knew all too well. The contrast between the tender woman who had bathed and whispered her to sleep last night and this decisive, responsible Ino made Sakura’s chest ache in a different way.

 

Sakura turned her head slightly on the pillow, watching in silence for a long moment. The ache in her body tethered her to the present, but the sight of Ino—so put-together already, smelling of rain-soap and morning calm—made her want to stay wrapped in this slowness forever.

 

Finally, her voice came out, still husky from sleep. “You’re at it already?”

 

Ino looked up immediately, blue eyes softening behind the lenses. The corner of her mouth lifted, just for Sakura.

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Her voice carried the same grounding warmth it had last night, only lighter now, threaded with affection. “How's your body?”

 

Sakura hummed, pressing her face halfway into the pillow, too stubborn to admit she was sore in every inch of her body. “Like I got beaten up.”

 

Ino chuckled under her breath, setting the papers aside along with her glasses and standing. The faint scent of lavender followed her as she crossed the room, graceful even barefoot. She leaned down, brushing a hand over Sakura’s cheek, cool fingers against warm skin.

 

“And yet,” Ino whispered, lips ghosting close to her ear, “you look like you slept better than you have in weeks.”

 

Sakura’s heart tugged. She could only manage a soft smile in return, because she knew it was true.

 

“You’re up early,” Sakura murmured, her voice rasped with sleep.

 

“Habit. Couldn’t sleep anymore.” She perched herself on the edge of the bed, beside Sakuda. “How are you really feeling?”

 

Sakura hummed, stretching languidly before wincing at the soreness. “Like I lost a sparring match against Mom… but worth it.” She let her fingers brush against Ino’s hand, grounding herself in the warmth there. “You look… perfect.”

 

Ino smirked faintly, leaning down to kiss her brow. “You’re delirious.” But her hand lingered against Sakura’s cheek, thumb stroking softly.

 

For a long moment, silence stretched—comfortable, fragile. But underneath it, Sakura felt the weight of the argument that had driven them both raw the day before. She swallowed, about to speak, but Ino’s eyes caught hers with a knowing glint.

 

“You want to talk about it,” Ino said softly. Not an accusation, but a truth.

 

Sakura’s breath hitched. “I just… I didn’t want them cornering you. The Council won’t let it go, Ino. And when they threatened to drag your name through the mud because of Sapphire Coast, it’s not fair. You did what you had to do—”

 

“And you went behind my back.” Ino’s voice was still gentle, but firm, as though she was keeping a steady hand on her own heart. She shifted closer, brushing stray strands from Sakura’s face. “You used your name, Sakura. You threw it down like a shield. I know you did it to protect me… but you don’t even use it for yourself.”

 

Sakura flinched, guilt flickering in her chest. “Because it’s different with me. If being Tsunade’s daughter can keep them off you even for a while, then it’s worth it.”

 

Ino shook her head slowly, her eyes bright with something between ache and devotion. “No. What hurts is that you didn’t tell me. I had a plan, Sakura. I always do. When you move in the shadows for me, it feels like you don’t trust me to fight my own battles.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted, but no words came. Her throat tightened. “That’s not it at all. I trust you more than anyone. But I can’t just sit still while they circle you like wolves.”

 

“I know,” Ino whispered, pressing her forehead against Sakura’s. Her voice softened, breaking just enough for the truth to slip through. “But I need you beside me, not in front of me. If you carry everything for me, then what am I good for? What am I protecting you for?”

 

Sakura closed her eyes, the ache in her chest sharper than any bruises on her skin. She reached up, cupping Ino’s face with trembling fingers. “You’re good for everything. You’re everything.”

 

Ino stilled at that, her lips trembling into the smallest of smiles before she pressed them to Sakura’s knuckles. “Then don’t fight me alone. Promise me that.”

 

“Only if you promise me the same,” Sakura murmured, her smile faint but steady.

 

The two of them lingered like that—close enough to feel each other’s breaths, the silence finally eased of its tension.

 

 

---

 

 

The back garden was awash in soft sunlight, the morning warmth filtering through the leaves of the old trees that shaded their table. A tray had been laid out for them—steaming rice, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, tea still hot enough to send ribbons of steam into the breeze. The quiet hum of cicadas in the distance mixed with the trickle of the koi pond nearby, everything folded into the stillness of their little corner of peace.

 

Sakura sat with her hair down, loose and slightly messy, a faint ache still lingering in her muscles despite the bath and balm from last night. She held her teacup in both hands, watching the steam curl, and smiled faintly at the sight of Ino already in uniform. The dark, fitted attire of her division marked her authority and discipline, but Sakura always thought it softened somehow when paired with the faint wet sheen of her freshly washed hair.

 

“You’re dressed too early,” Sakura murmured, taking a sip.

 

Ino looked up from her bowl, chopsticks paused mid-air. “You say that every morning, forehead,” she teased, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Work doesn’t wait for me to finish lingering at the table.”

 

“Mm. But it should,” Sakura replied with mock seriousness, lowering her cup. “You lead an entire division, with other divisions under your command. Surely, you could try arriving late just once."

 

Ino laughed a little. "Maybe next time, Sakura."

 

"Maybe I'll file a concern to the Hokage and the Council about how much they overwork you."

 

Ino snorted, setting down her chopsticks with a small clink. “Don’t you dare. You’ve caused me enough Council headaches already.” Her tone was sharp in words but softened in delivery, her hand reaching across the table to brush lightly over Sakura’s wrist.

 

Sakura felt her cheeks warm at the gesture. She turned her hand palm-up, letting Ino’s fingers linger there, thumb pressing into the faint pulse. “You’re still annoyed with me,” Sakura said softly, a statement more than a question.

 

Ino’s lips curved faintly, almost wistful. “Not annoyed. Just… protective of what I’m building, and you’re protective of me. It collides sometimes.” She squeezed her hand once, then released it so she could pick up her tea.

 

They let silence fill the space for a while, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of eating. The food warmed Sakura’s aching body, easing her into the comfort of the morning. She glanced sideways at Ino again, noting how neatly she moved, posture straight even in relaxation, like every gesture was measured.

 

“You’ve got a full schedule?” Sakura asked gently.

 

“Mm. Reports to finalize, a strategy meeting, and probably more Council interference I’ll have to pretend not to loathe.” Ino sighed, resting her chin briefly in her palm. “You?”

 

“The usual,” Sakura said, stirring her rice absentmindedly. “Rounds at the hospital, an afternoon consult with the pediatric ward.” She hesitated, then added, “But I could reschedule. I still feel… drained.” Her voice trailed off, colored by faint embarrassment at the admission.

 

Ino’s eyes softened immediately, the faintest trace of guilt flickering there. “You should take the day off,” she said firmly. “You gave everything last night—your body needs a break.”

 

Sakura chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “You sound like me when I’m scolding patients.”

 

“Good. Maybe you’ll finally listen.” Ino leaned back, gaze steady but tender, her tone teasing only at the edges. “I want you to rest. Stay here, maybe nap in the garden, or curl back into bed. Just… breathe for a while.”

 

Sakura looked at her, warmed by the concern, by the quiet insistence threaded beneath the words. She set down her chopsticks and leaned her cheek into her hand, watching Ino with a lazy smile. “You know, you’re bossy even outside the bedroom.”

 

“And you love me for it,” Ino said without missing a beat, smirking.

 

Sakura laughed, low and genuine, the sound spilling into the calm morning air. Her heart felt lighter, despite the dull ache in her muscles, because here—in this sunlit back garden, with breakfast cooling on their plates and Ino’s hand occasionally brushing hers—it was easy to forget everything else.

 

It was just them, sharing food, trading glances, teasing though Sakura found herself watching Ino more than eating. Her blonde hair caught the sun, her uniform crisp and tailored, every inch the division commander she had become.

 

“And after work?” Sakura asked as they talked about thekr schedules, her voice light, teasing as she speared a piece of grilled fish.

 

Ino smirked, sipping her tea with deliberate ease. “After work, I plan to come back home, drag you away from your paperwork, and make sure you actually rest.”

 

Sakura chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not that bad.”

 

“You call me workaholic but you're just as much.” Ino leaned across the table, the corners of her lips twitching into that familiar playful grin. 

 

Sakura ignored the heat that traveled down her core, her body still complaining of soreness. “Fine. No work for today."

 

"Good,” Ino said, though her hand found Sakura’s under the table, fingers warm against her palm. “But if I come home and find you buried under patients and charts, I’ll have to punish you into oblivion again."

 

Sakura opened her mouth to retort when their rhythm was broken by footsteps approaching the garden. A butler bowed low at the edge of the veranda, a folded parchment resting neatly on a tray.

 

“This was just delivered, Lady Sakura,” he said respectfully, offering it forward.

 

The seal caught Sakura’s eye immediately—the Senju crest pressed into red wax. Her stomach tightened. She wiped her hands quickly and took it, fingers hovering over the seal longer than necessary. Ino noticed the flicker of hesitation but stayed quiet, her gaze steady and unreadable.

 

Sakura broke the seal. The letter inside was short, clipped, every word brimming with Tsunade’s familiar impatience:

 

Sakura,

I expect you at the Senju Manor by this afternoon. No delays.

–Tsunade

 

That was all. No warmth, no explanation. Just a summons.

 

Sakura exhaled slowly, her shoulders sinking as she folded the letter shut.

 

Ino raised a brow. “That bad?”

 

“She’s coming back today,” Sakura admitted, pressing the paper against the table as if to flatten the weight of it. “And from the sound of it, she already knows something. Probably about… two weeks ago.”

 

Ino’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the reminder of the kidnapping, but she didn’t speak.

 

Sakura sighed, resting her chin on her hand. “Kakashi must’ve told her. Which means she’s pissed and if she’s pissed, then I’m in for a lecture.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Clan Head duties have kept her busy in the branch families, but that never stops her from making time to scold me.”

 

Ino leaned back, her eyes softening as she studied Sakura’s troubled face. “She’s your mother. Let her scold. She’ll calm down.”

 

Sakura’s lips quirked faintly, though her fingers still pressed against the folded letter. “I wish I shared your optimism.”

 

"Should I come with you?" Ino asked worriedly.

 

Sakura shook her head. "It's fine. It's just Mama being Mama."

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

The steady sound of her breath carried her through each kata, muscles flowing with familiar accuracy despite the dull ache still lingering in her body. Sakura always found clarity in repetition—every stance, every strike, every controlled exhale grounding her in discipline.

 

The Senju training grounds stretched wide around her, a place steeped in history. Ancient trees towered at the borders, their roots sprawling like veins across the earth, silent guardians of a clan that once defined Konoha’s strength. The grass underfoot was still damp with morning dew, catching the sunlight in flecks of silver that scattered with each shift of her movements. The grounds smelled of earth and pine, clean and sharp, mingling with the faint iron tang of the old weapon racks that lined the perimeter.

 

To the east, dummies made of wood and straw stood like patient sentinels, their battered surfaces marked by decades of strikes. Sakura’s eyes sometimes drifted to them between forms, remembering training sessions in her youth where her mother had stood tall and unyielding, correcting her stances with an almost brutal exactness. 

 

To the west lay a small stream that cut through the training yard, its low trickle providing a constant, soothing sound. Beyond it, the stone torii of the Senju shrine rose in solemn dignity, its vermillion paint faded but still there, enduring—like the Clan itself.

 

Once, the Senju name had been synonymous with battlefield might and unmatched leadership, but time had reshaped their legacy. Over the generations, fewer of them carried the sword or kunai; instead, they slipped into politics, economics, and diplomacy. It was not weakness—it was evolution. 

 

The Fire Daimyō himself was Senju, Tsunade’s cousin, and in extension, Sakura’s uncle. Through him and the vast web of branch families scattered across the Fire Nation and beyond, the clan had extended its influence beyond villages and shinobi wars into something broader, quieter, yet no less commanding.

 

Even those who no longer trained as shinobi carried Hashirama’s blood in their veins, and with it came subtle gifts. Cuts closed faster, colds rarely lingered, and illnesses that might debilitate others barely touched them. Not strong enough to fight like their ancestors, but strong enough to endure. It was a different kind of inheritance, one that safeguarded their survival long after kunai and jutsu lost relevance.

 

Once a year, tradition pulled them together—Senju from all walks of life, shinobi and civilians alike. They gathered in a chosen hall or estate, a place that shifted depending on who hosted that year. There they caught up, met new family members, forged connections, and reminded themselves that though scattered, they were never alone. The Senju were like their shrine’s faded vermillion paint: even when thinned by wind and rain, their presence endured, quiet but unmistakable.

 

But Sakura had never been one to lean on her lineage. The name Senju carried weight, yes, enough to silence whispers in the Council chambers and command attention in the highest offices of Fire Country—but she’d grown up a Haruno, a girl who grew up in an orphanage with no parents. 

 

On paper, that was still what she was: Haruno Sakura, daughter of Konoha, not heiress to a fractured but still mighty clan. She had worked tooth and nail to carve her place in Konoha’s shinobi world, not as an inheritor of prestige but as Tsunade’s apprentice, as someone who bled, healed, and fought her way forward.

 

Yet the day she finally invoked her bloodline against the Council, when they tried weaving Ino into one of their petty power games, it was like unsheathing a blade she didn’t even realize she had. Just one word—Senju—rolled off her tongue, firm and cold, and she saw the ripple it created. 

 

The old men blanched, their voices faltering, the smug arguments collapsing under the weight of her heritage. A single threat, subtle but sharp, was enough to cut the entire scheme to ribbons. For the first time, she understood why others leaned so heavily on their clan names: it was intoxicating, the sheer silence that followed, the unspoken acknowledgment of power.

 

Still, afterward, she felt unsettled. It wasn’t who she wanted to be—not really. She was proud to be Tsunade’s daughter, proud of the blood in her veins, but she wanted her name to be built on her own deeds, not the shadow of ancestors long gone. And yet… when it came to protecting Ino, it had felt right. She would wield any weapon available, even her surname, if it meant shielding the one person who mattered most. Even if she'd get punished for it eventually—not that she was complaining.

 

The space was alive but quiet. A breeze whispered through the trees, brushing Sakura’s damp bangs across her forehead. Birds wheeled overhead, their cries distant, while in the dirt at her feet, faint footprints from her morning drills overlapped again and again, recording the steps she took. 

 

The sound of boots crunching on gravel reached Sakura’s ears before she even turned. She froze mid-kata, the familiar chakra signature drawing her attention instantly. Slowly, she lowered her stance, exhaling, heart tightening in her chest.

 

Tsunade stood at the edge of the training ground, travel cloak draped over her shoulders, her golden hair loose but slightly windswept from the road. Her gaze lingered on her daughter, drinking her in as though she was afraid Sakura would vanish if she so much as blinked.

 

Before Sakura could even speak, Tsunade crossed the distance in long strides and wrapped her arms around her. The force of it nearly knocked the breath out of Sakura, but she didn’t complain—she melted into the embrace, feeling her mother’s hands clutch at her.

 

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” Tsunade’s voice broke slightly, muffled against Sakura’s hair.

 

Sakura’s throat tightened. She closed her eyes, arms curling around her mother’s waist, burying her face into the familiar warmth of her. “…I’m sorry, Mama.”

 

Sakura was still catching her breath from her kata when Tsunade pulled away from their embrace, her sharp eyes scanning her daughter head to toe as though expecting some hidden injury she had failed to report. The woman’s hands, warm and calloused from years of medicine and battle, lingered at Sakura’s shoulders, squeezing them as if to confirm she was truly solid and alive.

 

“You little idiot,” Tsunade finally said, her voice low but cutting, the way only a mother’s could be. “Do you have any idea what it did to me when I heard you’d been taken? Two weeks passed and nobody told me until yesterday. Two weeks, Sakura, and I wasn’t even here."

 

Sakura tried to speak, but Tsunade shook her head sharply, her golden hair whipping over her shoulder. “Don’t give me excuses. You think because you’ve survived a war, because you’ve healed half this world, that you’re untouchable? You’re not. You’re my daughter, and you’re still—” her voice cracked for a moment, just a flicker, before she pressed it back into steel, “—you’re still flesh and blood and flesh and blood breaks. You of all people should know that.”

 

The words sank deep, but so did the tremor Sakura could hear beneath them. She lowered her eyes, shoulders softening. “I know,” she whispered.

 

Tsunade paced once, twice, her fists clenching and unclenching. “You should’ve never been alone enough for anyone stupid enough to take you. Never. And Ino—” she jabbed a finger toward the air, her tone carrying both awe and reprimand, “—Ino razed a damn country to the ground to bring you back. A whole nation, Sakura! Do you understand what the world sees when they hear that? They see Konoha as dangerous. They see you as reckless. And me—” her hand pressed flat against her chest, almost as if she needed to steady her own heart, “—they see me failing to protect the only family I have left.”

 

Sakura flinched under the weight of her mother’s words, and for a heartbeat, she felt twelve years old again—awkward and small, being scolded for sneaking out of the house, for trying to prove herself where she didn’t need to. Only this time, the stakes weren’t childhood dares. This time, she had truly frightened her mother. Again.

 

“I'm sorry I made you worry,” Sakura said softly, her voice tight with guilt. “I only wanted to do my part—"

 

“Your part?” Tsunade cut in, her eyes narrowing. “Your part is staying alive. Your part is making sure you don’t end up another grave for me to mourn. I’ve buried too many, Sakura. My brother. My lover. My teammates. Jiraiya.” Her throat worked around his name, and her gaze flickered for a moment, pained and haunted. “I will not bury my daughter. Not you. Not ever.”

 

The air between them was heavy, thick with the kind of fear only a parent could carry.

 

Sakura’s lips trembled, but she forced herself to meet Tsunade’s gaze. “I know I scared you and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I… I never want you to lose me, either.” She stepped forward, gently taking her mother’s hands, prying them open from their fists. “But I need you to trust that I can stand on my own. I’m not a child anymore, Mama. I can’t just stay behind glass walls while everyone else bleeds. What happened last time was because of my own carelessness, something I will not allow to happen again. I promise."

 

Tsunade’s jaw worked, clearly warring between pride and frustration, between seeing the strong kunoichi her daughter had become and the little girl she still couldn’t stop protecting. Finally, she let out a long sigh, her shoulders sagging with the weight of too many years. “You’ll always be my child, Sakura. No matter how strong you get. No matter how many titles you carry, and that means I’ll always be hard on you. I’ll always worry. That’s not going away.”

 

For the first time since her arrival, her tone softened. “You understand why, don’t you?”

 

Sakura swallowed against the lump in her throat and nodded. “I do. Because you love me.”

 

“Damn right.” Tsunade pulled her in again, tighter this time, her chin resting atop Sakura’s pink hair. “And I’m not letting go.”

 

Sakura closed her eyes, leaning into the embrace, feeling once more like a girl standing in the shadow of the strongest woman she knew. Only now, that strength carried something deeper—a love born from loss, a love that held her all the closer because it refused to lose her too.

 

 

---

 

 

The long dining hall of the Senju Manor echoed faintly with the clink of porcelain and the soft shuffle of slippers against polished wood as the maids moved about, setting trays of steaming food and replenishing tea with practiced grace. 

 

The morning sun filtered through tall glass screens, painting long golden rectangles across the tiled floor and the wide oak table where Tsunade and Sakura sat opposite one another. The table itself seemed almost too grand for two people, meant for banquets and councils rather than a quiet mother-daughter meal, but the warmth of the food and the ease of conversation filled the space in a way that made it feel less empty.

 

Tsunade, sake already in her hand despite the early hour, took a slow sip before letting out a chuckle. “I saw my cousin last week. The Fire Daimyō. He hasn’t changed one bit—still acts like a spoiled brat with too much money and not enough sense, even at his age. Imagine, a man well into his fifties still whining about how the cooks didn’t prepare his rice fluffy enough.” Her smirk softened into something amused, almost fond. “He’s a fool, but he means well. Still manages to keep the nobles in line, somehow.”

 

Sakura arched a brow over her teacup, lips twitching. “You make it sound like Konoha’s survival depends on rice fluffiness.”

 

“With him? It might,” Tsunade replied dryly, setting her cup down with a soft clink.

 

The maids laid down small plates of simmered vegetables and grilled fish, bowing slightly before retreating to the edges of the room. Tsunade reached for her chopsticks, though her eyes didn’t leave Sakura. “But on the more serious side of politics… the branch families have been stirring lately. Nothing hostile, don’t worry—they just want to see some… progress. They keep asking me when my brilliant daughter plans on stepping up, taking on more responsibility as the heiress.”

 

Sakura nearly dropped her chopsticks, groaning as she rubbed at her temple. “Paperwork. You mean more paperwork. As if I don’t already live buried in it at the hospital. Patients, budgets, supply requests… now clan documents too?”

 

Tsunade’s grin was equal parts teasing and smug. “Welcome to the joys of leadership, brat. You don’t just inherit the strength of the Senju name—you inherit the bureaucracy, too.”

 

“Lucky me,” Sakura muttered, stabbing a piece of meat half-heartedly.

 

Her gaze drifted briefly to the far windows where the gardens stretched wide and green, and she sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know how Ino does it. She runs the Sensory and Communications Division like it’s second nature, and she’s the Yamanaka Clan head. She still manages to look like she’s not drowning.”

 

Tsunade chuckled low in her throat, amused by the comparison. “Don’t be fooled. That girl’s juggling just as much as you are, maybe more. The difference is, she’s had to balance her clan’s politics since she was practically a child. You’re only just getting dragged into it now.”

 

Sakura leaned back, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. “So what you’re saying is… it doesn’t get better. You just get better at pretending.”

 

“That’s leadership in a nutshell.” Tsunade smirked, raising her cup again.

 

Sakura’s gaze lingered on the juice swirling in her glass. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “I never really liked using the Senju name. It’s not that I don’t respect it—I do. But I’ve been Haruno most of my life, on every paper, every roster, every mission record. Haruno Sakura. That’s who I am. Senju always felt like a… weight. Something I wasn’t ready to claim.”

 

Tsunade’s brows softened, her usual sharpness melting into something gentler. “You’ve carried both names whether you wanted to or not,” she said. “Haruno may be written on the page, but Senju runs in your blood, in your hands, in the way you fight. You can’t separate the two, Sakura.”

 

Sakura hesitated, a faint frown tugging at her lips. “Maybe. But when I finally used it… when the Council tried to box Ino into one of their political traps and I threatened them with it… it felt good. Too good, maybe. Just a single word—Senju—and they all backed down. No resistance, no arguments, no twisting of their laws. It was like throwing a shadow over them. For once, they didn’t talk back. And part of me…” She trailed off, her hands tightening around her cup. “…part of me liked it.”

 

Tsunade didn’t scold her. Instead, she chuckled low in her throat. “Good. They need to be reminded what weight stands behind you. That Council loves their games, loves bending others to their will, but sometimes all it takes is a reminder of whose bloodline they’re meddling with. If it made them retreat, then I’d say you used it exactly when you should have.”

 

Sakura looked across the table at her mother, torn between pride and unease. “But it didn’t feel like me. I’ve never wanted to be that person who leans on her name.”

 

“You didn’t lean,” Tsunade countered, setting her cup down firmly. “You stood your ground. There’s a difference. You’ve fought tooth and nail for every scrap of respect you have in this village. No one can say you hide behind your lineage. If once in a while you use it to protect what matters, then it’s not arrogance—it’s survival.”

 

Sakura fell quiet, mulling it over. And then, gently, she asked, “How do you do it? Balance all of it—the Council, the Senju, everything outside Konoha’s walls? You’re always being pulled in three directions at once. I don’t even know how you keep from losing yourself.”

 

Tsunade leaned back in her chair, shoulders heavy but her smile steady. “It isn’t balance. Not really. Some days the Council wins more of me, some days the clan does. And some days I vanish into work because it’s easier than listening to either. But here’s the truth—none of it is about me. It’s about making sure the Senju still have a place, and that Konoha doesn’t eat itself alive.”

 

Her expression sharpened slightly, more like the Fifth Hokage than the mother across from her. “The Council worries about stability, about alliances, about whether shinobi with power like you and Ino will upset the balance. The clan worries about survival, about not fading into obscurity. And me? I’ve learned that medicine and politics aren’t so different. You look for the root cause. You cut away what festers. You keep the system alive, even if it hates you for the cure.”

 

Sakura’s lips curved into a faint smile at that. “You make it sound almost simple.”

 

“Simple?” Tsunade scoffed, though there was pride in her eyes. “It’s exhausting. But you’ll understand more than you think. You’ve already begun. Running the hospital isn’t so different from running the clan. Both demand impossible choices, both leave someone angry no matter what you do. But you keep going because you know it matters.”

 

Sakura looked down at her hands, the faint scars crisscrossing her fingers. “So you’re saying this is just the beginning for me.”

 

“I’m saying you’re already doing it,” Tsunade replied, softer now. “You’ve inherited more than my blood. You’ve inherited the fight to keep this village alive.”

 

Tsunade set her cup down with deliberate care, letting the silence stretch for a moment. Her gaze, sharp as a blade despite the warmth lingering from their earlier laughter, fixed on Sakura with the kind of seriousness that always meant she was about to say something important.

 

“You know, Sakura,” she began, her voice low, edged with caution, “politics aren’t always about what’s said in council chambers. Sometimes the most dangerous things happen in the quiet, in the shadows where words aren’t written down.”

 

Sakura frowned slightly, leaning back in her chair. She could feel where this was going, the heaviness in her mother’s tone. “You mean about Ino.”

 

Tsunade gave a short nod. “She’s powerful. Too powerful, by some people’s standards. And when someone can’t control strength directly, they start scheming—making traps, creating situations to box her in. You’ve already seen it once. Don’t think for a second that was the last time.”

 

Sakura’s grip tightened on her chopsticks, and she set them down before she snapped them in two. Her heart burned with the memory of that council session, of Ino nearly being made into a pawn. “I won’t let it happen again.”

 

“I know you won’t,” Tsunade said firmly. Then her expression softened, just enough. “But it’s not just about standing in front of her with threats. It’s about learning the game well enough to see the moves before they’re made. Ino… she’s a fighter, a leader, but politics aren’t her battlefield. She's too straightforward. That’s where you come in.”

 

Sakura’s chest tightened, because she knew it was true. Ino could crush armies with her Mokuton, could keep entire divisions running with her command of chakra networks—but politics, titles, alliances, the delicate dance of keeping nobles content while keeping Konoha secure… those weren’t her strengths.

 

“She’s capable,” Tsunade continued, picking at her food almost absently now, her mind elsewhere. “More capable than half the shinobi I’ve ever known. But because of that, because she’s so good, someone out there will always be planning how to cut her down to size. If you love her—and I know you do—you’ll have to be her shield in that arena. You’ll have to protect her in ways she won’t even realize she needs.”

 

Sakura’s throat went dry. The weight of the words pressed down harder than the expectation of paperwork, harder than the burden of her Senju name. Because this was personal. This was about Ino.

 

“I already am,” Sakura said softly, but there was steel beneath it.

 

Tsunade gave her a long, appraising look, then reached across the table to rest her hand briefly over Sakura’s. “Then keep doing it. Better than I ever did. Because people like Ino… they change the world. And the world never forgives that kind of power unless someone makes sure it has no choice.”

 

Tsunade leaned back in her chair, swirling the last of her sake in her cup. Her eyes softened, but her voice carried the weight of history as she glanced at Sakura.

 

“Sakuda,” Tsunade began, her tone slow, thoughtful, “when I look at Ino… sometimes I think of my grandfather.”

 

Sakura’s chopsticks froze midway to her lips. “Hashirama-sama?”

 

Tsunade nodded. “He had this boundless, overwhelming chakra. It was like standing before a waterfall that never dried, no matter the season. Ino… she carries something like that. The raw power, the Mokuton, the sheer ability to bend life itself to her will. If she wanted to, she could rival him. In a battle of chakra alone, perhaps even surpass him.”

 

Sakura’s breath caught at the thought, her chest tightening with both pride and fear.

 

“But,” Tsunade continued, setting her cup down with a dull thunk, “Hashirama tempered his power with a certain… innocence. A belief in people, in their goodness. It made him the kind of man who could unite nations. Ino—” She shook her head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. “—Ino is different. She’s brilliant, disciplined, loyal to Konoha, but when it comes to you…”

 

Sakura swallowed. “She loses control.”

 

“Exactly.” Tsunade’s voice dropped, heavy. “She doesn’t see borders or politics when it comes to you. She doesn’t see consequences. If someone hurts you, she destroys them. If someone threatens you, she will burn down nations, topple alliances, flatten the world itself if that’s what it takes. That makes her—” Tsunade hesitated, weighing her words carefully, “—more dangerous than an asset. To Konoha. To the balance we’ve fought so hard to protect.”

 

Sakura looked down at her hands, the food before her forgotten. The words rang too true. She’d seen it—she’d felt it—in Ino’s rage, her desperation, her unshakable devotion.

 

Tsunade reached across the table, her large, calloused hand covering Sakura’s. “That’s why you need to be careful, Sakura. Ino is strong. Too strong. The kind of strength people in power look at with fear. They’ll whisper in corners, they’ll plot, they’ll scheme—anything to keep her chained, controlled, or used. And the one thing they’ll always see as her weakness…”

 

“Is me,” Sakura whispered.

 

“Yes.” Tsunade squeezed her hand. “And that’s why it’ll fall on you, more than anyone else, to protect her. Not from enemies in the open battlefield—she can handle those. But from the shadows. From politics. From the kind of games where strength means nothing, and the only weapon is patience.”

 

Sakura’s jaw tightened, her chest burning with both anger and resolve. “I won’t let them use her."

 

Still, in the small corners of her heart, fear coiled tight. Fear that the Senju name would swallow her whole, that she would disappear into a role she never chose—and yet… she would let it consume her if it meant Ino remained untouched. Better she drown in the legacy of the Senju than watch Ino stand on her own.

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Tsunade’s gaze softened, her sharp eyes losing some of their usual steel as she leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “All that work… all those responsibilities,” she began slowly, “I know you’ve carried more than most could handle. But tell me, Sakura, are you taking care of yourself? Eating properly? Sleeping enough? Letting yourself… just live, for a moment, outside the hospital?”

 

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. She had grown so used to the rhythm of duty, the endless cycles of patients, reports, and emergencies, that she rarely considered her own needs. A small laugh, almost bitter, escaped her lips. “Mom… I’ve been surviving, I suppose. I… I make sure I eat, mostly. Sleep is sometimes… optional. Well, Ino makes sure I sleep and eat."

 

Tsunade’s lips pressed into a thin line, disapproval and concern mingling in her expression. “Surviving isn’t living, Sakura. You’re not a machine. You’re my daughter, and I refuse to watch you burn yourself out just because you feel indispensable.”

 

Sakura’s chest tightened at her mother’s intensity. She swallowed, a lump rising in her throat, and lowered her gaze to her hands. “I… I know, Mama. I try. But…” She hesitated, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down. “…There’s more I’ve realized, actually. Something about myself.”

 

Tsunade leaned closer, sensing the shift in her tone. “Go on,” she urged gently.

 

Sakura’s fingers fidgeted in her lap as she exhaled slowly. “It’s… about my Byakugō and the Slug Sage Mode. I—” She paused, searching for the right words, “…I think my body… it’s adapting in ways I didn’t expect. When I use them together, it’s like my base form—the body I normally have—is trying to… perfect itself. Almost like it’s exceeding normal human limits.”

 

Tsunade’s brow furrowed, concern sharpening at the edge of her features. “Perfect itself?” she repeated carefully. “You mean… biologically?”

 

Sakura nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. Healing faster, recovering almost instantly even when I'm not prompting it… and it feels like it’s changing. Not in a way I can see externally yet, but… I can feel it, in my muscles, my reflexes, even my senses. It’s… it’s like my body is recalibrating itself, becoming something a human shouldn’t be capable of.”

 

Tsunade exhaled slowly, the weight of understanding settling into her shoulders. She reached out, placing a hand over Sakura’s, squeezing gently. “That… explains a lot. You’ve always pushed beyond limits that would break others. I can see how the combination of your inherited abilities and your training with the Slug Sage could do this… but Sakura, you have to be careful. You’re not just healing your body—you’re rewriting its natural boundaries. And that… that can be dangerous, even for someone like you.”

 

Sakura’s eyes flicked up, worry mingling with awe. “I know. That’s why I’ve been hesitant… why I’ve been afraid to fully test it. But I can’t ignore it either. If this is part of me now, I need to understand it. I need to control it before it controls me.”

 

Tsunade nodded slowly, a mix of pride and concern in her gaze. “And that’s why I worry. You’ve never been one to hold back, Sakura. You take everything head-on. But even I, standing here, can see that this… this is bigger than any mission or patient. You have to respect what it could do to you, physically and mentally.”

 

Sakura swallowed, her fingers tightening around her mother’s. “I will, Mom. I promise. I’m… I’m trying to figure it out carefully. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially Ino. Or myself.”

 

Tsunade’s gaze lingered as she leaned back slightly, her hands still resting gently over Sakura’s. “You know, Sakura… I’ve spent years mastering the Byakugō Seal myself. It’s not just about raw healing power. It's dangerous.” She paused, letting her words settle. "That’s why control matters. Understanding when, where, and how to use it is just as important as the healing it provides.”

 

Sakura recounted to Tsunade the events at the Land of Sapphire Coast, describing everything that had transpired in those final moments with Kaelen. She told her mother about the conversation he had shared with her—the revelations about her abilities, the danger they posed, and the unsettling truths about her possible immortality as her base body adapted and evolved while using the Byakugō and Slug Sage simultaneously. She explained how Kaelen had laid out the risks, the biological impossibilities her body was now defying, and the cost it could have on the world around her.

 

Tsunade's her gaze was steady and analytical, the way she always assumed whenever she discussed medical or scientific matters. “Sakura, let’s talk about what’s really happening to your body, scientifically. The Byakugō Seal isn’t just some magical boost—it’s a highly concentrated chakra reservoir that integrates with your cellular structure. It accelerates tissue regeneration, literally repairing wounds at a cellular level, and it enhances your physical and chakra sensory abilities far beyond normal limits.”

 

Sakura listened, absorbing each word as she nodded.

 

“Normally,” Tsunade continued, “every minute you use the Byakugō, your body burns through life force. Cells age faster than they regenerate. Even if you feel fine, every pulse of healing consumes a fraction of your lifespan. Years, days, minutes—depending on how much you push it.”

 

Sakura’s fingers tightened around her knees, remembering the battles she had fought, the countless times she had relied on her Seal.

 

“Now,” Tsunade said, her voice dipping lower, “combine that with the Slug Sage Mode. You already know it’s a form of extreme chakra amplification, but the problem is that the human body isn’t built for that kind of power. Attempting it normally causes microfractures in every organ, every muscle fiber, every single cell. The cellular membrane itself can’t sustain the energy. In mere seconds, tissues would start to disintegrate. Organs would fail. You would collapse biologically, long before your mind could register it.”

 

Sakura swallowed hard, feeling a cold shiver run down her spine at the thought.

 

“But when you layer the Byakugō on top,” Tsunade said, her tone sharper now, precise like a surgeon explaining a delicate procedure, “every nano-damage the Slug Sage does is instantly healed. Nanoseconds, Sakura. The Seal repairs every cellular tear, every micro-fracture, every energy surge. Your body doesn’t register the damage because it’s already repaired before your nervous system can even signal pain or trauma.”

 

Tsunade paused, letting her words sink in. “It’s a biological loop, perfectly balanced. The Byakugō fuels your Slug form. The Sage forces your body to stay in absolute perfection. Theoretically, if maintained properly, this combination could allow a human body to survive—maybe even indefinitely—without the normal consequences of aging or injury.”

 

Sakura’s mind raced. “Indefinitely… you mean… immortality?” She whispered, disbelief and fear blending in her tone.

 

Tsunade nodded slowly, though there was a caution in her expression. “Potentially. But that’s where the danger lies. Kaelen was right when he said your base form is adapting. Every time you use both simultaneously, your body is recalibrating to handle more than it ever could. Cellular thresholds, energy absorption rates, chakra filtration—it’s evolving to something beyond normal human biology. But evolution this fast, this radical… it’s unpredictable.”

 

She leaned closer, placing a hand over Sakura’s, grounding her. “Think about it. Every cell, every organ, every muscle fiber is effectively reprogramming itself every time you enter that state. You may not feel pain, but the stress on your biological system is extreme. If anything disrupts that balance, even slightly—overuse, a sudden injury, or an unknown variable—you could trigger systemic collapse. Your body is powerful, yes… but also fragile in ways you can’t perceive.”

 

Sakura shivered again, overwhelmed by the weight of the truth. “And Kaelen… he said something even worse. That my body could adapt to the point of… outliving everyone I care about. That my base form is changing constantly… evolving without me realizing it.”

 

Tsunade squeezed her hand firmly. “That’s why we have to study it carefully. You are the first human to ever achieve this synchronization. No one else has lived through the stresses of Slug Sage and Byakugō simultaneously. I can do some research on it."

 

Her tone softened, almost like a mother speaking to a frightened child, but there was steel beneath it. “I’ve mastered the Byakugō Seal myself, Sakura. I know exactly what it does to the body—how it can heal both flesh and fractured spirit—but I’ve never combined it with anything like this. You’re a pioneer, yes, but that means we must respect the limits of biology even when your power seems limitless.”

 

Sakura exhaled shakily, the enormity of what she was hearing pressing down on her chest. “I… I understand. I’ll be careful. I’ll… I’ll let you help me figure it all out.”

 

Tsunade nodded, her eyes softening with pride. “We’ll take it slow. Analyze every use, every effect, every consequence. Together, we’ll make sure this… loop you’ve created becomes a tool, not a curse and one day, maybe, we’ll see what it truly means to harness this to its full potential."

 

Sakura’s shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing. “Thank you, Mom,” she whispered. 

 

 

---

 

Lunch with her mother continued in peace, with Tsunade still nagging at her about every little thing. But they had stopped talking about the heavier topics, they simply ate together at the polished wooden table, afternoon light spilling through the tall windows of the Senju manor, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth from the gardens outside. For once, Sakura let herself enjoy the simplicity of it—the sound of her mother’s chopsticks, the occasional grunt of approval at the food, and the grounding normalcy of eating like family.

 

When the plates were cleared and Tsunade excused herself for a meeting with one of the clan heads, Sakura lingered. The restless energy in her veins refused to quiet, pulling her toward the library like a magnet.

 

The Senju library was vast, lined with shelves stretching nearly to the ceiling, each stacked with scrolls, leather-bound tomes, and hand-copied texts spanning generations. Sakura had practically lived in here since she was a child, and even more so since the changes in her body had begun. She thought she’d read nearly everything her mother owned on medical chakra theory, genetics, forbidden ninjutsu, and the occasional fragmented notes on Wood Release from long-gone Senju ancestors.

 

But as she trailed her fingers along the shelves, her eyes caught on something odd. A corner near the far wall, a section tucked between dense shelves of medicinal records and dry genealogical scrolls, was coated in dust. Real dust.

 

Her brows knit. Tsunade kept this library immaculate. She had the staff rotate cleaning twice a week, and Sakura had never once found a neglected shelf. And yet here it was: three tiers of books, spines greyed, air heavy with age and disuse.

 

Curiosity prickled her skin. She pulled one of the books free. The binding cracked faintly, shedding a puff of dust.

 

Her stomach turned when she saw the neat, slanted handwriting on the first page: Orochimaru.

 

Sakura froze, the weight of the book suddenly unbearable in her hands.

 

She flipped through the pages, her breath catching as she scanned diagrams, notations, detailed records of experiments that blurred the line between brilliance and horror. Transplanting kekkei genkai into unwilling hosts. Manipulating chakra networks to withstand foreign power. Forcing bodies to adapt to abilities that should have destroyed them.

 

Her chest tightened. This… this was exactly what she needed. The notes weren’t complete—much of it was fragmented, as though Tsunade had stolen them or salvaged what she could—but even fragments painted a terrifying, illuminating picture. Orochimaru had studied the very instability she feared. He had asked the same questions: How can a body survive something it wasn’t meant to carry? How do you make the impossible livable?

 

Another book creaked open wider under Sakura’s fingers, the parchment brittle with age. She skimmed through half-legible notes scrawled in ink that had long since bled into the fibers, diagrams etched with care, detailing procedures half-medical, half-occult.

 

One page stopped her cold.

 

Another book creaked open wider under Sakura’s fingers, the parchment brittle with age. She skimmed through half-legible notes scrawled in ink that had long since bled into the fibers, diagrams etched with care, detailing procedures half-medical, half-occult.

 

One page stopped her cold.

 

The passage described a series of “controlled regeneration trials” conducted decades ago. Patients—volunteers, if the notes could be trusted—had undergone a technique where slivers of their own tissue were harvested, infused with chakra, and then reintroduced into their bloodstream to accelerate cellular repair. The results were…mixed. Some patients healed small cuts in minutes, others managed to close deeper wounds over hours, but all suffered side effects: fevers, exhaustion, unstable chakra flow.

 

The diagram beside the text showed a hand with a shallow cut, stitched crudely by chakra. The caption read: “Partial cellular rebirth possible, though unstable. Requires continuous oversight to prevent rejection.”

 

Sakura traced the words with her fingertip, her throat tight. This—this was the kind of result she would have expected from unnatural meddling. A technique that made healing quicker, but at a cost. Fragile. Dangerous. Understandable. Human.

 

Her Byakugō, though? Her Slug Sage Mode? The seal fed her endless healing, knitting flesh before blood could even drip, restoring organs as though they were never damaged. No fevers, no rejection, no fatigue unless she pushed far past mortal limits. Her Sage Mode, although granting her immense power enough to rival a god, was damaging her in ways she should not be able to survive past mere seconds and yet she always did, thanks to the seal—all while it made sure the Mode didn't reduce her lifespans. It was perfect. Too perfect.

 

A chill slid down her spine.

 

Sakura sank into the nearest chair, fingers trembling as she turned page after page. Each answer came at a horrific cost in these notes—failed subjects, broken vessels, lives ruined—but within the horror lay kernels of understanding that no one else had approached so boldly. Not even Tsunade.

 

One study detailed an experiment meant to simulate what she now did instinctively. And yet the notes made it clear: perfection was not possible. Something in her body was rewriting the rules, breaking every boundary the human frame should have.

 

If ancient researchers failed to achieve even stable partial healing, then what did that make her? What did it mean for her humanity, that she embodied the impossible outcome their notes dismissed as fantasy?

 

And worse: if her body had already crossed that line, what was it evolving into?

 

For the first time, the thought wormed in, unwelcome but undeniable—if anyone could explain the truth of this, if anyone could trace where her biology ended and something else began, it wouldn’t be Tsunade. It wouldn’t be Konoha.

 

It would be Orochimaru.

 

The thought of him unsettled her, coiled like a snake in her gut. Orochimaru was everything Ino loathed—manipulative, cruel, a monster in human skin. And if Ino knew Sakura was even considering looking into his work, let alone seeking him out, she would explode. Not just with anger, but with fear. Fear for her.

 

Sakura understood that much, even if she didn’t know the full truth. Ino had never told her, never given details, only let slivers slip in the quiet moments—how Orochimaru had lingered too close to Root, how he’d left scars that no one could see but Ino carried still. Every time his name came up, Ino’s jaw would tighten, her eyes would flash with a hate so sharp it was almost feral. It was more than disgust, more than loathing; it was the kind of hate born from something intimate and unforgivable.

 

Sakura didn’t need the details to hate him too. Orochimaru and Danzo together had tainted the minds of children—children like Ino, stolen into darkness and molded into weapons. The thought of her proud, stubborn, beautiful Ino being subjected to that kind of manipulation twisted something deep in Sakura’s chest. It wasn’t just that he had ruined countless lives; it was that he had laid his hands on hers, on the girl who deserved nothing but sunlight and freedom, and left her with shadows she still refused to speak of.

 

So yes, Sakura hated him. And she knew Ino’s hatred ran even deeper—so deep that, if Orochimaru appeared before them, she wouldn’t hesitate. She would tear him apart without a second thought, not as a shinobi, but as a woman avenging the pieces of herself he had stolen.

 

And yet… Sakura couldn’t shake the pull.

 

This wasn’t about hatred. It was about knowledge. About ensuring that whatever was changing inside of her didn’t consume her, that it wasn't a curse.

 

She set the book down with shaking hands, pressing her palms into her eyes.

 

She wasn’t lying to Ino. Not exactly. But she also knew the truth couldn’t be spoken aloud—not yet. Not until she had answers, not until she was sure. Because if Ino told her no, she would obey without question. And Sakura couldn’t let her own fear—or Ino’s hatred—stand in the way of finding a solution.

 

Her heart pounded, her resolve sharp and guilty all at once.

 

Some burdens, she realized, had to be carried in silence.

 

And if that silence meant reaching out to the very man Ino despised most… then so be it

 

 

---

 

 

Ino could feel the subtle throb of her chakra stretching in all directions, a tension knotting in her shoulders even as she walked. Work never slowed—not for a second—and today had been no different. She had needed to be everywhere at once, or at least it had felt that way.

 

She remembered forming the first Mokuton clone earlier, her wrist flicking with practiced precision, the words of concentration almost automatic. That clone had attended the meeting with the Hokage, perfectly mirroring her every movement and expression. Normally, she hated delegating such a thing to a copy, but practicality had always outweighed pride, and Kakashi never seemed to notice anyway.

 

Another clone had been sent to the forested border to investigate the sensor anomalies that had been cropping up. It hadn’t been reliable, but someone had to check. She remembered the subtle tension that had threaded through her spine even as the clone moved, her mind half on the field, half elsewhere.

 

A third clone had taken command in the Sensory and Communication Division briefing room, projecting her authority with flawless clarity. She remembered how the agents had listened without question, responding to the precise cadence of commands she had instilled, never suspecting that the Ino they saw wasn’t truly her.

 

The fourth clone had stood in front of the Yamanaka Elders, nodding politely and exchanging carefully measured words. She had watched from a distance—or perhaps just imagined it—the expression on the Elders’ faces as the clone conveyed every nuance she would have, every subtle signal of authority and control.

 

Ino’s senses stretched across all presences, a constant balancing act of awareness. One misstep and chaos would erupt; one clone faltering, and she’d be spread thin. But she was Ino Yamanaka, and she thrived in control, even if it meant carrying the weight of half the village on her shoulders, even if it left her mind frayed at the edges by evening.

 

Ino’s boots crunched softly against the overgrown path, roots and fallen leaves pressing underfoot as she made her way through the dense thicket of Konoha’s forest. The morning air was crisp, carrying a faint scent of pine and earth. Even with the village waking and the sun climbing steadily, this part of the forest remained quiet, secluded—a perfect spot for the kind of conversation she needed to have.

 

Ahead, the outline of the old Root training grounds came into view, partially reclaimed by the wild. Moss climbed the stone walls, wooden posts leaned slightly, and the ground was uneven with patches of grass sprouting through cracks in the stone. It was abandoned now, but there was still a sense of history here, a hum of old missions and secret trainings that lingered like a shadow.

 

Sai was there, crouched on the edge of a clearing, his brush gliding over the surface of his scroll. Ink pooled and dried with deliberate care, forming shapes and lines that seemed almost alive. Ino paused a few steps away, her presence drawing a faint tremor in the leaves. The forest was quiet around them, but the weight of unspoken things hung between them.

 

“You're here early,” Ino said, her voice carrying softly, yet with that same edge of authority she always held. She folded her arms, letting her eyes sweep the scroll in front of Sai. “You’ve been at it a while.”

 

Sai did not look up, though there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his actions. “I work best when the space is empty,” he said simply, gesturing to the old training ground around them. “Fewer distractions.”

 

"How nice," Ino mumbled as she sat on a flat log in front of her old friend. 

 

Sai finally looked at her then, tilting his head. "You’re stretched thin, Ino. Are you sure you should be splitting yourself this way?”

 

Ino rolled her eyes, of course Sai noticed she was literally in different places at all once at the moment. He had always known, somehow, Ino must have some kind of tells that she herself hadn't realized or that Sai simply knew her that much over their history of being partners back in Root.

 

Ino’s lips pressed together as she answered though. “If I don’t, who will? Everything—meetings, fieldwork, strategy—it won’t manage itself. And I can handle it.” She let her eyes narrow, scanning the maps on the ground. “I always handle it.”

 

Even as she spoke, the subtle buzz of her Mokuton clones in the other locations pulsed through her mind, a living web she could feel tightening and flexing with each movement. She allowed herself a momentary pang of envy for those who only had to be present in one place at a time, before flexing her chakra to reinforce her clones’ positions. Everything had to move seamlessly; nothing could falter. 

 

Yet, for all her control, a flicker of thought brushed against her consciousness—a quiet, almost unwelcome reminder of the other side of her life, the one that wasn’t spreadsheets, meetings, or battlefield intelligence. 

 

Sakura. 

 

How was she holding up? She had to trust that she was fine, that the girl could withstand everything, yet Ino’s chest tightened at the thought. The last time she wasn't with her, Sakura got kidnapped after all. There were far too many things that could go wrong when she wasn’t there to monitor personally.

 

She shook the unease away and focused back on Sai. “Let’s get this meeting done with." She crossed her arms, eyes locked on Sai's unreadable dark eyes. "Tell me everything you dug up about the old geezers."

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

Ino’s eyes sharpened, tracking Sai’s every movement as he set down his brush and leaned closer, voice dropping even lower. “You've read the reports I sent you this morning, right?” He asked, letting the words linger in the shadows of the abandoned Root training ground. 

 

Ino nodded. "The moment I woke up, yes."

 

“I'll give you the next part then. I’ve followed the threads. It’s a relic. Something unusual, ancient. It’s not in any of the official archives, not cataloged anywhere in Konoha’s inventory, and not listed with the Academy’s historical artifacts."

 

Ino felt the tension in her shoulders spike. She leaned over on the map Sai had been painting before her gaze swept the hollowed, leaf-strewn training ground, imagining the decades of Root training etched into the cracked stones and splintered posts. Here, secrecy had been second nature; shadows had always been allies. And yet, even in this abandoned ground, she felt the puzzle she couldn’t yet see.

 

“Are we certain they only offered this information to Konoha?” She asked softly, more to herself than to Sai. “If they've offered such a big information to other nations too, it could lead to disputes."

 

Sai’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We can't be too certain. Influence. Leverage. Whatever this relic is, it’s powerful enough that anyone who touches it gains more than just prestige. The Coast probably knew the Elders would be tempted—this kind of artifact, ancient and untouched, would sway even the most cautious politicians if they thought it could strengthen their own position."

 

“I traced the map the Sapphire Coast handed over to the Elders,” he continued carefully, his fingers brushing over the scroll where he recreated what the map looked like based on memory. “It’s not the relic itself, but schematics, markers, encoded locations—something that points to a powerful weapon. At first glance, it seemed… archaic. Almost ceremonial.”

 

Ino’s eyes narrowed. “Ceremonial how? Like a statue? A cannon? What exactly are we talking about?”

 

“That’s the problem,” Sai replied. “It isn’t exactly a weapon in any conventional sense. The energy traces it left—faint, residual, almost imperceptible—aren’t chakra-based. They feel… different. Ancient. Extraterrestrial. Almost like it was made by someone—or something—used to manipulating life and chakra on a level beyond shinobi comprehension.”

 

Ino’s chest tightened. “You’re saying… Ōtsutsuki?”

 

Sai nodded slightly, eyes tracing the codes on the map. “Possibly. I can’t be certain yet. But the way the map describes its construction—nodes of energy, a central focus point, sequences for activation—it lines up with scattered historical accounts of Ōtsutsuki artifacts. Nothing in Konoha’s archives even comes close. Whoever made this didn’t just plan for warfare—they planned for survival, longevity… power that bends the natural flow of chakra itself.”

 

Ino’s fingers flexed at her sides, her Mokuton pulsing faintly beneath her skin, almost in resonance with the residual energy Sai described. She could feel the weight of the task pressing down on her. Even though the Coast no longer existed—obliterated by her own hand—they had left behind a trail that might still give them leverage.

 

“Two weeks ago, I erased the Coast from the map,” she murmured, more to herself than Sai. “But the Elders… they still have the information.” Her jaw clenched. “And that means they’re probably already moving to retrieve it before anyone else can—before me, before anyone knows the real stakes.”

 

Sai’s eyes were calm, but his voice carried the same weight as before. “Exactly. This is no longer just about politics or clandestine influence. If we don’t find it first, the Elders could activate something they don’t understand. Something dangerous. And if it really is Ōtsutsuki in origin…” He let the sentence trail, knowing Ino understood without it being said.

 

The abandoned training ground seemed to hold its breath around them. Broken posts, crumbling walls, and overgrown vegetation offered a strange sense of privacy—suitable for planning without worry of eavesdroppers. 

 

The Elders already had a head start, thanks to the Sapphire Coast’s map and her unknowing authentication. Sai’s report, which she had read early that morning, laid it out in details: the Elders weren’t just sitting on the information—they were moving, subtly, under the illusion that she didn’t know. 

 

Using the credentials she’d unwittingly provided, they had authorized reconnaissance missions, coordinated low-profile investigations, and even requested archival access to energy signatures that might lead them toward the relic. Every action was carefully coded as “administrative necessity,” cloaked in the routine of Konoha bureaucracy, but in reality, it was a direct push to secure the weapon before anyone else could.

 

Ino’s irritation had flared when she read the report. It was like reading a map of someone trespassing in her own mind without asking permission. What made this ironic was that the Elders had ordered the shinobi under her command to investigate—not her VEIN agents, only she herself could deploy them—but other shinobis whose loyalty she knew better than anyone. 

 

They thought they could manipulate Konoha’s network without consequence, but they hadn’t accounted for how fiercely those same shinobi followed her. Every movement the Elders made, those same shinobis reported it to her in detail.

 

Sai had traced every move, every low-level operative quietly deployed. His findings suggested the Elders assumed she was still buried in the Sapphire Coast fallout, distracted and unable to notice their manipulations. “They think you’re oblivious,” Sai said, “but you’re the only variable they can’t control. They’ve made their moves under your name, but they didn’t account for your reach—or your memory—or how tightly your people follow you.”

 

The thought that anyone could leverage her authority without her consent fueled the familiar fire inside her. Every detail in Sai’s report felt like a personal affront, a challenge thrown straight at her control. She could feel her Mokuton pulse in response, coiling like living roots beneath her skin, ready to enforce her will with precision.

 

“They’re clever,” she murmured, almost to herself, “but not clever enough.”

 

Sai’s voice cut softly through the quiet of the abandoned training ground. “If we act fast, we can follow the same trails, stay ahead, and get there before they even realize we know.”

 

Ino’s jaw tightened, resolve settling in her chest like stone. If the Elders were already moving in the shadows, she would not only match them step for step—she would outmaneuver them entirely. 

 

“So,” Sai continued, kneeling to trace faint symbols on his scroll with the tip of his finger, “first we analyze the map fully, cross-reference every landmark and notation. There are hints in the margins, hidden in the ways the coordinates were encoded. They’re subtle, but deliberate. Whoever made this didn’t want just anyone reading it. The Sapphire Coast knew the Elders weren’t capable of understanding its full significance—they just wanted leverage.”

 

Ino’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Leverage. That’s not happening. Not while I’m breathing.” Her gaze swept the hollowed-out space around them. Every shadow, every crack in the old walls, reminded her of lessons learned in this very place: patience, observation, ruthlessness. This mission would require all of it.

 

Sai let the silence stretch, then added quietly, “The first step is locating its origin point. Every clue on this map leads somewhere in the wider world, beyond Konoha, but the coordinates suggest the artifact’s resting place is… contained. Encased. Shielded. Possibly even hidden beneath a natural formation.”

 

Ino’s eyes flared with determination. “Then we move fast. The Elders might know the paths, but they don’t have my reach. They don’t know how I operate. By the time they realize we’re searching, it’ll be too late.”

 

Sai’s gaze shifted toward the crumbling walls of the abandoned training ground, as though weighing the ghosts of missions past against the choices ahead. “Do we tell Kakashi?” He asked finally, voice low. “Or keep this between us for now?”

 

Ino shook her head, hair brushing her shoulder. “If the Elders are already moving under my name, he’ll get dragged into it whether we want him to or not. And the less he knows, the cleaner his hands stay—and the less chance he can be used as leverage.” She flexed her fingers, letting the Mokuton coil subtly beneath her skin. “This one… we handle ourselves. Quiet. Precise. No footprints for anyone else to follow.”

 

Sai inclined his head, eyes scanning the overgrown training ground. “Agreed. But we can’t ignore the risk entirely. He’s Hokage. If something goes sideways…” His words trailed, but the unspoken weight of their duty hung between them.

 

Ino exhaled slowly, shoulders tightening with deliberate control. “I know the stakes. But if Kakashi hears before we’ve even located it, he’ll want to throw resources at it—officially. And that’s exactly how the Elders will catch wind of us.”

 

Sai’s eyes flicked toward her, serious. “We’ll need a reason to leave Konoha without raising suspicion. Something official, plausible—a mission we can create without anyone questioning it.”

 

Ino’s brow arched slightly, already running through possibilities. “Only I can authorize that,” she said, voice sharp. “No one else has that level of clearance, or the reach to make it believable. And if anyone starts poking into it, it’ll look like routine fieldwork. That’s why I’m handling it.”

 

He nodded, hesitating for a moment. “And Sakura? Do we… tell her?”

 

Ino’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of protectiveness hardening her expression. “No. She doesn’t need to know. Not yet. If she finds out, she’ll insist on being involved. And I can’t risk her being in the line of fire, or giving the Elders another excuse to manipulate her. This one… this is on us.”

 

Sai studied her carefully, the faintest edge of hesitation in his eyes, how he thought this might not be a good idea but couldn't find out a logical explanation why. 

 

Sai allowed a small, approving nod. “We’ll need the scenario detailed, the resources allocated, and the timing exact. Only then do we leave the village without leaving a trace.”

 

Ino’s lips pressed into a smirk. “Leave the details to me. I’ll make it look like any other routine assignment. By the time they realize, we’ll already be ahead—far enough ahead that catching up will be impossible.”

 

The abandoned training ground was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves, the wind carrying the weight of their plan. Somewhere out there, the relic waited—and with it, the first moves of a game that only they could control.

 

 

---

 

 

Ino returned to the Yamanaka Estate later that dusk, the sprawling grounds quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. She stepped through the wide sliding doors and went straight to the main living hall and froze for a moment. 

 

There was Sakura, sitting cross-legged on the polished floor, the warm glow of the chandelier above casting gentle light over her face. In her hands was a pile of freshly laundered clothes—Ino’s clothes specifically—and the television murmured softly in the background.

 

For a beat, Ino simply watched. The normalcy of it struck her hard, like a wave breaking against the tension she’d carried all day. Maps, Elders, the relic—it all seemed to fade for just a moment in the quiet of home.

 

She didn’t announce herself. She stepped closer, letting her presence be known only by the faint shift of air, and wrapped her arms around Sakura from behind, resting her chin lightly on her shoulder. Sakura stiffened briefly before relaxing under Ino’s touch, tilting her head back slightly. Ino pressed a gentle kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, savoring the softness and warmth.

 

“We pay maids for this,” Ino murmured quietly, letting her words brush against Sakura’s ear.

 

“I’m free anyway,” Sakura replied, glancing back at her with a soft, teasing smile. “And… I like folding your clothes. Don’t make me feel guilty for it.”

 

Ino exhaled, allowing herself a rare moment of unguarded relief. The weight of the day, the hidden trails of the Elders, the looming hunt for the relic—all of it seemed to melt away, leaving only this: the calm peace of the Yamanaka Estate, and Sakura, ever so patient.

 

Ino lingered against Sakura a moment longer, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the subtle warmth of her skin. The small, ordinary intimacy of it—Sakura folding clothes, humming softly to herself, and Ino brushing a hand over her shoulder—was almost jarring in its normalcy. It hit her with a wave of relief, a reminder that life didn’t always have to be a tangle of chaos.

 

She watched Sakura with a softness that made her chest ache in the best way. Every little movement—the way her fingers nimbly folded the fabric, the slight tilt of her head as she concentrated, the gentle hum that seemed to seep into the air itself—made Ino’s heart swell. She was breathtaking, not just in the grand, heroic sense she always noticed on missions or in the field, but in the quiet, personal moments that revealed the core of who she was. Ino had loved Sakura for years, deeply, fiercely, but it was in these small, unscripted moments that her feelings felt the most vivid, the most alive.

 

Her gaze traced the line of Sakura’s jaw, the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell just so across her shoulder. Every detail was etched into Ino’s mind, every soft breath and delicate movement a proof of the life they shared—a life she had fought, schemed, and sometimes bled for, just to protect. Ino’s chest tightened with a fierce affection, a mixture of awe and longing, as if the world had momentarily narrowed to just this: Sakura, folding clothes, humming, and utterly unaware of the intensity of love radiating from the woman hugging her.

 

For a brief, Ino allowed herself to simply exist in the warmth of Sakura’s presence, letting the subtle pulse of Mokuton energy beneath her skin resonate with the rhythm of a heart completely captivated. It was love in its purest form, and it filled every corner of the estate with a weight and a lightness that made Ino’s soul ache adoringly.

 

Ino pressed closer, letting her lips brush the sensitive skin at the base of Sakura’s neck. The warmth there, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the faint pulse beneath her fingertips made something stir deep within her. Her teeth itched to bite down, to mark her, to leave a trace of herself on Sakura—but she held back, savoring the anticipation.

 

Instead, she let her lips linger, sucking gently, tracing the curve of her neck with a careful precision that made Sakura shiver. A small, soft moan slipped past Sakura’s lips, and Ino’s heart thudded in her chest at the sound. She felt a rush of heat, the kind that came from wanting to possess, to protect, to cherish all at once. Her hands slid over Sakura’s shoulders and down her arms, holding her close, anchoring them both in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

 

Sakura tilted her head, giving Ino more access, her own breathing quickening in tandem with Ino’s pulse. The faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the warmth of her skin, intoxicating, grounding, making the world outside—the Elders, the relic, the politics of Konoha—fade to nothing.

 

Ino let her teeth graze lightly at the sensitive skin, teasing, careful not to hurt, before returning to gentle sucking. Another soft moan, a tiny shiver, and she knew she had Sakura’s full attention, that her lover was entirely present with her. And in that space, folding laundry forgotten for the moment, Ino reveled in the overwhelming, consuming sweetness of being close, of being needed, of being in love.

 

"Ino," Sakura whined, a small frown tugging at her lips as she tried to pull slightly away. "We're in the living room…"

 

"So?" Ino murmured, voice low and teasing as she pressed closer, letting her lips trail along the sensitive line of Sakura’s neck again.

 

"Don't so me," Sakura protested, though her tone had a soft edge, betraying how little she actually wanted Ino to stop. "Your maids and butlers might walk in on us—" She paused abruptly, biting her lips as another sensitive spot earned a careful nip from Ino. A soft shiver ran through her, betraying her protest with unspoken desire.

 

"They'd know not to interrupt," Ino replied confidently, her hands gliding over Sakura’s shoulders, anchoring her in place. "We own this house. Everyone knows when we're… busy, it's a hard boundary."

 

Sakura's cheeks warmed, but she didn't push. She let herself melt into the pressure of Ino’s hold, though the back of her mind still fluttered with worry over the servants walking in at the wrong moment. The tension hung thick in the air, intimate and teasing, until a sudden rumble from Ino’s stomach broke the spell.

 

Ino froze for half a heartbeat, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she pulled back slightly, pressing her forehead against Sakura’s temple. "…I forgot to eat," she admitted quietly, the sensation of hunger sneaking up on her after a full day of focus and planning.

 

Sakura laughed softly, a light, melodic sound that eased the tension. "You skipped lunch again," she said, shaking her head. "I had the chefs handle dinner this time so you wouldn't have to."

 

Ino exhaled, a mixture of relief and amusement running through her, her arms still lingering around Sakura’s waist. "You spoil me," she murmured, voice low, warm, almost vulnerable.

 

"You love it," Sakura replied, smiling and glancing down at Ino with a mixture of affection and gentle teasing. "Come on, let's head to the kitchen. I promise I won’t ruin anything this time—I’ll just supervise."

 

Ino chuckled, finally letting herself be guided by Sakura’s hand toward the kitchen, the soft domesticity of the moment grounding her after the chaos of the day. The lingering heat of their closeness stayed with her, a private warmth she could carry into the simple act of sharing a meal together.

 

The kitchen smelled of simmering vegetables and rich broth, the kind of homey aroma that always made Ino’s stomach rumble despite her exhaustion. The Yamanaka chefs moved like well-oiled machines, knives chopping, steam rising from pots, and the clatter of utensils filling the space. It was a choreography perfected over years, until Sakura decided she wanted to “help.”

 

“I think it needs… a pinch of this,” Sakura said confidently, holding up a small jar of spices she had no idea how to read. Her brow furrowed as she shook it into the soup. “And maybe… a little of this, too?” She grabbed another container, peering at it like the label held some secret code that would magically improve the dish.

 

The chefs exchanged quick, panicked glances, their hands twitching as if to stop her, but politeness and protocol rooted them to the spot. One whispered under his breath, “Lady Sakura, perhaps—”

 

“Trust me,” she interrupted cheerfully, never noticing their discomfort. “You’ll see—it’s going to taste amazing!” She stirred the soup with exaggerated flair, humming to herself as if the concoction were already perfect in her mind.

 

Ino, seated a few steps back behind the counter table, leaned against it, arms folded, and stifled a laugh. She watched Sakura tilt her head, tasting here, sniffing there, adding more “magical” ingredients that clearly had no business in the pot. One chef bit his lip so hard it almost drew blood, whispering again to his partner, “How do we stop her without insulting her?”

 

Ino shook her head quietly, a grin tugging at her lips. She couldn’t fault Sakura for trying—she knew her girlfriend genuinely believed her sense of taste could bend reality—but the look on the chefs’ faces was worth the entire afternoon.

 

Finally, she pushed herself off the counter and approached Sakura. “Hey,” she murmured, draping an arm around her waist. “I think I can taste just fine without… magical intervention.”

 

Sakura tilted her head, confused for a moment. “But I want to help! I’m adding love.”

 

Ino chuckled and scooped her up onto her lap, holding her close against the counter edge. “You’re already helping,” she said softly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Sakura’s head. “Now leave the soup to the chefs before we end up with something that explodes.”

 

Sakura squirmed slightly, laughing, but allowed herself to be distracted by the warmth and attention. The chefs let out quiet sighs of relief, and Ino could only grin, enjoying the rare, peaceful domestic chaos as she held her girlfriend close, the clatter and smells of the kitchen fading into the background.

 

“You’re impossible,” Ino murmured against her hair, smirking.

 

“I know,” Sakura whispered back, grinning up at her. “And you love it.”

 

“I do,” Ino admitted, brushing a hand over her back. “More than you could ever guess.”

 

 

---

 

 

The dining hall smelled faintly of fresh flowers, polished wood, and the lingering aroma of the meal the chefs had meticulously prepared—now saved from Sakura’s enthusiastic but disastrous “enhancements.” 

 

The maids moved quietly, placing polished plates in front of them: steaming bowls of perfectly balanced soup, fragrant rice, tenderly cooked vegetables, and delicately seasoned meats. 

 

Ino pulled out her chair first, gesturing for Sakura to sit beside her. Sakura settled gracefully, her eyes still bright from the thrill of being “helpful” in the kitchen, though now tinged with relief at not having ruined anything beyond repair.

 

“You know,” Ino said, lowering her voice so only Sakura could hear, “you don’t have to worry about cooking for me every day. That's my job. But also, the chefs are excellent, and—”

 

“I like folding your clothes,” Sakura interrupted with a small smile, glancing down at her lap as if confessing a secret. “I like setting up your papers when you're in the bath because I know you'll read them until deep into the night. I like brewing your teas when you work and like giving you massages when you do. I like cooking too, but… it’s nicer when I don’t accidentally poison anyone.”

 

Ino laughed softly, her cheeks warming up. “I love you."

 

Sakura smiled brightly.

 

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that spoke more than words could. Ino sipped her soup, savoring the warmth, and watched Sakura take a careful bite from her plate, the way she always did when she was trying not to look nervous—even if she was trying to hide it.

 

“You seem… a little off,” Ino said eventually, lowering her spoon and leaning slightly closer. Her eyes studied Sakura’s face, soft but perceptive. “Is everything okay?”

 

Sakura blinked, startled at the gentle concern in Ino’s voice. She hesitated, chewing slowly before shaking her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

 

Ino’s lips pressed together, sensing the unease but not pushing. She let it go, trusting that Sakura would share if she wanted to. Instead, she reached for Sakura’s hand across the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

 

“So… how was Tsunade?” Ino asked softly, tilting her head as she studied her girlfriend. Her voice was gentle, curious, the kind that only came out when she wasn’t masking strategy or authority.

 

Sakura paused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It was… good,” she said, tasting the soup. “She’s her usual stubborn self, but we managed to get some more plans in. And… we talked, a lot. About… things.” She hesitated slightly, as if weighing which parts to share, her fingers tightening around her spoon.

 

Ino nodded, keeping her expression neutral, though her chest warmed at the way Sakura’s eyes softened when she spoke of her mother. “Sounds like you had a productive afternoon,” she murmured. “Did she give you that lecture about pacing yourself again?”

 

Sakura laughed quietly, the sound like a soft bell. “Of course. She lectured me about being kidnapped like a little kid. I think she forgets I’ve been doing this longer than I’ve been listening to lectures.” She tilted her head, glancing at Ino with a questioning sparkle in her eyes. “How was your day? Busy as always?”

 

Ino exhaled slowly, gulping down the meat she was chewing. “You know me. Paperwork, reports, and political ghosts. But… hearing you were with Tsunade, seeing you in her element, it’s… nice. Makes the chaos feel a little lighter.” She let a small, almost shy smile slip, one she reserved only for moments like this.

 

Sakura grinned. “I’m glad you think so. I like seeing you relaxed, even if it’s just for a little while.”

 

Ino’s gaze softened, her heart swelling with the simplicity of her words. “Yeah… me too.”

 

For the rest of the meal, they ate at their own pace, occasionally exchanging small smiles or murmured comments about the flavors, the warmth of the room. Outside the large windows, the Yamanaka Estate garden swayed gently in the evening breeze, but inside, there was only this—a quiet, fleeting bubble of peace in the midst of a world that never stopped moving.

 

By the time they finished, Ino felt the tension of the day seep out of her shoulders. Sakura’s presence, calm and steady, reminded her that some things—love, trust, small domestic moments—were worth holding onto, even when the rest of the world demanded so much of her.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

The gurney rattled as two orderlies pushed the shinobi into the emergency surgical ward. His vest was soaked through, the green fabric already a dark brown from blood that refused to clot. Sakura was at the table before they even finished reporting. One look told her everything: penetrating abdominal trauma, deep thoracic injury, and progressive hypovolemia. Time was already measured in minutes.

 

“Move him to the table. IV access, both arms, now,” Sakura ordered, voice clipped and steady. She snapped on gloves as the nurses scrambled. “Start two liters of Ringer’s lactate. Prep the thoracoabdominal field. I want full exposure—midline laparotomy extending into left thoracotomy if I call it.”

 

The shinobi coughed weakly, a froth of blood at his lips. Sakura adjusted her mask, already molding chakra around her fingertips as she palpated the man’s chest. “Collapsed lung on the left. Pressure building.” She pressed two fingers just below the clavicle, a sharp pulse of chakra puncturing the pleural space. A hiss escaped as air rushed out, the man’s breathing easing slightly.

 

“He’s circling,” one of the new nurses whispered. “Should we—”

 

“Retractors,” Sakura said. The scalpel glowed faintly as she drove it down the midline, chakra keeping the blade perfectly aligned. She cut through skin, fascia, then parted the peritoneum in a single fluid motion. A flood of blood and bile poured out, the sour stench filling the room. 

 

“Pack the quadrants. Four sponges, top and bottom.” Her hands were already inside, pressing chakra-laced pressure on the abdominal aorta, stemming the hemorrhage for precious seconds. “He took a blast across the lower thorax. Stomach’s torn, liver’s lacerated, spleen’s ruptured. Left diaphragm blown open. We’re going into the chest.”

 

“Sensei, his pressure—”

 

Her chakra pressed rhythmically, taking over the work of the faltering heart, buying the team time. She cut up into the diaphragm, sliding into the thoracic cavity. The left lung was shredded, blood pooling fast. Sakura inhaled once, sharpened her chakra to a scalpel-thin edge, and began resecting necrotic tissue, suturing the viable lung back together with chakra-thread so fine the eye could barely follow it.

 

A nurse murmured, “I didn’t even know that was possible…”

 

“Clamp!” Sakura barked, ignoring the awe. She caught the torn pulmonary artery branch between two glowing clamps, then knitted the vessel back together with a careful pulse of green chakra, sealing it cell by cell. The monitors steadied fractionally.

 

Moving back into the abdomen, she peeled away soaked packs. “Spleen’s gone. Remove it.” She sliced and tied off splenic vessels in seconds, chakra sealing the ends as she moved. “Liver laceration—grade four. If we don’t control this bleed he’s finished.”

 

Her chakra spread through the parenchyma, glowing green across the jagged wound. Instead of cauterizing, she used pinpoint bursts to accelerate clotting factors, while her other hand stitched with physical sutures, reinforcing what chakra alone couldn’t hold.

 

“Stomach next. Two perforations. Suction—get that bile out before it contaminates further.” The suction tube whirred as she closed the holes in quick succession, using chakra to align the tissue edges before she stitched.

 

All around her, nurses whispered in disbelief at how steady she was, how seamlessly she wove surgical precision with chakra finesse. To them, this was beyond textbook—it was improvisation at the edge of human capability.

 

The shinobi stirred faintly on the table, his vitals climbing from a death spiral back toward stability.

 

Sakura finally leaned back, sweat running down her temple. “He’ll make it. Not because he should have,” she murmured, stripping off bloody gloves, “but because we refused to let him go.”

 

The room exhaled in unison, the tension breaking only after her words. Even the senior nurse looked shaken. The youngest whispered, half in awe, half in fear:

 

“That… that wasn’t surgery. That was something else.”

 

They looked back at the woman standing alone in the room, stripping off her gown, her expression unreadable. To them, she was terrifying. To them, she was divine.

 

To Sakura, she was just tired.

 

The door to the scrub room swung open on a muted hiss, and Sakura stepped out into the main corridor of Konoha’s hospital. The scent of antiseptic still clung to her skin, her hands red-creased from repeated scrubbing, her hair damp beneath the cap she’d only just removed. For the first time since dawn, her lungs filled without the sharp urgency pressing against them. The morning’s string of surgeries had been brutal—three critical cases back-to-back, each one balancing on a knife’s edge between survival and loss. She carried them in her bones, the memory of her chakra burning steady in her palms for hours without pause.

 

The corridor fell quieter when the staff noticed her. A few nurses straightened instinctively as if her presence demanded formality, though Sakura herself wasn’t one for airs. She walked with her usual light steps, shoulders squared, expression calm, though everyone could see the fatigue in her eyes. 

 

Some of the younger medics whispered, awe barely hidden—that was her fourth surgery today. She reconstructed an artery by hand. She didn’t even pause for water. Others only nodded to her respectfully, a silent acknowledgment that the hospital had just come through a storm, and she had stood at its center.

 

One of the interns scurried up with a clipboard, words catching in his throat. “Shishō— I mean, Haruno-sama—” he fumbled the title, but Sakura only took the chart with a brief, grounding glance, scanning the patient notes as if shifting gears cost her nothing.

 

“You’ve stabilized him well,” she said evenly, her voice carrying the weight of calm authority that steadied the others. “Keep the IV line clear. I’ll check on him after rounds.”

 

The intern’s shoulders eased, as though her approval itself was medicine.

 

As Sakura continued down the hall, the steady tap of her sandals against the floor was the only sound. The corridors were busy, but space seemed to part for her—medics shifting aside, voices dropping. She wasn’t just another doctor emerging from a shift; she was the axis on which the ward turned, the one who could turn chaos into survival with nothing but her hands and her will.

 

For a moment, she paused near the tall windows overlooking the village. The sunlight filtered through, brushing her cheek, and she let the breath leave her chest in silence. She knew she couldn’t rest for long—patients were waiting, always—but the brief walk between rooms, the check-ins between each emergency call, was enough to remind her why she chose this path in the first place.

 

Then she adjusted her white coat, lifted the next chart, and moved forward.

 

 

---

 

 

The canteen was loud in its usual way—the clatter of chopsticks, the murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from shinobi who had come back in one piece. Sakura slipped into the line even though she could literally just go up front or have somebody deliver her what she wanted from her office, but she was already around the area so she thought she might as well just buy.

 

Sakura's scrub jacket was folded over one arm, hair damp at the temples where the heat of the operating room still clung to her. She reached for a pair of simple salmon onigiri, her fingers brushing the paper wrapping with the sort of relief that only someone who had worked through lunch could feel. The tray felt lighter, not with the weight of food, but with the sudden absence of pressure now that she wasn’t in front of a patient.

 

She hadn’t even sat down yet when the whispers reached her. They weren’t directed at her—never were, at least not openly—but in a crowded canteen, words carried.

 

"Did you hear? Three major surgeries this morning, back-to-back."

 

"I passed by the scrub room. Her coat was drenched in sweat—looked like she’d been fighting a war in there."

 

"It’s inhuman, honestly. No one can focus that long, keep their chakra that steady. I know she has immense chakra control, but how does she do that?"

 

"Inhuman, yeah… but thank the gods she is. Nobody else could’ve pulled those patients back."

 

Sakura froze, the tray trembling in her hands for half a second before she forced herself forward. The word inhuman slid under her skin, lodging deep in a place that already ached. The murmurs weren’t meant to hurt—they were reverent, even grateful—but they coiled around her throat, tightening until each breath felt deliberate.

 

She took a seat near the corner, the kind of table where no one would disturb her, and unwrapped the onigiri. Rice, salmon, a little nori—simple. She tried to eat, but the taste barely registered. Her jaw worked, her throat swallowed, but her mind kept circling back to that word.

 

Inhuman.

 

It was meant as praise. She knew that. But to her, it sounded like a line drawn in the sand—between herself and everyone else. Between being a healer and human. Between the girl who had once simply wanted to catch up to her teammates, and the woman whose hands now decided whether others lived or died.

 

Her fingers curled around the onigiri tighter, compressing the rice. She set it down before she crushed it outright, staring instead at her reflection in the canteen’s window. The pink hair, the pale skin, the tired green eyes. She looked human enough. She felt the fatigue of hours of chakra manipulation gnawing at the edges of her muscles. She was so human. And yet…

 

A group of young nurses walked past, trays in hand, still talking about her. “She didn’t even hesitate. Imagine having that kind of skill at her age. She’s like—like a miracle.”

 

Sakura pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze to the table. A miracle. Inhuman. Words of admiration, words of gratitude—yet all she could feel was the weight of expectation binding itself tighter around her, as though the hospital itself had become another battlefield where she was never allowed to fall.

 

For the first time since stepping out of the scrub room, she realized how desperately she wanted silence.

 

 

---

 

 

The scratching of her pen against the paper was the only sound in the room, the neat columns of figures and notations slowly filling the medical chart. Her handwriting was sharp, efficient—dosage calculations, follow-up schedules, post-operative assessments. Sakura’s eyes flicked between a stack of reports from the surgical ward and her own notes, occasionally pausing to adjust the phrasing of a diagnosis. Her mind was still running at the pace of the OR, replaying vascular sutures and tissue reconstructions as if they were lingering in her hands.

 

The door clicked open. Without looking up, Sakura spoke immediately, her tone brisk, automatic:

 

“File the test results from Ward B, then notify anesthesiology that patient ID 456 will need a pre-op assessment in the next twelve hours. Also, confirm the blood compatibility records for—”

 

“Sakura.”

 

The interruption was calm but firm, a voice that carried weight and command. Sakura froze, pen hovering just above the paper. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

 

Her mother stood there. Tsunade—brows furrowed, arms crossed, her presence filling the room in a way no report or scalpel ever could. For a moment, Sakura just blinked, as if her brain hadn’t caught up to the reality in front of her.

 

“You look weird,” Tsunade said bluntly, stepping forward. Her sharp eyes moved over Sakura in quick, practiced passes—the posture, the pallor of her skin, the faint drag in her breathing.

 

Sakura gave a small, tight smile. “Weird is subjective. I’ve just been busy.”

 

Tsunade didn’t answer. Instead, she closed the distance, her hand rising to press against Sakura’s forehead before the younger woman could lean away. Sakura stilled. The touch was firm, practiced—the touch of a doctor, but also of a mother.

 

“You’re burning a little hotter than you should be,” Tsunade muttered, frown deepening. “Not full fever, but your body’s at the edge. Give it another day like this, and you’ll push yourself into immune suppression.” Her eyes narrowed. “How long have you been running at this pace?”

 

Sakura hesitated, glancing at the papers on her desk. “Since yesterday morning’s emergency rotation,” she admitted.

 

“Yesterday morning.” Tsunade’s jaw tightened. “That’s thirty hours minimum. You think you can keep healing other people when you’re sabotaging your own reserves?”

 

“I can handle it,” Sakura started, though even to her own ears the words lacked conviction.

 

Tsunade crouched slightly, forcing Sakura’s tired green eyes to meet her amber ones. “You can’t chakra-sculpt micro-anastomoses and stabilize organs with that kind of precision if your own neural responses are lagging. Even you can’t override biology forever. Fatigue dulls control. Dulls judgment.”

 

Sakura’s lips pressed into a line, her mother’s assessment hitting heavier than any murmurs in the canteen. For a heartbeat, she wanted to argue—wanted to prove she wasn’t fragile, wasn’t slipping.

 

Instead, she exhaled through her nose, her pen still balanced between her fingers as though she could dismiss the whole conversation by simply continuing to write.

 

“I don’t need to stop, kaa-chan,” she said quietly, her tone clipped, not defiant but matter-of-fact. “My body already regulates itself. I don’t even notice anymore—the shifts in cell repair, the way my immune responses heighten when I push too far. Byakugō rewrote the thresholds years ago, and Slug Sage mode only… refined the process further.” She looked down at the report in front of her, eyes narrowing on the lines of medical jargon as if they could shield her from her mother’s scrutiny. “Fatigue isn’t the same for me. Fever won’t hold. My systems autocorrect before it ever reaches that point.”

 

Tsunade’s hand lingered at her daughter’s temple, thumb brushing a strand of pink hair back, but her frown only deepened. Her eyes were too sharp, too practiced—they didn’t miss the pallor beneath Sakura’s skin or the almost imperceptible tremor in her writing hand.

 

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Tsunade murmured, voice low, carrying more weight than anger ever could. “You talk about your body like it’s some autonomous mechanism, like you’re not even living in it anymore. Like you’re just… observing the perfection take over. That’s not strength, Sakura—that’s you forgetting you’re still human.”

 

Sakura swallowed, jaw tightening. She didn’t answer, didn’t lift her gaze.

 

Tsunade studied her for a long moment, reading the silence with the ease of someone who had seen countless shinobi in denial about their limits. “And if you’re shrugging this off, if you’ve reached the point where you can look me in the eye and treat exhaustion like it’s beneath you—then you’re more tired than you’re willing to admit. Not just your body. You.”

 

The words hung heavy between them, sharper than any scalpel, and Sakura found herself pausing mid-stroke on the report. She could hear her own heartbeat against the quiet, steady and regulated—just as she claimed. And yet, her mother’s words scraped against something deeper, something her own body couldn’t so easily repair.

 

Her jaw tightened, and she forced her tone steady, almost sharp, as if it could make the words true. “I’m fine. I don’t need rest. My body knows what it’s doing better than I ever could.”

 

Tsunade’s frown deepened as she watched Sakura press back into her reports like the conversation had ended. It was the same stubborn tilt of the chin she used to give her when she was still under training, but this time it was wrapped in exhaustion so thick it made her chest ache.

 

Without warning, Tsunade reached across the desk and plucked the pen straight out of Sakura’s fingers. The protest that started on Sakura’s lips was silenced when her mother’s hand came down over hers, firm but steady, the way she used to anchor her as a child when nightmares clawed too close.

 

“I promised you,” she said quietly, “that I’d help you figure out what this… fusion of yours really is. The Byakugō Seal, the Slug Sage chakra—it’s something even I don’t fully understand. But I can’t guide you through it if you’re half-dead from pushing yourself every hour of the day.”

 

Sakura’s lips pressed into a thin line. The logical part of her brain knew Tsunade was right, but logic was what she had been wielding as armor. Rest was dangerous. Rest meant slowing down, and slowing down meant feeling everything she’d been carefully stacking into silence.

 

Tsunade tilted her head, studying her daughter, then asked, with almost too much casualness, “When’s the last time you spent time with Ino? Really spent time."

 

The question landed harder than Tsunade’s hand ever could.

 

Sakura blinked, her mind scrambling for an answer that didn’t sound pathetic. The truth clawed its way to the surface anyway: Four days. Four days since she’d last laughed with Ino, teased her, even just sat and breathed in the same rhythm without thinking about work.

 

Sakura exhaled slowly, the memory of dawn—or rather, the absence of it—dragging through her. She could still feel the cold tile under her bare feet, the way she had tiptoed through the dim bedroom, holding her breath so the rustle of fabric wouldn’t stir Ino awake. The clock had glared 3:07 at her, mocking her need for sleep. She hadn’t even allowed herself the luxury of lingering, of pressing her lips against Ino’s shoulder the way she usually did before slipping away. Instead, she had scribbled a quick note and left it folded on the nightstand, a poor substitute for warmth.

 

By the time the emergency call had yanked her fully into motion, the day had already bled into a haze of scalpels, sutures, and endless calls for her attention. The operations hadn’t stopped—each one urgent, each one demanding a part of her that she no longer had the strength to ration. Somewhere between the fourth and the sixth procedure, she had caught herself wondering if Ino had even read the note. Or if she’d just woken to cold sheets and clenched her jaw in frustration.

 

Lately, that was the pattern: Sakura leaving the bed before dawn, Ino returning home late from her own labyrinth of duties, both of them orbiting the same house without colliding, their meetings reduced to the brief press of foreheads before sleep, or the tired brush of lips in passing. They still belonged to each other—of that she had no doubt—but belonging didn’t erase the ache of absence.

 

And gods, work always seemed to steal her first. Always dragging her away before Ino could even open her eyes. Always making her the one who left the bed cold.

 

She’d seen her lover—of course she had. A glance as she laced her boots, a brief brush of fingers in the dark before sleep claimed her, the faint scent of ink and earth clinging to Ino when she came home far too late from whatever she and Sai were working on. But those were fragments, not time.

 

And the worst part was, Sakura knew Ino was just as overworked, if not more. She could see it written in the tightness of her smile, in the way her voice sometimes cracked under the weight of irritation and exhaustion. Ino needed her—but every night Sakura found herself chained to her own battles, reports, surgeries, strategies.

 

She wanted to be there to ease Ino’s frustration, to remind her she wasn’t alone. She wanted to hold her until the sharp edges dulled. But every night, that intention slipped through her tired fingers.

 

Her throat tightened as she tried to answer Tsunade, but nothing came. Only the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything she hadn’t said to Ino in days.

 

"What is it that's really weighing on you, Sakura?" Tsunade probed patiently.

 

Sakura’s knuckles had gone white where they clenched around nothing but skin. Her jaw worked, teeth tight, as if she could bite down hard enough to keep whatever was pressing at her chest from slipping out. Tsunade didn’t move, didn’t push again, just stood there with her arms crossed and that weighty, knowing silence that always unraveled Sakura faster than any lecture.

 

Finally, with a heavy breath, Sakura let herself breathe. She leaned back into the leather of her swivel chair, its faint creak filling the space her voice had refused to. The shadows under her eyes looked darker under direct light. Her gaze drifted away from Tsunade, away from the papers littering her desk, and toward the window where the glass reflected her face back at her—pale, tired, and oddly distant.

 

“They keep saying it,” she muttered at last, voice hoarse, “like it’s some kind of compliment. Like they’re grateful. ‘She’s inhuman. She doesn’t tire. She doesn’t falter. She’s a monster, but she’s ours.’” Sakura’s throat tightened as she repeated the words. “I know they don’t mean harm, I know they look at me with awe. But every time I hear it, it cuts deeper. What if they’re right, Mama?”

 

Her hand drifted upward without thought, fingers brushing across her brow, skimming the faint ridge of skin where her diamond-shaped seal rested. "Ever since Sapphire Coast… it hasn’t stopped gnawing at me. The way my body moved, the way it healed, the way I… pushed it past what should’ve been possible. Ever since then, I kept asking myself if I even had limits anymore, and now, I’m terrified to ask—what if I don’t?”

 

Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “What if I’ve crossed a line somewhere along the way? What if… I’m not really human anymore?”

 

She swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes. The desk between her and Tsunade suddenly felt like a wall she couldn’t quite scale. “So I work. I work until there’s nothing left of me to wonder. I work because if I don’t, I start hearing them again. And worse—I start believing it.”

 

Her chest rose and fell sharply, like every word had been dragged out of her lungs. For the first time in days, Sakura let her body slump in her chair, stripped of its usual posture of control, as though the truth itself had drained the last of her strength.

 

Tsunade’s eyes softened, but her jaw set hard. “Sakura…” Her voice carried the weight of both the Hokage she once was and the mother who had watched her daughter bleed herself dry for others. “I know that tone. I’ve seen it in shinobi who thought they could outrun their own limits until they snapped in two."

 

Sakura stirred, about to speak, but Tsunade lifted a hand sharply. “I’m not here to coddle you—you wouldn’t listen to that anyway."

 

The words hit Sakura like a kunai to the gut. Her head snapped up, panic flashing in her tired eyes. “Suspended? You can’t be serious, Mother!”

 

Tsunade’s brow arched at once, sharp and deliberate. She caught the slip, as she always did. Mother. Not Shishō—the distant, formal wall Sakura used in public for professionalism. Not Mom, the casual warmth she allowed when the world wasn’t watching. Not even Mama, the word she whispered when the mask crumbled completely, when she was being vulnerable. Mother meant resistance, frustration wrapped tight around fear.

 

But Tsunade's silence stretched, heavy and expectant.

 

Sakura forced her voice to stay level even as it threatened to crack. “I’m the Chairperson of the hospital. I oversee everything—the expansion projects, the influx of patients, the budgetary allocations. We’re already pushing four to seven hundred patients a day, not even counting the walk-ins.” She leaned forward, desperate now, words tumbling over each other like she could outpace the verdict. “If I’m gone, if I step away even for a week—who’s supposed to hold it all together? Who’s supposed to make the calls that keep this place from collapsing under its own weight?”

 

Her voice pitched higher, laced with something raw. “You know as well as I do that we’re hanging by threads. One wrong decision, one missed diagnosis, one delayed order—and patients die.”

 

Tsunade let her finish, let her panic spin itself into the air between them. Then, calm and implacable, she spoke.

 

“Sometimes, you seem to forget that you're only eighteen, Sakura."

 

"I've survived a war on the frontlines for two years, Mother."

 

"And you will survive taking a break. The hospital will manage, Sakura.”

 

“No, it won’t,” Sakura snapped, frustration breaking through her exhaustion. “Not without—”

 

“Yes, it will.” Tsunade cut her off cleanly, her tone sharp enough to halt Sakura mid-breath. “Not because they’re you. Not because anyone else could match your level. But because they’re trained, because they’re competent, because you and I trained half of them ourselves. They may not be you, but they are capable in their own ways.”

 

Sakura’s nails dug crescents into her palms. “You don’t understand—”

 

“I understand perfectly.” Tsunade’s voice cracked like thunder. The desk between them felt smaller now, her presence pressing against every inch of the room. “I’ve seen what burnout does, Sakura. I’ve seen people work themselves to the bone until they can’t tell the difference between service and self-destruction. And I’ll be damned if I stand by and let my daughter—my heir—throw herself into that same abyss.”

 

Sakura opened her mouth to argue again, but Tsunade’s eyes narrowed, and the weight of her authority pressed down hard.

 

Sakura opened her mouth to argue again, but Tsunade’s eyes narrowed, and the weight of her authority pressed down hard.

 

“Enough. This isn’t a debate. You are suspended until further notice.”

 

Sakura groaned softly, the sound pulled from deep in her chest, part defiance, part defeat. She slumped back in her chair, lips pressed tight, glaring at the wood grain of the desk as if it had betrayed her.

 

Sakura’s lips parted, but no rebuttal came out. “You’re unreasonable.”

 

“You inherited that from me,” Tsunade quipped dryly, though the faint tremor of worry never left her face. "Come to me in two days. I came here hoping to have a discussion about what I found about your abilities, but I want you to rest. Clear your mind. Until you're fully rested, we begin with applying the information I have."

 

Tsunade’s eyes softened, but she didn’t move to touch her behind her desk. She knew comfort would only make Sakura bristle right now. Instead, she gave the firmest kind of love a Senju could offer.

 

Tsunade eyed her firmly then. "Do you understand?"

 

Sakura let her hands fall into her lap, defeated. “...Understood.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Sakura left the hospital earlier than usual that day. Normally, if her schedule wasn’t swamped, she made it a point to leave around six in the evening. That way she could still finish up reports or paperwork at home, curled up on the couch or in the study with a pot of tea at her side. On busier days, when the patient count swallowed her entire afternoon, she would let Ino know ahead of time and wouldn’t return until nine or ten at night. Sometimes it was nearly midnight before she trudged through the gates of the Yamanaka Compound—or, on the rarest occasions, not at all. The Senju Manor was closer to the hospital, and if exhaustion anchored her bones too heavily, she would simply sleep there.

 

Her assistants had even converted a small backroom behind her office into a bedroom, once a cluttered storage closet for ledgers and supplies. Now it had a modest futon, a shelf for personal items, and curtains that could close out the world when she needed a few precious hours of rest. She used it sparingly, never wanting Ino to worry too much, but it was there.

 

Today, however, was different. Tsunade’s words—suspended—still echoed in her skull like the ringing of a struck bell. By four in the afternoon she had left the hospital entirely, too restless to sit behind her desk and too raw to plaster on the calm, authoritative smile her staff expected. If they noticed her early departure, no one said a word. Maybe they knew better. Maybe the heaviness on her face told them not to ask.

 

The streets of Konoha were alive with their usual rhythm—vendors calling out wares, children darting between stalls, shinobi moving in groups as they rotated shifts or ran errands. Sakura kept her hands loosely in her cloak pockets, letting the movement of the crowd carry her along. Her mind was caught between the hollow ache in her chest and the gnawing thought of what she was supposed to do now that the hospital, her domain, had been stripped from her hands.

 

That was when she spotted Hinata.

 

The Hyūga heiress moved through the street with quiet grace, flanked on either side by three guards. It was unusual. Since stepping down as heir years ago, Hinata had finally been free of the constant watchful eyes of her clan’s protectors. But after the war, when she reinstated her title for the sake of her younger sister, the guards had returned. Still, they were seldom so visible; their presence now spoke of official business.

 

Sakura slowed, observing from a distance. Hinata was speaking to a group of merchants, polite but firm, her pale eyes faintly glowing with the telltale activation of her Byakugan. She was scanning the street, her gaze sweeping like a lighthouse beam across every shadow, every rooftop, every passerby. Then her eyes locked with Sakura’s.

 

The glow faded, her pupils returning to their usual softness, and Hinata smiled.

 

Sakura froze for half a heartbeat. The last time they had spoken—really spoken—was months ago. That day still burned in her memory, tangled and uncomfortable. Hinata’s lips brushing her cheek. The way Ino had walked in at exactly the wrong moment. The argument that had flared between them afterward, jagged with Ino’s jealousy and Sakura’s clumsy attempts to explain. The fight between Ino and Hinata that followed, fists and words cutting in equal measure.

 

And then silence.

 

She hadn’t sought Hinata out since. Maybe she hadn’t been avoiding her exactly—but she hadn’t tried to bridge the gap, either. It felt safer not to, safer for Ino, safer for herself.

 

But Hinata… Hinata had been the one to send a letter.

 

Make peace with her, it had said. A quiet nudge written in her elegant script. It was that letter that had pushed Sakura back toward the Yamanaka Compound, her heart in her throat—only to stumble into Ino and Hinata fighting anyway.

 

Now here Hinata stood, only a few paces away, with guards at her side and a calm smile that seemed to cut through the chaos of the street.

 

Sakura’s breath hitched. She didn’t know if she should approach, or turn away, or pretend she hadn’t noticed. The weight of months of silence pressed against her chest, mixed with the heat of Ino’s imagined disapproval, and for the first time in a long while, Sakura Haruno—war hero, medic, daughter of Tsunade—felt like a nervous girl again, caught in the space between loyalty, regret, and something she couldn’t quite name.

 

Sakura hesitated in her steps, unsure whether to wave or pretend she hadn’t noticed. But Hinata, as if sensing that flicker of indecision, dismissed it entirely. With a small nod to her guards to remain at their post, she stepped forward, her soft smile carrying her across the gap between them.

 

“Sakura,” Hinata greeted, her voice calm, familiar.

 

Sakura blinked, then returned a small, almost awkward smile. “Hinata. It’s been a while.”

 

They stood there for a beat too long, a silence threatening to settle, heavy with the memory of that night—the kiss, the argument, the fight that followed. But Hinata didn’t allow it to linger. Her expression never faltered, not a hint of tension showing, as if she had decided that the past belonged firmly behind them.

 

“You’ve been busy,” Hinata said lightly. “The hospital must be keeping you running in circles.”

 

Sakura exhaled quietly, her shoulders easing just slightly. “That’s one way to put it. Sometimes it feels like I practically live there.”

 

Hinata chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “That hasn’t changed. You’ve always given too much of yourself.”

 

Sakura felt a tiny sting of guilt at that—because it was true, and because it reminded her that Hinata had once cared enough to notice things like this, even before the war. She shifted, but then caught herself, forcing her lips into a gentler smile.

 

“What about you?” She asked, seizing the chance to move the spotlight away from herself. “Seems like you’re taking on more Hyūga responsibilities again.”

 

Hinata nodded, her expression softening as she spoke. “Yes… it felt right. Hanabi has her own dreams, and I… I couldn’t let her shoulder everything.” She glanced briefly toward the guards, her tone turning wry. “Though I didn’t exactly miss being followed around everywhere.”

 

That made Sakura laugh—genuinely this time, a sound that surprised her in how natural it felt. The hesitation she carried at the beginning began to chip away, replaced by the familiarity of easy conversation. They talked as they always had—Sakura asking after Hanabi, Hinata teasing her about being too busy to hang out, and Sakura in turn sharing stories of her assistants at the hospital.

 

Not once did either of them touch the memory of what had happened months ago. It was a silent agreement, a thread between them that the past was acknowledged but left unopened.

 

And yet, as Sakura caught Hinata’s steady gaze and the warmth of her smile, a part of her couldn’t help but think—Hinata hadn’t changed much at all.

 

The market street was alive with chatter and the smell of roasted chestnuts drifting from a vendor’s stall. Sakura walked at Hinata’s side. It felt strange at first, this closeness without the weight of the months that had passed, but Hinata had a way of smoothing the edges without even trying. 

 

She spoke about her recent missions, her father loosening his grip on her little by little, Hanabi’s stubborn streak growing stronger, and the pride she felt for her clan’s progress.

 

Sakura found herself laughing, really laughing, at Hinata’s dry little anecdotes—things she’d missed more than she realized. Their conversation flowed so easily, like slipping back into a stream they’d once swum together as girls, and soon the tension she’d carried in her shoulders began to uncoil.

 

As they turned down one of the quieter streets, Sakura’s gaze wandered ahead, but her thoughts slipped back to the first time she’d truly met Hinata. She had been small, all elbows and indignation, when she noticed a cluster of boys circling the pale-eyed girl. Hinata hadn’t fought back—just stood there, shrinking in on herself as their taunts grew sharper. Without thinking, Sakura had stepped in, scowling at the bullies until they turned their jeers on her. She remembered grabbing Hinata’s hand and running, tugging her along the same streets they were walking now, feet pounding against the stones until the press of the crowd made the boys finally peel away. Public places meant safety. And that was how it started—Hinata’s shy, surprised smile that day, the quiet gratitude in her eyes.

 

From then on, they were friends. Not the loud, inseparable kind, but the steady sort—companions who gravitated toward one another when the world seemed too sharp. And now, years later, as Hinata’s soft laugh brushed against her ear, Sakura realized just how deeply she had missed their friendship.

 

It was only then that Sakura started to notice things she hadn’t before—little differences that had been there all along but had gone unseen. The way Hinata’s smile softened when it was directed at her, a warmth that felt almost private. The way her pale eyes seemed to brighten, catching the lantern light in a way that made them glow whenever their gazes met. The way Hinata leaned in just slightly closer, not out of shyness, but as though the distance itself was unbearable.

 

Sakura’s breath caught in her throat for a moment. How had she never seen this before? How long had Hinata looked at her this way, with that quiet, steady fondness that asked for nothing but gave everything? It made her wonder—was this something new, born after everything that had happened? Or had it been there for years, hidden in plain sight, just beyond the edges of her awareness?

 

Sakura caught herself wondering—what would Ino say if she saw them now, walking side by side through Konoha’s lantern-lit streets? The thought hit her like a guilty pang, her steps faltering ever so slightly. Ino’s shadow, her presence, was always there in the back of her mind, like an anchor—comforting and terrifying at the same time.

 

Hinata, as if reading the shift in her aura, slowed as they reached the tall wooden gates of the Hyūga compound. The guards lingered a few paces back, silent, their pale eyes flickering with vigilance. Hinata turned toward her, her expression serene, almost luminous under the faint glow of torchlight.

 

“I like you,” Hinata said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. Her voice didn’t waver, didn’t hide. The words came out steady, unadorned, like saying what the weather was.

 

Sakura blinked, startled by the bluntness of it, by the courage behind such simplicity.

 

Hinata went on, soft but unwavering. “But I will not pursue you. I never even planned on it.” She smiled faintly, a smile tinged with quiet resignation rather than bitterness. “I will not ruin what you have with Ino. What the two of you share—it’s rare, it’s powerful, and it’s… beautiful. I would sooner die than stand in the way of that.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her chest felt tight.

 

Before she could step back, Hinata leaned in slightly, closing the space between them just enough for Sakura to feel the warmth of her presence. Hinata’s hand rose and caught her wrist with the gentlest hold, not binding, just grounding. Her eyes—pale, clear, searching—met Sakura’s, as if urging her to understand.

 

Behind Hinata, the world seemed to still. The sun was sinking lower, its last light spilling across the rooftops and bathing the street in a muted glow. The sky had softened into a watercolor of pinks and oranges, fading into the dusky blues of approaching night. The edges of her hair caught the sunlight, strands of indigo turned to silver fire, making her look almost otherworldly against the horizon.

 

Sakura felt her breath catch. The warmth of Hinata’s fingers against her wrist seemed amplified by the fading heat of the day, grounding her in the moment even as the beauty of the scene threatened to sweep her away. It was as though the evening itself had conspired to frame Hinata in that instant—gentle, steady, unyielding in her own way.

 

And yet, even as Hinata stood before her in the golden hush of dusk, Sakura’s heart betrayed her. All she could think about was how Ino would look beneath this same light—her blonde hair ablaze like spun gold, her sharp blue eyes reflecting the last flare of the sun, her presence larger than the sky itself. Ino would dazzle against this backdrop, she thought bitterly, not realizing until now how much of her vision of the world had already been colored by that girl.

 

Hinata’s gaze was full of something quiet but undeniable, a yearning that Sakura suddenly recognized too clearly. And it scared her. Because whatever Hinata may feel for her, Sakura knew she could not return it—not the way Hinata deserved. To step forward now, to give Hinata even a sliver of hope, would only end in hurt.

 

She swallowed, the weight of guilt pressing on her chest. She wasn’t blind to Hinata’s beauty, nor to the kindness that radiated from her every word and gesture. But her heart… her heart was already bound, wrapped far too tightly around someone else. She was too in love with Ino—too consumed by the pull she had toward her—to even imagine letting herself fall for anyone else.

 

And that truth, between their breaths—felt like the cruelest thing of all.

 

“What we have, this friendship… it’s enough for me,” Hinata said, her tone almost reverent, like she was confessing to the evening sky as much as to Sakura. Her fingers lingered just a second longer on Sakura’s wrist before she let go, a deliberate act of respect, of release. “It always has been. Don’t mistake my kindness, my small affections, for something more. I care about you, Sakura. Deeply. But not the way Ino does.”

 

Her voice trembled, not with hesitation, but with sincerity that made Sakura’s chest ache. Hinata’s pale eyes caught the last threads of light in the horizon, turning them into soft reflections of amber and pearl, and in them Sakura saw no bitterness—only an aching acceptance.

 

“I could never dream of loving you like she does,” Hinata continued, her smile faint, but steady, like she had practiced it in moments of solitude. “That love—” she paused, her lips parting as though the words themselves carried a weight she had to push through, “—it belongs to her. And I respect that.”

 

Her eyes softened, pale irises shimmering as dusk bled into night. “I would never choose you against the world, Sakura. Against my clan, against the legacy I was born into. My love—whatever it was, whatever it could have been—it could never burn that fiercely. Not like hers.” Hinata’s hold on Sakura’s wrist loosened slightly, not in retreat, but as if to remind her that she had no intention of binding her. “That’s why I respect her… because Ino would throw everything away, even herself, for you. And I… I could never do that.”

 

Her voice was steady, though tinged with quiet ache. “I won’t ever get in the way of that love, nor will I ever envy it. Hurt, maybe—yes, a little. But never in a way that makes me wish you would look at me instead. Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And I’ve seen the way you look back.”

 

Hinata’s smile lingered then, not broken, not bitter—just deeply human. “That love belongs to her, and I could never take it away. Even if I tried.”

 

The breeze stirred around them, carrying with it the mingled scents of evening—street vendors preparing food, the faint sweetness of flowers, the salt of distant air—and Sakura thought for a moment how unfair it all was. That Hinata could look at her with so much gentleness, so much grace, and still step back without a trace of resentment. That the world could give her such a friend, and yet her heart remained stubbornly chained to one person alone.

 

Sakura felt her throat tighten, guilt and relief twisting together in a way she couldn’t explain. But before she could say anything, a voice called her name—low, familiar, commanding in its calmness.

 

“Sakura.”

 

They both turned. Ino stood a few paces away, her silhouette framed by the last strands of daylight. She was dressed in her standard Sensory and Communication Division uniform—sleek, all black tactical gear that clung with quiet authority, her long hair pulled back into a sharp braid that swung against her back like a declaration of discipline. Even standing still, she radiated presence, a force that seemed to part the very air around her.

 

Sakura’s heart stuttered. She realized, belatedly, that she was still standing far too close to Hinata, their hands having only just separated moments before. Heat crept up her neck as she instinctively took a few steps back, nervous and guilty—as though distance alone could erase the intimacy Ino might have walked in on. They hadn’t done anything, not really, and yet her chest squeezed with the sensation of being caught.

 

But Ino didn’t look angry. Or at least—she didn’t show anger. Her expression was carved in neutrality, her lips a line, her gaze steady as it slid from Sakura to Hinata. Still, Sakura knew Ino too well; she could feel the undercurrent in the silence, the way Ino’s eyes lingered a moment too long, saying something only Hinata seemed to understand.

 

The tension crackled, taut and unspoken, as though two storms had recognized each other in passing.

 

And then—Hinata chuckled. Soft, unbothered, her tone light enough to slice through the heaviness that pressed down on Sakura’s shoulders.

 

“Good to see you too, Ino.”

 

There was no challenge in her voice, no bitterness. If anything, it was laced with acknowledgment, the kind that left no room for rivalry. She shifted her gaze back to Sakura, her eyes softening, as if to grant her one last reassurance.

 

“I’ll see you around, Sakura.”

 

With that, Hinata turned and walked toward the gates of the Hyūga Compound, her guards falling in step behind her. Sakura’s eyes followed her retreating figure until it slipped into the shadows of the estate.

 

And when she finally turned back, Ino was still watching her—not Hinata, not the compound, but her—with that look Sakura could never quite defend herself against, equal parts fierce and unreadable.

 

They walked back toward the Yamanaka Compound in silence, the night air cool against their skin. Sakura’s hand slid carefully into Ino’s, fingers weaving together as though she feared the blonde might slip away if she didn’t hold tight. Ino’s response was immediate—her grip firm, possessive, her thumb pressing against Sakura’s knuckles with a certainty that spoke louder than words: you’re mine.

 

For a time, neither spoke. The sound of their sandals on the cobbled streets, the distant hum of lanterns and voices, filled the spaces where words might have been. Sakura stole glances at Ino, her heart tightening with each look at the furrow between her brows, the way her lips pressed into a thin line. Ino didn’t meet her gaze, keeping her eyes forward, her jaw set.

 

They were already within the familiar streets of the Yamanaka Compound—wooden lanterns bearing her clan’s sigil glowing faintly—when Ino finally exhaled a breath heavy enough to fracture the silence.

 

“I’m not angry, Sakura,” she said, her voice low, almost reluctant.

 

Sakura’s lips curved downward. “But you’re not happy either.”

 

Ino’s steps faltered for just a heartbeat before continuing. “Well…” she muttered, a small edge slipping into her tone, “she’s not exactly someone I want around you. Not after what happened last time.”

 

Sakura’s eyes softened, guilt flickering in the green. “I’m sorry. We were just… trying to clear the air between us.”

 

Ino finally turned to her, one brow arching, her expression a blend of annoyance and ache. “Awfully close for just clearing the air."

 

Sakura winced, her voice catching. “I’m sorry.”

 

Ino shook her head as she just realized what she had implied, releasing a weary sigh. “No, I—” she stopped, searching for words, her grip on Sakura’s hand tightening. “I’m not blaming you. It’s not something you should have to apologize for. I just…” Her throat worked as if she was swallowing something sharp.

 

Sakura tilted her head, watching her with steady patience. “Jealous?” She asked softly.

 

A faint, humorless laugh escaped Ino’s lips, but her gaze fell to the ground. “Something like that.”

 

Sakura studied her, the shadows of the lanterns flickering across Ino’s face. “Am I to blame,” she murmured, “for giving you enough reasons to feel jealous?”

 

That made Ino look at her sharply. “No, Sakura.” Her voice was firm, almost too quick, as if the denial itself was a defense. She slowed their walk, finally stopping, and turned fully toward her. “You’re mine. I know you know that.” Her eyes, blue and piercing, softened just slightly at the edges. “It’s just—” She broke off, exhaling through her nose. “Forget it. It’s difficult to explain.”

 

The silence returned, heavier this time, wrapping around them like a fog. Sakura let it stretch, her gaze fixed on the crease of Ino’s brows, the quiet storm gathering there. She squeezed Ino’s hand gently, as if to say she understood, even when the words hadn’t found their way out yet.

 

The quiet between them lingered as their steps slowed, the gravel path crunching beneath their sandals until Sakura’s gentle tug pulled Ino away from the route toward the Yamanaka Estate. Ino allowed it without protest, her fingers still laced with Sakura’s, her grip firm yet telling—like she was holding on to something she couldn’t bear to lose.

 

They found themselves before the small lake, the plaza around it emptying as the day drew to its close. The last of the vendors were packing their carts, Yamanaka children were being called home, and the world itself seemed to hush as the sun sank lower into the horizon.

 

The water rippled in soft patterns, catching the fire of the sky above. Streaks of amber, pink, and violet stretched across the heavens, mirrored by the gentle surface of the lake until it seemed they were standing at the edge of two skies—one above, one below. The air smelled faintly of damp grass and warm stone.

 

Sakura looked at Ino in the glow of that light and felt her chest tighten. The orange shimmer caught on Ino’s braid, strands of blonde hair turned molten by the dying sun. Even with tension written across her furrowed brows, she was beautiful in a way that was almost painful—like the world was conspiring to remind Sakura of just how much she loved her, just how much she couldn’t bear to lose her.

 

Ino’s jaw worked as if she wanted to say something but bit it back, her eyes on the lake instead of Sakura. The sunset painted her features in warmth, but Sakura could see past it—saw the restless shadows that clung to her, the flicker of jealousy she tried to downplay, the fear of being second to someone else.

 

Sakura gave her hand another squeeze, this time tugging her closer until their shoulders brushed. “You don’t have to explain,” she said softly, watching the ripples on the water rather than Ino’s face. “But I want you to know… it’s you. It’s always you.”

 

Ino finally turned, and her eyes caught the burnished sky behind Sakura. For a heartbeat, she looked undone—by the light, by Sakura’s words, by the honesty between them. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her body loosening bit by bit, though her grip on Sakura’s hand never wavered.

 

The world around them dimmed as the sun dipped further, but the space between them grew brighter, warmed by something that couldn’t be undone by shadows.

 

“You know…” Ino’s voice was soft, like it might break under its own weight, “…Danzo used to tell me the world doesn’t care what it takes from you. That if you weren’t ruthless enough, it would strip you bare until nothing was left.”

 

Sakura turned toward her, but Ino’s eyes were fixed on the lake—unblinking, distant, as if she were staring into the reflection of ghosts only she could see. Her jaw tightened, her throat bobbing with the effort of keeping her voice steady.

 

“He wasn’t wrong,” Ino whispered, though the words sounded like they scraped against her. A twitch flickered at the corner of her mouth, the shadow of a bitter smile that never quite formed. “The world took my mother before I was old enough to even remember her voice. Then my brother. And then—my father. Piece by piece, it kept proving him right.”

 

Her lips trembled, but she bit them hard, refusing to let them shake. Even so, Sakura saw it—the tightness in her eyes, the faint crease in her brow, the way her breath caught too long in her chest. Danzo’s teachings weren’t just words. They were scars carved so deep that even now, years later, they still pulled at her from the inside.

 

“So I started believing it,” Ino continued, her voice low and frayed. “That anything I loved was already marked to be taken.” She gave a short, jagged laugh, but it collapsed halfway, cracking into silence.

 

Her hand clamped around Sakura’s, desperate, almost painful.

 

“That’s why I love like this,” Ino admitted, finally dragging her gaze from the water to meet Sakura’s. The mask slipped in that moment. Her eyes shone, rimmed red, not just with tears but with the raw terror of someone who had been trained—conditioned—to expect loss at every turn. “Fiercely. Possessively. Because every part of me is afraid—terrified—that the world’s waiting to take you too. It almost did a couple of times, and I know it will keep trying. But if it finally succeeds and does, Sakura…” Her voice broke, just a hairline fracture, but enough for Sakura to hear all of her. “I don’t think there would be anything left of me after that.”

 

The lake carried the confession outward in trembling ripples, as though even the water itself was bearing the weight of her truth. 

 

Sakura’s throat tightened as Ino’s words hung between them, raw and trembling in the twilight. For a long moment she said nothing—just studied her. The way Ino’s jaw locked like she was holding back more than she dared to release. The way her eyes, wet and shining, betrayed years of swallowed grief, of Danzo’s poison still shadowing her thoughts even now. And the way her hand clung to hers, fierce and desperate, like letting go would mean dissolving into the very air.

 

“Ino…” Sakura whispered, her voice so low it was nearly lost in the hush of the lake. She shifted closer, their shoulders touching, and with her free hand brushed a strand of blond hair back behind Ino’s ear, her fingers lingering there—gentle, grounding. “I hear you. I feel how much you carry. And I need you to listen to me now.”

 

Her words were slow, deliberate, as if she was laying bricks into a foundation neither of them could ever undo.

 

“You will never lose me. Not to distance, not to fate, not to time, not even to the chaos of this world. I won’t let you.” Her hand left Ino’s fingers to rise, cupping her cheek with infinite care. The warmth of her palm lingered there, steady and grounding, as if she could hold Ino together through touch alone. “Because I’m not someone who can be taken away. Not from you.”

 

Her voice trembled, then steadied, firming with every word. “I’m yours, Ino. In every way that matters. I always have been, even before I understood what that meant. And I’ll stay yours—not just today, not just tomorrow, but for as long as I’m breathing. I won’t be another name carved into your grief."

 

Sakura tightened her hold, pressing her palm flush to Ino’s, fingers threading together until there was no space left between them. Her voice rose, trembling with its own conviction.

 

“I will not lose you either.” She promised once more, the softness in her tone sharpening, like steel hidden in silk. Her other hand then shifted, brushing against Ino’s cheek, thumb shaking slightly but refusing to pull away. “Do you hear me, Ino? Whatever this world tries to take, whatever storms it throws at us—I won’t let go. I won’t allow it to strip you of me, or me of you. Not after everything we’ve survived.”

 

Her eyes burned, steady and unyielding as they locked with Ino’s, a green flame flaring in the dusk. “I know what it feels like to be left behind, to watch someone you love disappear until all you’re holding is memory. I can’t—won’t—let that happen to us. You’ve given me too much of yourself. You’ve bared your scars, your fears, the parts of you no one else has seen… And if I ever allowed the world to take you away from me, I’d be betraying that trust.”

 

Her voice shook but grew fiercer with each word, as though a vow was etching itself into the air between them. “So I swear to you, Ino—on my name, on my blood, on everything I am—that I will never leave you. That no matter how dark it gets, no matter how strong the tide, you’ll always find me reaching back for you. Because I’m yours. Do you understand? Yours. And nothing—no fate, no enemy, no god—will change that.”

 

Her chest rose and fell with the force of it, green eyes locked on blue as if she were swearing an oath to the very soul inside them. And in that moment, the world narrowed to nothing but their joined hands and the sound of their breaths tangling together.

 

Then, without breaking that gaze, Sakura leaned forward. Her lips pressed against Ino’s forehead, lingering—soft at first, reverent. But then she let the kiss trail down, leaving a peck on her eyes, her nose, her cheeks—pausing only a heartbeat before finally finding Ino’s mouth. It wasn’t hurried, nor tentative—it was sealing, like the final stroke of a vow etched into stone.

 

When she finally pulled back, their breaths mingled in the hush of the lake’s evening air. Neither of them spoke at first, because the words had already been spoken in touch, in the way Sakura’s hands framed Ino’s face as if she’d never let go, in the way Ino’s fingers clung to hers as though she’d found her anchor.

 

A quiet laugh broke the stillness—warm, shaky, but full of something brighter than the setting sun. Ino pressed her forehead against Sakura’s, her smile brushing against Sakura’s lips.

 

“I want to marry you right now,” she blurted, half-laugh, half-confession.

 

Sakura’s chest tightened, a mix of surprise and inevitability all at once. “Ask me,” she whispered, eyes burning with the kind of certainty that couldn’t be shaken. “You know I’ll say yes.”

 

“I know.” Ino’s smile curved softer, her eyes shimmering with that dangerous tenderness she never let anyone else see. She leaned in to steal another kiss—short, but grounding, as if to prove she could still breathe between the enormity of it all. “Someday, Sakura.”

 

Sakura’s lashes lowered, her lips trembling against Ino’s as she whispered, almost like a prayer, “You promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

And there, with the lake carrying their reflections into the night, the vow hung between them—no less binding than a seal, no less sacred than a bond written in blood and love both.

 

By the time they returned to the Estate that evening, the sky was already awash with stars. They barely spared the scrolls, dinner, or the unfinished paperwork a glance. None of it mattered. What mattered was the way Sakura’s hand tightened around Ino’s as she pulled her inside, wordlessly telling her: Stay. Don’t let go.

 

The shower steamed quickly, filling the room with heat. Ino pressed Sakura against the cool tiles, water streaming over them, plastering pink and gold hair to flushed skin. Sakura’s laugh broke between kisses, breathless, before it was swallowed up by the hunger in Ino’s mouth. Their lips moved with urgency, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, as though their vow at the lake had ignited something that neither could put out. 

 

Sakura arched when Ino’s hands slid down her back, tracing the shape of her hips, cupping her thighs to lift her effortlessly. Water drummed around them, but all Sakura could feel was the way Ino pressed closer, the low sound in her throat vibrating against her lips. “Ino…” she whispered, half-plea, half-command, before silken lips trailed down her throat, tasting water and skin alike.

 

The world blurred into heat, touch, and desperate need. Clothes, duties, everything else dissolved as they stumbled from the bathroom to their bed, wet hair dripping into the sheets. Ino pushed Sakura down, straddling her with fire in her eyes, taking the dominance she always played. Their kisses deepened into something far beyond gentle affection—messy, gasping, teeth tugging at lips, hands exploring every inch of familiar, beloved skin.

 

Each touch was a promise, every moan a vow. They weren’t careful, not tonight. They were consuming, giving, taking—two halves burning into one whole.

 

And when exhaustion finally pulled them into stillness, tangled together in damp sheets, Ino buried her face against Sakura's neck, whispering softly, “Mine.”

 

Sakura only chuckled lowly, pressing her forehead against Ino's. “Always.”

 

 

Chapter 9

 

The morning light was lazy, golden and thick, spilling in through the curtains that hadn’t been pulled shut the night before. Sakura stirred first, only to realize she hadn’t shifted from the crook of Ino’s arm all night. Her body still hummed faintly with the ache of the night before, every muscle holding a memory of where Ino’s hands had been, the weight of her voice when command had slipped into it like steel wrapped in silk.

 

She blinked up, and the first thing she saw was Ino watching her already—awake, steady, blue eyes softened but still carrying that edge. It made Sakura swallow before she even thought to speak.

 

“Good morning,” Ino murmured, her voice low, roughened by sleep but carrying that same subtle authority. Her thumb brushed Sakura’s jaw as if checking—reminding her who had held her so completely the night before.

 

Sakura’s lips parted automatically, words caught somewhere between greeting and answer, but what left her instead was a soft, “...Good morning,” whispered like a reply she owed. It was only after saying it that she realized she had spoken the way she did last night—obedient, quiet, deferential.

 

The realization made a faint heat crawl across her cheeks.

 

Ino’s smirk deepened, knowing, though she didn’t press it. She only leaned in, brushing a kiss to Sakura’s lips. “Stay,” she said gently, almost casually, but the weight of it pressed into Sakura’s chest like an order. And her body obeyed before her mind caught up, sinking back into the sheets, her breath quieting as if she had no other option but to listen.

 

Only then did Ino finally shift, sitting up and stretching, pale hair falling loose over her shoulders. She moved like she owned the space, like she owned this moment, and Sakura felt a shiver of memory—her, last night, bound and breathless, Ino’s voice the only compass she had.

 

But the tension didn’t last long. Because when Ino bent over and pressed a playful kiss to her forehead, whispering, “Don’t pout, forehead-girl,” Sakura found herself laughing, the sharp edges dissolving into warmth.

 

The domestic rhythm came easier after that. Ino fussed with her uniform after a quick shower, brushing her hair back into its proper tie, while Sakura lingered on the bed, watching. It wasn’t until she caught herself following Ino’s movements too intently, waiting almost for another command, that she shook her head and muttered, “You’re making me feel like I should sit up straight just watching you.”

 

Ino grinned at her through the mirror, adjusting her collar. “Good girl,” she teased, deliberately wicked, and Sakura’s blush flared at the phrase.

 

“Ino!”

 

“What? You are.” Ino’s tone was too smug, too satisfied, but her smile softened as she crossed back to Sakura’s side of the bed, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. Her hand lingered against her cheek a moment longer than necessary. “Though you don’t have to be that good right now. Lady Tsunade isn't here to scold you for being bad. I certainly won't."

 

That finally made Sakura snort, dropping her head against Ino’s shoulder. “You know she did that yesterday? Stormed into my office just to scold me. Clear enough that I’m pretty sure the entire hospital heard it.”

 

Ino laughed, bright and bubbling, pressing her forehead to Sakura’s. “That’s so very her. Bet she had that look—you know, the one where even the walls start feeling guilty.”

 

“She actually wagged her finger at me,” Sakura said flatly. “Like I was twelve again.”

 

“Cute,” Ino said, too entertained.

 

Sakura swatted her arm, but the warmth between them had already shifted the remnants of last night’s fire into something softer, playful, and deeply domestic. The kind of morning that wasn’t meant to last forever, but lingered long enough to remind them both that even under titles and the pressure of the world, they were still just them.

 

Sakura was close to returning back to her slumber when Ino's figure loomed over her.

 

“Get dressed,” Ino said, tone casual but carrying that same quiet command she wore so naturally.

 

Sakura blinked at her, brow then raised. “Don't I deserve extra sleep?" 

 

“Right now.” Ino’s lips curled, half-smirk, half-secret. “I want to show you something.”

 

The look in her eyes erased Sakura’s protest. Whatever this was, it was deliberate, and Ino’s secrets had a way of turning the ordinary into something unforgettable. Curiosity tugged at her harder than hesitation ever could, so she slipped into fresh clothes—comfortable but neat—and let Ino lead her out into the cool morning air.

 

The backyard of the Estate stretched wide, a lush sprawl of old forest tamed but never conquered. Sakura had spent her time surrounded by these trees shadowing her, towering, but now they looked… different. The path they took was laid in polished wooden slabs that gleamed softly beneath their feet, warmed by sunlight filtering through the canopy. Each tree was adorned with a lantern—paper-thin and delicate, unlit now but ready to spill golden firelight when dusk arrived. The forest wasn’t wild anymore, the entire place looking more like a beautiful ranger park. 

 

“You did this?” Sakura asked quietly, glancing around, heart already beginning to race.

 

Ino only smiled without answering, fingers tightening around hers as they walked.

 

They followed the wooden path deeper, the distant noise of running water guiding them. Soon enough, the path curved toward another fountain, its design intricate, almost ethereal—white stone carved into petals, with water streaming like liquid glass down its sides, glittering like silver glass. The fountain’s base was carved into the shape of intertwining flowers—camellias, roses, chrysanthemums—all curling up toward the water’s crown. Beyond it, though, was what truly caught her attention.

 

A wall of emerald-green hedges stood tall and proud, seamless as though nature itself had woven a curtain. The bushes were thick, glossy with dew, their tops sculpted into elegant arches. Vines cascaded down in delicate swirls, their blossoms spilling colors—lavender, ivory, soft blue—that contrasted with the dark leaves. At the center of the wall, there was a break: a hidden entrance framed by carved wooden pillars, each etched with old Yamanaka family symbols.

 

Sakura paused, her breath hitching at how intentional this all looked. It felt less like walking into a backyard and more like stepping toward a secret garden. If she thought their garden located at the northern part beyond the living room was beautiful, especially with its koi pond edged in smooth black stone, the water so clear the orange and white fish gleamed like scattered jewels beneath the surface, and the arched cedar bridge polished to a warm sheen—this one was something else. 

 

That northern garden, framed by manicured bonsai pines and low stone lanterns, was already a sight to behold, its borders softened by a glass wall and sliding door that let the living room connect directly to the area. Beyond it, a small vineyard stretched in orderly rows, vines climbing trellises and catching the afternoon sun in a shimmer of green and gold. And yet—even with all that—what spread before her now left her breathless.

 

Ino only smiled at her, that teasing glimmer in her eyes, before nudging her through.

 

And then Sakura’s world opened up.

 

The clearing she remembered—wild grass, uneven dirt, a place where she once stretched her chakra during training—was gone. In its place was something out of a dream.

 

A vast pool spread out like a polished mirror, its waters crystal-clear, reflecting the dappled sunlight in rippling patterns across the surrounding trees. Smooth white stone framed the pool’s edges, carved so finely it looked almost liquid. Small lilies floated lazily on the surface, their petals unfurling toward the sky.

 

But what truly stole her breath was the structure at the middle of it all. Rising elegantly from the pool’s center was a cabana—no, more like a pavilion—connected to the shore by a curved bridge of pale wood. Its roof was a soft curve of lacquered tiles, painted with floral motifs, while sheer silk curtains hung from its beams, swaying faintly with the breeze. 

 

The silks were pale as morning mist, catching the light and giving the impression that the cabana itself floated. Cushions of cream and jade green were arranged inside, with low tables carved from fragrant cedar. Lanterns, identical to those hanging in the trees, circled the pavilion.

 

Beyond the pool, Sakura noticed how the forest had been reshaped, sculpted into a kind of natural amphitheater. Trees curved inward, their branches arching high to form a leafy dome, dappling the space in shifting emerald and gold light. Flowers bloomed along carefully arranged beds—violets, hydrangeas, peonies—painting the air with subtle fragrance. And there, tucked discreetly near one corner of the water, a smaller hot spring bubbled softly, steam curling upward.

 

Sakura stood there, unable to move. Her chest tightened simply from the sheer overwhelming beauty of it all. This wasn’t just a pool nor a pavilion. It was… sanctuary.

 

She turned to Ino, who was watching her with that satisfied, quiet smile of hers, arms loosely crossed as if she hadn’t just revealed something extraordinary.

 

“Ino…” Sakura’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke. Her lips curved into an incredulous smile, her eyes shining. “You… you made this?”

 

Ino lifted a shoulder, as if it were nothing. “You said once you’d already explored every inch of this forest. That there wasn’t anything here that could surprise you.” She paused, her smirk softening. “I figured I’d fix that.”

 

Sakura laughed—an airy, breathless sound, the kind she rarely let out anymore. Her hands flew up to her mouth, then dropped as she stepped closer to the edge of the pool, the reflection of the cabana trembling beneath her feet. “This is… gods, Ino, this is beautiful. It’s like…” Her voice faltered, because there weren’t words big enough.

 

Ino tilted her head, watching Sakura stumble for words, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Like I built it just to see that look on your face?” She offered lightly, though her voice carried a softness that gave her away.

 

Sakura turned her head sharply, catching that smirk and the warmth beneath it, and let out another laugh—this one lower, helpless. “You’re impossible,” she said, though her cheeks betrayed her, warm with color. 

 

She crouched at the edge of the pool and brushed her fingertips across the water’s surface, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the cabana. “Who just casually builds something like this? A whole park, a private pool, a cabana—” she looked up at her, green eyes glinting, “—and a jacuzzi, Ino. A jacuzzi. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

 

Ino crossed her arms, pretending to look smug but unable to stop the fondness softening her expression. “What can I say? I like having excuses to keep you from running off to the hospital all the time. Thought maybe if I made this place nice enough, you’d actually stay with me and not run off to an emergency operation at the middle of the night."

 

Sakura scoffed, straightening and brushing her hands on her thighs. “You think I need excuses to be with you?”

 

“No,” Ino said, tilting her head, eyes catching the morning light. “But it’s nice, isn’t it? Just us. No summons, no emergencies, no one barging in asking for help.” She stepped closer, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. “Just you, me, and our ridiculous private pool.”

 

Sakura’s lips curved into something softer than a smile, her chest tightening in that familiar way only Ino ever caused. “Our ridiculous private pool,” she echoed, shaking her head. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You win. This is perfect.”

 

Ino arched a brow, playful. “Oh? So I win, huh?”

 

Sakura bumped her with her shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

 

Ino nudged Sakura lightly toward the cabana, her lips quirking. “Come on. You’ll start a rumor about me hoarding pools if you stay out here gawking too long.”

 

Sakura rolled her eyes but followed, the sound of water lapping at the edge of the pool trailing behind them. The sliding glass door was already open, the curtains tied behind the glass walls, the cabana’s quiet wrapping around them as soon as they entered. Bright morning light spilling in, soft cushions arranged low around a wooden table. At the center, breakfast was already waiting: a basket of warm bread, slices of fruit glistening with dew, and a pot of tea still steaming.

 

Sakura’s gaze lingered on the spread, then flicked to the wide bed settled at the center of the cabana. She smirked. “Very subtle, Yamanaka.”

 

Ino arched a brow, tossing her hair back as she sank onto one of the cushions around the table. “What? A woman can’t enjoy breakfast in comfort?”

 

“Comfort,” Sakura repeated, laughing under her breath. She dropped onto the cushion beside her, slipping her sandals off. Without a second thought, she stretched her legs out, letting them dangle over the cabana’s edge until her calves were swallowed by the cool pool water beneath. 

 

She sighed, leaning back on her palms, her hair catching the sunlight. “This is cheating, Ino. Normal people don’t have breakfasts like this.”

 

Ino leaned her chin into her hand, watching her with a sly smile. “Well, good thing I stopped trying to be normal a long time ago.”

 

Sakura’s laugh came again, soft and unguarded. She plucked a piece of fruit from the platter and bit into it, turning just enough to nudge Ino’s shoulder with her own. “Show-off.”

 

“Maybe,” Ino admitted, reaching lazily for the tea. She poured two cups without breaking eye contact. “But if I am, it’s only because I like seeing you spoiled.”

 

Sakura groaned, covering her face with one hand as her legs kicked slightly under the water. “You can’t just say things like that before breakfast.”

 

Ino smirked, sliding one of the cups toward her. “Sure I can. Who’s going to stop me?”

 

Sakura peeked through her fingers, green eyes sparkling despite herself. “Me. Eventually. After I finish this bread.” She grabbed a roll with her free hand and tore off a piece, popping it into her mouth.

 

Ino laughed, the sound rich and full, filling the cabana more warmly than the morning light.

 

Sakura eventually padded across the cabana’s wooden floor when she did finish her bread, eyes catching on the door tucked neatly at the back. She tilted her head, lips curving into disbelief. “Wait—tell me that’s not a bathroom.”

 

Ino only grinned, saying nothing.

 

Sakura opened the door, peeked inside, and nearly burst out laughing. The space was fully tiled, polished, with a rainfall shower and an absurdly large mirror framed in pale wood. She stepped back out and pressed a hand to her chest like she needed to steady herself. “Ino, this is too much. A bathroom? For a cabana? Behind a secret entryway? In what used to be a plain forest now converted in what feels like a tourist ranger park?”

 

Ino leaned against the low table, unbothered, smirking like this was the most natural thing in the world.

 

Sakura flopped back down on the cushion beside her, dipping her legs into the water again with a splash. “You know, I could just live here instead. Don’t even need the mansion—just the pool, this little house.” She gestured around dramatically, her green eyes sparkling with humor. “Honestly, though, how big is this Estate? You’ve got the giant mansion, the northern garden with the vineyard, the training ground hidden in the basement, that massive hedge maze in front—and somehow you still had enough leftover forest to turn into this little paradise.”

 

She kicked her feet lazily in the water again and gave Ino a sideways glance, teasing. “Are you sure the Yamanakas aren’t secretly the daimyo of Fire Country?”

 

Ino leaned back on her palms, smirking as if Sakura’s amazement was the most natural thing in the world. “Well, what did you expect? Only the best for you, Forehead. I can’t have you slumming it in anything less than perfection.”

 

Sakura laughed, giving her a look somewhere between exasperation and fondness.

 

Ino shrugged, the teasing easing into something more matter-of-fact. “But really, it’s not just for show. The Yamanaka clan has been around since forever. Even before Konoha was founded, our family was already… known. Respected. When our ancestors finally pledged loyalty to the First Hokage, the Leaf promised mutual benefit. That’s how the Estate got so big. It’s all part of that old pact.”

 

Her tone softened slightly, a touch of pride slipping through. “And we weren’t alone. Wherever there was a Yamanaka, there was always an Akimichi and a Nara. The three families stuck together long before the village ever existed. That’s why, when the Leaf was formed, we were right there beside the Senju, the Uchiha, and the Hyūga. First clans to lay the foundation.”

 

She gave Sakura a sideways grin. “So, yeah… the bathroom might be a little much for a cabana. But when you’ve been rooted this deep in history, a little extra space isn’t really a big deal.”

 

Ino stretched her legs out beside Sakura’s, her toes just grazing the water as she leaned back with a self-satisfied grin. “And don’t forget,” she added, tilting her chin up a little, “the three clans weren’t just tagalongs. We promised Konoha our security. That was the deal. You can thank my ancestors for making sure the village didn’t crumble before it even began.”

 

Sakura raised an eyebrow, smirking at her. “Oh? So all of Konoha rests on your shoulders now?”

 

Ino flicked her a look that was equal parts mock-offended and smug. “Please. It still does. Yamanaka lead the Sensory and Communications Division, Nara run the Intelligence Division, Akimichi handle the Tank Corps under Security. It’s been that way since forever. You could say the whole system was modeled after us.”

 

Sakura chuckled, nudging her with a damp foot. “Only you would manage to make clan history sound like a brag.”

 

“Because it is a brag,” Ino shot back, lips twitching into a grin. “You’re basically sitting in the lap of Konoha’s most indispensable family right now. Consider yourself lucky, Forehead.”

 

Sakura rolled her eyes, but the warmth in them betrayed how little she minded. “Lucky, huh? More like putting up with an ego the size of the whole estate, Pig.”

 

Ino snorted. “And you love every second of it.”

 

Sakura leaned back against the lounge cushion, her gaze wandering past the shimmering water of their pool and into the distance. Beyond the tidy rows of hedges and flowering trees, she could just make out the darker stretch of woodland at the edge of the estate. The kind that looked old—untouched, different from the sculpted gardens around them.

 

She nudged Ino with her knee. "Ino… that patch over there. The forest. You never let anyone touch it. Why?”

 

Ino followed her line of sight. Her expression softened, the usual spark in her eyes giving way to something quieter. She propped her chin on her hand.

 

Ino followed her gaze, her smirk dimming into something more thoughtful. For a moment, she didn’t answer, just let the silence hang as the breeze stirred the curtains of the cabana. Finally, she exhaled, leaning back on her palms again, though her shoulders had lost some of their earlier playfulness.

 

“That’s not just ours,” she said, her tone calm but carrying weight. “That forest connects to the Nara lands and the Akimichi property. Always has. Think of it as… our clans’ little passageways. Shortcuts, hidden paths—whatever you want to call them. Back when the Leaf was still new, the three families made sure we could always reach each other if trouble came. It’s old, unbroken ground. Sacred, in its own way. So no workers, no changes. It stays as it is.”

 

Sakura’s brows lifted slightly as she listened, her curiosity sparking. “So, while the Yamanaka are building cabanas with private bathrooms…” she teased lightly, “…the Nara and Akimichi are still holding onto their big, traditional houses?”

 

Ino gave a small laugh. “Exactly. The Nara keep their sprawling old house hidden among the deer fields. The Akimichi too—their homes look like they’ve stood for centuries. No glass walls, no modern design. Just tradition and land.” She paused, tracing her fingertip idly over the edge of the cushion. “My dad… he was the one who changed things here. After he married Mom, he said she deserved something brighter, newer, something that felt like her. The estate became this—what you see now—because of her.”

 

Her voice softened on that last note, and for the first time, Sakura noticed the flicker of sadness beneath her pride.

 

Sakura shifted closer, her legs still dipping lazily in the water, and brushed her shoulder gently against Ino’s. She decided not to prod deeper—she could feel the heaviness threading through Ino’s words. Instead, she grinned, tilting her head playfully.

 

Sakura leaned forward, bumping Ino’s shoulder lightly with her own, smiling gently. “So basically, you’re spoiled by generations of history and then spoiled again by your dad, and now, you're spoiling me. That explains a lot.”

 

Ino blinked at her, then huffed, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Oh, shut up, Forehead.”

 

Sakura laughed, leaning back again, her tone deliberately playful. “If you think I’m letting you get away with all the times you called me spoiled when you live in a palace with a secret ninja forest out back, you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

“Oh come on, don’t act like you haven’t been visiting a few times when we were kids. You basically lived here for a while during our Academy days,” Ino said, her smirk tugging wider as she plucked a strawberry from the fruit bowl between them.

 

Sakura blinked at her, caught off guard, having stopped chewing her second bread for a second. “I did not ‘basically live here.’”

 

Ino smirked, leaning forward just enough for her hair to catch the faint glow of the sunlight refracting against the water pool. “Oh, please. You ate dinner here almost every other night. Half the staff that time thought you were some distant cousin nobody told them about.”

 

“That’s exaggerating.” Sakura crossed her arms, but the pink tint to her cheeks betrayed her. “I just came over to study with you—or when you begged me to help with your shuriken practice.”

 

“Begged?” Ino gasped, scandalized, hand to her chest. “Excuse you, I was graciously giving you access to the Yamanaka training grounds! Do you know how many people would have killed for that?”

 

Sakura rolled her eyes, but the fond smile tugging at her lips ruined the effect. “Yeah, right. If I remember correctly, you cried when you couldn’t hit the target.”

 

“That was one time!” Ino shot back instantly, jabbing a finger at her. “And it was only because my dad was watching. The pressure was unbearable.”

 

Sakura chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Unbearable. Sure.”

 

Ino flopped back onto her palms again, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. “See, this is what I get for being honest with you. Mockery. Betrayal. My childhood pain weaponized against me.”

 

“Oh, stop it. You’re so dramatic,” Sakura said, her voice warm, her laughter spilling over into the night air.

 

Ino tilted her head, smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “Maybe. But don’t think I’ve forgotten who used to sneak into the greenhouse to nap on my mom’s flower beds. You left forehead-shaped dents in the chrysanthemums.”

 

Sakura’s eyes widened. “You saw that?!”

 

“Of course I did.” Ino leaned closer, lowering her voice like it was some grand secret. “I used to watch you do it from the veranda. You looked so serious, trying to arrange yourself so nobody would notice. Like flowers are the ultimate hiding spot.”

 

Mortified, Sakura covered her face with both hands. “I can’t believe you let me do that! Why didn’t you stop me?”

 

Ino laughed, soft and rich, the kind of laugh that slipped between teasing and fondness. “Because it was cute. You were this tiny, grumpy thing, all frowns and determination, and then I’d find you passed out among the lilies like some little forest spirit. My mom thought it was adorable.”

 

Ino’s laugh softened at the mention of her mother, though only for a moment. She reached for her teacup, swirling the jasmine-scented steam before taking a sip

 

Sakura peeked at her between her fingers, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “…You’re making that up.”

 

Ino’s smirk turned into a grin. “Am I?”

 

Sakura finally lifted her cup, the steam curling into her face as she inhaled. The jasmine was soft, floral, grounding. She took a sip, letting it linger on her tongue before lowering the porcelain back to its saucer. Her gaze wandered across the little spread of food—steamed buns, grilled fish, delicate slices of fruit—before settling on Ino again.

 

“My childhood wasn’t…” Sakura exhaled through her nose, giving a short, bitter chuckle. “Something I’m fond of. The orphanage made sure of that.” Her smile tilted, sad but contented. “But you gave me a home, Ino. Even when we were kids. Our friendship—it made me survive the hardest things in my life. I could never be more grateful for it.”

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

The banter faded for a beat, replaced by the hush of morning—birds darting through the nearby trees, the gentle rustle of bamboo chimes strung along the cabana’s beam. The soft warmth of sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains tied back on each corner, spilling across their table, catching in Sakura’s hair.

 

Ino found herself remembering—sharper than she expected—those first Academy days. Sakura had been so small then, smaller than the rest of them, her frame swallowed by long sleeves even in summer heat. Ino hadn’t thought much of it at first, just that Sakura was shy and awkward, always hiding behind her bangs. But then there was the day she grabbed Sakura’s wrist during a playground scuffle, and the fabric slipped enough for Ino to see the yellowing bruises beneath.

 

“You shouldn’t have had to go through any of that,” Ino said, her voice low, sharper than she meant it to be.

 

Sakura blinked at her, surprised, but only gave a small, understanding smile—one of those smiles that tried to hide more than it revealed.

 

And that was what made Ino’s chest twist. 

 

She remembered how the other kids whispered about the orphanage, about the way the handlers treated them like excess baggage. She remembered catching Sakura sneaking food into her sleeve during lunch breaks, not because she was greedy, but because sometimes she wouldn’t eat again until the next day. She remembered the way the younger children were fattened up just enough to look healthy for potential adopters, while the older ones—like Sakura—were left to starve.

 

Ino had seen the proof of it. The faint hollowness under Sakura’s eyes. The sleeves pulled down over arms too thin for her age. The bruises she’d tried to pretend weren’t there.

 

She’d claimed to be eight, same as everyone else, but there had been something about the way she clutched her satchel, something about the bones showing through her skin, that had made Ino suspicious.

 

She’d been right, of course. Sakura hadn’t been eight. She’d been seven—barely—and she’d lied to get in early, because the orphanage was no place to grow.

 

Sakura had worked herself raw just to keep going. Scrubbing the hospital floors until her fingers bled. Stocking shelves at the Yamanaka flower shop for pocket change that she always handed back to the orphanage because rent came before meals. Seven years old and already living like the world had decided she didn’t matter. And then she was discarded, thrown out with nothing on her name when she was finally eight along with kids her age.

 

That was why she’d thrown herself into the Academy like it was the only lifeline she had left. Because it was. Sponsorship meant food. Sponsorship meant a bed. Sponsorship meant she could stop being treated like disposable meat, like the “filler” the instructors called clanless children. Ino remembered hearing it once, whispered like it wasn’t cruel, like it was just a fact of life. 

 

Meat shields.

 

And yet Sakura—her Sakura—had clawed her way up anyway. Outscoring all the class in theory. Beating Sasuke Uchiha on paper more than once. Staying after class, asking questions no one else thought to ask, her hand cramped from writing so much her ink-stained knuckles shook. And all of that while she was starving. While she was exhausted. While she was working herself into the ground.

 

Ino’s grip on her teacup tightened until the porcelain nearly cracked. Her blood burned with a fury she couldn’t swallow down.

 

Sakura gave a small, crooked smile, the kind that tried to downplay everything, as if she understood where Ino's mind went. “It wasn’t all bad. I got lucky in the end. Who knew some clanless orphan kid could be the missing heir of—"

 

“Don’t you dare downplay it,” she snapped, the words like glass breaking in the calm morning air. “You didn’t just get lucky. You fought for every inch, Forehead. You clawed your way out of something no kid should ever have to live through, and you still came out on top. You were the best damn kunoichi in theory, and you kept up with me in practicals. And you did it while starving, while working yourself half to death, while—”

 

Her voice broke, trembling with rage and something rawer, something that felt like grief. Her hands tightened around the edge of the little table, knuckles whitening, the tea trembling in its porcelain cup as if it, too, felt the crackle of her fury. Ino’s chest rose and fell too sharply, like her lungs couldn’t contain the storm inside. 

 

The sunlight pouring through the open glass cabana walls should have been warm and soft, but it only made everything sharper—Sakura’s downturned lashes, the faint shadow of old scars once on the skin Ino knew too well, the way Sakura smiled at her own pain like it was nothing.

 

It made Ino want to burn the whole world down.

 

“Never again,” she whispered, almost to herself, though her eyes locked on Sakura with a terrifying clarity. “Never again will anyone lay a hand on you. Not handlers, not bandits, not enemies, not even fate itself.” Her voice dipped lower, husky, like it was meant for Sakura’s ears alone, a vow she had no intention of breaking. “If they try—if anyone ever dares—I’ll bury them. I’ll choke the life out of them with my own hands, tear their roots from the earth. I’ll make the world afraid of me if I have to, just so it never thinks it can touch you again.”

 

The air seemed to thrum with her conviction. Her chakra stirred, faint but unmistakable, like roots pressing against the wood beneath them, as though the estate itself bent to the violence in her oath.

 

Ino leaned forward, unable to stop herself, unable to want to stop. Her hand found Sakura’s wrist, her thumb brushing the faint ridges of where the bruises had once been, ones she still remembered too well, her grip iron. “You don’t get to shrug this off, Sakura,” she said, softer now but more dangerous in its certainty. “You don’t get to pretend it was nothing. Because it wasn’t. And because I won’t let anyone—even you—diminish what you went through. You survived hell, and you’re mine now. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.”

 

Her eyes burned into Sakura’s, blue gone near wild with the force of it, but beneath all that possessiveness, all that rage, was something rawer still: devotion so fierce it bordered on terrifying.

 

“Let the rest of the world fend for itself,” she breathed, her forehead nearly brushing Sakura’s across the table. “But you? You’ll never bleed alone again. Not while I’m here.”

 

The words hung between them, Ino’s rage still smoldering like a wildfire that threatened to leap its banks and consume everything around it. Her fingers dug into the edge of the table, wood creaking under her nails, her breath sharp and ragged like she’d just come out of battle. Her eyes—storm blue and unrelenting—stayed fixed on Sakura, like she could shield her by willpower alone, like she could crush every shadow of the past with sheer fury.

 

But Sakura leaned forward, reaching across the small breakfast spread to cover Ino’s hand with her own. Her palm was warm, steady, grounding. “Ino,” she said softly, almost like a plea.

 

For a moment, Ino didn’t move, her chest still rising too fast, her whole body trembling with the aftershocks of her outburst. Sakura’s thumb brushed small, soothing circles against the back of her hand until Ino’s storm seemed to falter, caught in the gravity of her touch.

 

“It wasn’t meaningless,” Sakura whispered. Her lips curved into that small, lopsided smile again, the one that always carried too much weight, too much quiet strength behind it. “If I had to live through all of that again… if every bruise, every sleepless night, every empty stomach was the price—then I’d pay it. A thousand times over.”

 

Ino’s breath caught, like she’d been struck.

 

“Because it led me to you,” Sakura continued, her eyes soft but unflinching. “If I hadn’t been that scrawny little liar faking her age, I wouldn’t have ended up in the same class as you. I wouldn’t have had someone who looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Someone who gave me ribbons and sunlight and—” her voice wavered, and her fingers pressed firmer over Ino’s hand, “—someone who made me believe I could be more than what I was. So don’t you dare act like it was just pain. You’re the reason it was worth it.”

 

Her words were quiet, but they cut deeper than steel.

 

Ino swallowed hard, throat tight. She wanted to shout, to tell Sakura that she shouldn’t have needed to bleed just to find her, that fate should’ve given them each other without cruelty. But Sakura’s hand was there, anchoring her, and for once, Ino didn’t know how to win against such stubborn gentleness.

 

And then Sakura’s eyes darkened, shadows flickering across their soft green depths. “And don’t think I don’t carry my own failures, Ino.” Her voice lowered, rawer now, tinged with guilt. “I still wake up hating myself for not stopping what Danzo did to you. You gave me everything and instead, I was blind while you were being twisted into something you weren’t. I hate myself for letting you suffer alone while I thought I was protecting you just by… being close. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve saved you.”

 

Her shoulders tensed, her jaw tight, as if every word was another wound she inflicted on herself. “You protect me, Ino… but I’ve always wanted to protect you just as much. And I feel like I failed.”

 

Her hand trembled now, though she didn’t pull away. She looked at Ino with that same stubborn devotion, but underneath it was a hollow ache that had never really healed.

 

But Ino’s head snapped up at that, eyes flashing with something sharp and dangerous. “Don’t—” her voice cracked low, almost a growl, “don’t you dare put that on yourself. You think you failed me? You think for one second I’d let you carry that weight? Danzo didn’t take me because you weren’t strong enough—he took me because he was a vulture who couldn’t stand seeing something shine outside his cage. That bastard would’ve sunk his claws into anyone he thought he could use. You—” her hands tightened around Sakura’s wrist, almost possessively, almost too hard, “—you are the only reason I didn’t let him hollow me out completely. The only reason I still had something left to fight with.”

 

Her breath hitched, fury and desperation tangled in her chest, the words pouring out like venom she couldn’t stop. “If you ever say again that you failed me, I swear, Sakura, I’ll—” She broke off, as if the rest of the sentence was too violent, too absolute, to give voice to.

 

Sakura didn’t flinch. Instead, she shifted closer across the low breakfast table, fingers curling over Ino’s clenched hand, gentle but unyielding. “Then we’re even,” she said softly, her voice steady but her eyes shimmering. “You don’t get to tell me I fought my way out of hell and then say you weren’t the same for me. You don’t get to decide I shouldn't carry any of it. Because, Ino…” She squeezed, firm. “I don’t regret it. Not a single step, not a single scar. If it all had to happen just so I could end up with you—” she gave a small smile, “—then I’d walk through it all again. Every time.”

 

Ino stared, breath caught in her throat, her rage turning inward, folding in on itself under the weight of Sakura’s calm defiance. She hated hearing it, hated that Sakura could love through pain, that she could choose it all over again just for this bond they shared. It made her want to tear the world apart for daring to shape Sakura’s life like that. And yet—Sakura’s voice, her touch, the unwavering way she looked at her—made the storm falter.

 

Her chest heaved once, twice, and then the fight bled out of her in a ragged sigh. She caught Sakura’s hand, squeezed it as if anchoring herself. “…You really are impossible,” she muttered, softer now, almost sulking.

 

Sakura smiled, faint but steady. “You love me that way.”

 

“Tch.” Ino rolled her eyes, but her thumb brushed tenderly over Sakura’s knuckles. She let go just long enough to reach for the teapot and pour Sakura another cup, careful, precise, like the small ritual of it steadied her. The clink of porcelain on wood filled the silence, gentler than their words had been.

 

Sakura leaned back against the cushions, letting the warm morning breeze drift over them, carrying the scent of flowering vines from beyond the cabana. For a moment, it was just them, their sanctuary wrapped in sunlight and the hush of water lapping against the pool’s edge.

 

Ino slid Sakura’s cup toward her, then reached for her own plate again, stabbing a piece of rolled omelette with unnecessary force before sighing and softening her grip. “Eat, Forehead,” she said, but the edge had dulled; it was more plea than order now.

 

Sakura obeyed, taking a small bite, then leaned her head against Ino’s shoulder as if the whole earlier storm had passed like nothing more than a summer squall. Ino stilled, then let out a quiet laugh, low and breathy, her muscles easing at last. She tilted her cheek to rest against Sakura’s hair.

 

Ino let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring the warmth of Sakura pressed against her, the illusion that the world beyond the poolside cabana didn’t exist. But her mind wandered to the folded stack of mission reports she’d tucked away the day before, the faint reminder of a dozen things waiting for her back in the village.

 

“I’m already late for today’s schedule,” she said finally, voice soft but resigned. “Meetings with the probations committee, barrier revisions, a briefing for the sensory corps… all that mess I can’t keep putting off.”

 

Sakura’s head lifted, green eyes narrowing just slightly, the hint of a pout tugging at her lips. “I was trying not to bring up work,” she muttered, sulking openly now. “And here you go, ruining it yourself.”

 

Ino chuckled, the sound low and teasing, but threaded with affection. She nudged Sakura’s temple with her own. “What, you thought we could play house forever? Just because you’re suspended doesn’t mean I have to be, too.”

 

That earned her a sharper sulk, Sakura turning her face half away, as if the omelette in front of her had become the most tragic thing she’d ever seen. Ino laughed again, more openly this time, reaching to smooth a strand of pink hair behind Sakura’s ear.

 

“Hey,” she said gently, “don’t look like that. You need this rest more than you’ll admit. Use this place as much as you want today—swim, nap, raid the pantry. Pretend I’m still here if you want. Just… let yourself breathe, Sakura.”

 

Sakura’s pout softened, though she still crossed her arms stubbornly, leaning closer all the same. “You make it sound like you’re doing me a favor.”

 

“I am,” Ino replied smugly, lifting her teacup with a little flourish. “You’ll thank me later.”

 

Sakura’s lips curved against Ino’s shoulder, the playful spark returning to her eyes as she drew circles over the back of Ino’s hand with her thumb. “You know…” she began, drawing the words out like honey, “…if you stay, I can think of a few very good reasons to keep you occupied here instead of in that stuffy office.”

 

Ino’s chopsticks froze halfway to her mouth. Her gaze flicked down, catching the mischievous tilt of Sakura’s smile, the almost-innocent flutter of lashes that was anything but innocent. “Haruno Sakura…” she warned, though the warning lacked heat.

 

Sakura leaned closer, voice dropping low, teasing at the edges of something sultry. “Mmm? What’s more important, Yamanaka Ino—paperwork or me?” She nipped at the shell of Ino’s ear, soft enough to be a whisper, deliberate enough to make Ino’s breath hitch.

 

For a dangerous heartbeat, Ino nearly broke—nearly pushed the stack of responsibilities aside to let herself drown in the softness, the pull, the gravity that was Sakura. Her fingers twitched against the table, aching to just stay.

 

But then she caught herself, chest rising and falling with a sharp inhale. The ache in her gut wasn’t just want—it was the reminder of why she carried endless meetings, missions, and security reviews. She wasn’t doing it for duty alone. She was doing it for this—for Sakura, for the fragile, beautiful peace that gave them mornings like these.

 

Ino forced a smirk, though her pulse still raced. “You almost got me, you minx,” she murmured, brushing Sakura’s cheek with the back of her hand before pulling away just enough to break the spell. “But every minute I sit here instead of that office is a minute I’m not making sure Konoha is untouchable. You want me safe, don’t you? You want this…” she gestured faintly around them, “…to last?”

 

Sakura pouted, lips pressing into a sulky line, though her eyes softened at the conviction in Ino’s voice. “I know,” she admitted grudgingly, shifting back into her seat though she didn’t let go of Ino’s hand. “But you make it so hard to be supportive when I just want you all to myself.”

 

Ino chuckled, standing and tugging her chair back with a sigh, the sound somewhere between exasperated and utterly smitten. She leaned down, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to Sakura’s forehead. “And you will. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every night. But right now, I’ve got to be the terrifying, overworked Mokuton queen who scares the crap out of the council so they don’t even think about threats slipping past.”

 

Her smile softened, though, as she gathered her things. “So rest. Swim. Read. Sleep. Use this place until you forget what stress even feels like. That’s my order, pet.”

 

Sakura almost whined. "Not fair, Ino. Not fair."

 

But her beautiful lover only chuckled. The air then shifted the moment Ino finally straightened herself, pulling Sakura out of her sulking haze. She lifted her head from the curve of Ino’s shoulder, eyes following every languid, reluctant movement as Ino rose to her feet from their sofr cushion beneath. For a heartbeat, it looked like she might sit back down—that hesitation in the way her fingers lingered at the back of Sakura’s, the almost imperceptible lean of her body toward her again.

 

But then the mask of duty settled back over Ino’s face. She straightened her shoulders, smoothed the front of her uniform vest, and reached for her sandals at the edge of the cabana. The morning light caught her hair, making it gleam like a banner of gold, and for just a flicker Sakura’s chest ached with pride—this was her Ino, her partner, the leader others looked to when the world felt too uncertain.

 

Still, that didn’t stop the pout curling at Sakura’s lips. She pulled her knees up to her chest, making a display of small, stubborn sulkiness, chin tucked down, eyes narrowed. It was petulant and childish, but she didn’t care; it was her last protest against the inevitable.

 

Ino noticed. Of course she noticed. She paused at the threshold of the cabana, glancing back with that sly, too-knowing smirk tugging at her mouth. “Don’t look at me like that, Forehead. I’ll start thinking you want me to ditch the whole village just to sit around here feeding you grapes.”

 

Sakura’s cheeks warmed—half from annoyance, half from the thought of it—and she let out a small huff, looking away as if the sight of Ino’s confidence was too much. “Maybe I do,” she muttered.

 

That laugh—low, husky, dangerously fond—slid back to her ears like velvet. Ino took one step back toward her, leaned in enough that the scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her chakra pressed close again. She brushed a quick kiss to Sakura’s temple, soft but lingering, a promise tucked into fleeting contact.

 

“I’ll be back before you even finish your sulking,” Ino whispered, leaving a short kiss on her lips. Then, softer still, so low it was almost drowned by the rustle of the breeze: “Everything I do out there—it’s for you, Sakura.”

 

And then she was gone, sandals crunching over the stone path, her silhouette framed by the dappled light spilling between the trees.

 

Sakura stayed curled in her chair, watching until she couldn’t see her anymore, sulk still simmering in her chest. But pride was there, too—richer, deeper, swelling with every thought of the woman she loved carrying Konoha on her shoulders.

 

When she finally picked up her teacup again, the faintest smile ghosted her lips. “You’d better come back fast, Pig,” she murmured to the empty cabana, as if Ino could hear her across the village.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

The walls hummed faintly with chakra, the low thrum of hundreds of threads stretching outward into the world above. Ino sat at her desk in her office deep in the Sensory & Communication Division, pen in hand, her eyes moving methodically over the endless scrolls of reports.

 

Her wood clones filtered in and out of the tunnels, dispersing to where her presence was required but not possible—checking barrier seals, recalibrating sensory grids, confirming updates with the communication teams stationed across the Allied Nations. They moved with perfect extensions of herself, carrying burdens she could not afford to lay on anyone else.

 

She stroked the pen, pausing just long enough to watch the dark bloom ink spread across the bristles before she wrote another note in the margin of a log. Another clone slipped past, fading into the dim light with a bundle of parchments for archive. The rhythm was steady, predictable, almost comforting: sign, review, approve, dispatch. A pattern she could lose herself in.

 

But her mind strayed anyway.

 

Sakura’s face hovered just outside her focus, that soft sulk she’d worn as Ino pulled herself away this morning. The look had been quiet, almost imperceptible—shoulders drawn in, lips pressed, protesting. 

 

Ino pressed the pen harder than necessary against the paper, the tip catching friction before she forced her hand to steady. She’d actually meant for the pool to stay secret until the Fire Warmth Festival this coming winter—the perfect timing, their private gift after the coldest stretch. Something warm and frivolous, just for the two of them.

 

But she’d caved early. The guilt had gnawed too sharp, pulling her confession loose like a thread. She’d led Sakura to the hidden pool this morning, she’d meant it to be joy, and it was—but in the back of her throat, it had tasted like penance.

 

Sai’s summons, his ongoing investigations, the whispers of a possible relic best left buried—it wouldn't truly be that big of a deal if she told Sakura, she was simply afraid of involving the younger girl especially since she already had a lot on her plate. Not until she was sure anyway. Not until she knew she could keep Sakura safe from the ripples it might bring.

 

Her clones moved like ghosts, filing in and out with the discipline of soldiers, leaving her alone with the hum of chakra-thread walls and the scratch of her pen. It should have been grounding. Sometimes it was. She catalogued chakra signatures with clinical precision, noting fluctuations and deviations with a hand so practiced it could move without thought. She traced maps of distant allied borders, adjusting the lattices of their sensory reach. She approved deployment requests, signed off communication relays, checked codes against the master cipher.

 

Details, all details. The texture of parchment under her palm, the sting of ink on her fingers, the quiet order of columns and lists.

 

If she pressed hard enough into those things, maybe she could ignore the way her heart kept circling back to Sakura—the warmth she’d walked away from, the sanctuary she wanted to stay in.

 

She couldn’t though. Not when everything she did here—all the sealing reports, all the signatures, all the secrets wrapped inside her chest—was for the same thing: to keep Konoha unshaken. To keep Sakura untouched by the claws of threats that should have died with the war.

 

Ino stilled, hand flattening over the parchment. For a moment, she let her eyes close, inhaling the faint musk of ink and earth and chakra-threaded air.

 

Then she exhaled, and opened them again.

 

The report waited. And she had no right to falter.

 

She was in the middle of adjusting the chakra frequency threshold for the northern barrier field with the computers set up on her side desk when the shift of air at the doorway made her pause. Shikamaru—of all people—was walking in, a slim, sealed file tucked under his arm. The room almost stilled at the sight. It wasn’t ANBU. It wasn’t some courier genin. It was the Hokage’s right hand, personally delivering a file.

 

That was strange. 

 

He said nothing at first, simply approaching her desk with his usual slouched gait, the air of a man too sharp for his own lethargy. He set the scroll-bound packet down in front of her. The seal glinted faintly with the Hokage’s stamp.

 

“You already got the approval through your inbox yesterday,” Shikamaru said, half-sigh, half-drawling observation. “But Hokage-sama thought this one shouldn’t be handled by ANBU.” His gaze flicked to her, sharp beneath the lazy facade. “So here I am.”

 

Ino raised a brow, smirking despite the heaviness in her chest. “What, ANBU too busy babysitting the Hokage to run errands? Or are you just using this as an excuse to check in on me, Shika?”

 

“Troublesome,” he muttered, but didn’t deny it. He lingered, arms crossing.

 

She unsealed the scroll, eyes scanning the neat ink strokes—technical jargon about border infiltration, reconnaissance protocols, fallback plans. The kind of assignment you could throw at any jonin unit. Yet she could feel it under her skin: the weight of what it really was. A cover. A window. Her and Sai’s path to the relic before the Elders could get their claws into it.

 

Shikamaru hadn’t moved. That meant he wasn’t leaving without answers.

 

“You’re suspicious,” she said lightly, rolling the scroll closed, leaning back in her chair. “You always are. But if you came down here yourself, it means you don’t just doubt the mission—you doubt me.”

 

He exhaled through his nose. “Not you.” His tone shifted, low and deliberate. “The mission. The timing. The Hokage trusted my word on this one… because I said you could handle it.”

 

That silence stretched—charged, weighted—until she chuckled, propping her chin on one hand. “Alright, fine. I’ll give you the truth. But you’d better be ready for it.”

 

Shikamaru’s brow quirked, but his eyes sharpened. He leaned in slightly, giving her space to speak.

 

Ino lowered her voice, though the barrier seals around her office already ensured no sound leaked beyond its walls. “Do you remember the Medical Alliance Summit last month? When the Sapphire Coast delegation got through with full clearance?”

 

“Hard to forget. Half the Chūnin Corps blamed us for the oversight.”

 

“Because it looked like an oversight.” Ino’s tone was edged now, no longer playful. “But it wasn’t me—or you. The Elders hijacked my authentication seals. They pushed the Sapphire Coast envoys through as legitimate, using my authority. Do you know why?”

 

Shikamaru’s gaze sharpened, tension flickering at the corners of his jaw.

 

“Because the Sapphire Coast offered them something they couldn’t refuse.” Her fingers tapped the desk, a steady rhythm. “A map. A map pointing to the possible location of an Ōtsutsuki relic.”

 

His exhale was long, but it didn’t hide the curse muttered under his breath.

 

“Yeah.” She gave a humorless smile. “Exactly what you’re thinking. The Elders don’t care what kind of danger it might stir. Power first, always. And if they find it before we do…” She shook her head. “Konoha will be the one to pay the price.”

 

Shikamaru pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering again, but his eyes were calculating now, already five steps ahead.

 

“Do you remember when Sasuke found similar traces months after the war? When he was traveling through dimensions?” Ino asked, her voice tight with the memory. “He told us about relic sightings then, fragments of things the Ōtsutsuki left behind. The patterns on this map… they match his data. Sai and I couldn’t ignore it. We won’t.”

 

Her gaze lifted, steady, unwavering despite the guilt still gnawing at her over Sakura. “So yes, Shikamaru. The infiltration mission is real enough—but it’s a mask. What I’m really after is that relic. Before the Elders use it. Before they risk everything we fought to protect.”

 

Shikamaru listened without interrupting, his brow furrowed deeper with every detail Ino unraveled. By the time she finished, the silence between them was heavy enough that even the scratching of her pen on a half-finished report sounded too loud.

 

He exhaled through his nose, slow, measured. “Troublesome doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he muttered, leaning back in the chair he had dragged uninvited into her office. His fingers laced loosely over his stomach, eyes narrowing at the ceiling like he was solving a math problem only he could see.

 

“You realize what you’re saying, right? The Elders bypassed protocol—your protocol, Ino—and used your authority to greenlight a group that had no business setting foot in the Summit. That alone is enough to bury them politically if this comes out. And now there’s an Ōtsutsuki relic involved.” His gaze flicked to her, sharp, calculating. “If half of what Sasuke reported is true, those things are more dangerous than the Elders can even comprehend. They’re playing with fire—and dragging your name with it.”

 

Ino didn’t flinch, though his words pressed against a bruise she’d been carrying since that Summit. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the desk, holding his stare. “That’s why I can’t let them handle it. Not this time. Sai and I—we’ll track the map ourselves. If the relic is real, we contain it. If it’s not, we bury the lie before anyone else tries to use it.”

 

Shikamaru rubbed his temples. “And you didn’t think to loop me in before you dragged Sai into this?”

 

“More like he was the one who dragged me into this,” Ino said simply. “And you know me, I won't involve people needlessly nor will I let those geezers get away with what they did, especially since their oversight involved the kidnapping of Sakura."

 

“Tch.” He couldn’t argue that, and it annoyed him more than anything. For a long moment, he stayed quiet again, and Ino knew he was turning the situation over in his head, looking for holes in her plan, weighing the risks against the inevitability that she would go no matter what he said.

 

Finally, he sighed, sitting up straighter. “Alright. I’ll cover for you.”

 

Her smirk softened into something gentler, relief flickering across her face, but Shikamaru’s tone kept it from feeling like victory.

 

“Don’t get the wrong idea—I still think this is reckless. But I also know you. If you’ve set your sights on something, no wall I put up will hold you back. So… fine. Go. But you’re not going to be out there completely blind.”

 

He leaned forward, tapping the edge of the classified file still sitting on her desk. “The Elders won’t stay quiet while you’re gone. They’ll circle Kakashi like vultures, and if this relic is as valuable as they think, they’ll try to press him into giving them leeway. I’ll keep my eyes on their moves—and if they get too bold, I’ll stall them. Buy you time.”

 

Ino arched a brow, amused. “Look at you, being all protective. Almost like you’re more loyal to me than to the Hokage himself.”

 

She expected a scoff, a denial, maybe even his usual muttering about how troublesome she was. Instead, Shikamaru just looked at her—flat, steady, with that uncanny clarity he always carried when the games stopped being theoretical.

 

“I never denied that,” he said.

 

The words landed heavier than she expected, and for a moment, her chest tightened. He must have noticed, because he added, with a wry tilt of his lips, “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m still going to complain about cleaning up after you when this blows back.”

 

The office went quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of parchment beneath her hands. Ino stared at Shikamaru, blinking as his implications sank in. 

 

It wasn’t the kind of thing Shikamaru would imply lightly. He wasn’t prone to declarations, especially ones that tethered him to someone else. The man survived on detachment, calculation, seeing the board and the pieces moving before anyone else could. And yet here he was, saying—without hesitation—that if the game came down to sides, his was hers.

 

Her chest tightened unexpectedly. Pride burned at the center of it, a sharp, bright flame she hadn’t anticipated. She had always known Shikamaru trusted her skills, had leaned on her in the Division more times than she could count. But loyalty—this kind of personal, unflinching loyalty—was different. It meant that, despite all the secrets she was carrying, all the dangerous lines she was walking, she wasn’t standing entirely alone.

 

But then again, wherever the Yamanaka is, the Nara and Akimichi will follow, and vice versa. It had been that way for generations, an unspoken bond as old as Konoha’s roots. Ino shouldn’t really be surprised. And yet, she couldn’t deny the heat in her chest, the dangerous comfort of knowing that even if everything else shifted beneath her, Shikamaru and Chōji would always be there.

 

Times had changed, though. War had reshaped them all, burned away old certainties. Loyalty to legacy wasn’t what was prioritized anymore—it was the fragile peace of the village, the chance to never again see the world torn apart. And Ino was afraid. Afraid that if she asked outright who Shikamaru would follow—her name, her clan, her alone—or the village, she already knew the answer. He’d choose her. So would Chōji. And that scared her more than she could ever admit, because what she carried now wasn’t just hers. 

 

The thought almost made her falter. Almost.

 

Ino lowered her gaze to the file in her hands, fingers smoothing over the edge as if the simple, repetitive motion could ground her. Focus, she reminded herself. Compartmentalize. Shove the emotion down where it belonged—somewhere deep, where it wouldn’t distract her from the mission. 

 

Still, she allowed herself the smallest curl of a smile. “Careful, Nara,” she teased, though her voice had softened in spite of her best efforts. “If people hear you talking like that, they might think you’ve finally decided to pick a side in life.”

 

Shikamaru gave her a sidelong look, unimpressed, but didn’t retract the statement. He simply shrugged, as if the weight of his loyalty wasn’t something to argue over. That, more than anything, made her heart clench tighter.

 

But before she could lose herself in the quiet pride thrumming through her, Shikamaru’s voice cut in, low and deliberate.

 

“Ino,” he said, tone edged with the calm patience of a strategist drawing attention back to the board. “Does Sakura know about this?”

 

The question struck like a kunai, merciless.

 

Ino froze, the air catching in her throat. Her mind shifted violently then, dragging her out of the warmth of his words and back into the cold reality she’d been trying not to think too hard about. Sakura. Of course he’d ask. Of course he’d see right through her, to the one name she hadn’t dared involve yet.

 

She swallowed hard, jaw tightening, and forced her eyes back to the file so he wouldn’t see the flicker of conflict across her face.

 

Compartmentalize.

 

Ino’s pause had already told him more than her answer ever could. When the single “No” left her lips, Shikamaru only hummed — low, thoughtful, a sound that always meant he’d already drawn his own conclusions.

 

She bristled at that, but steadied herself, sitting up straighter. “It’s not because I don’t trust her,” she said finally, tone firmer now, as if daring him to doubt it. “You know I do. But this—” she tapped a finger against the report between them “—it isn’t anything yet. Just shadows and half-truths. I’m not dragging Sakura into something that could blow over as nothing.”

 

Shikamaru raised a brow, skeptical but patient.

 

“She’s already carrying enough,” Ino went on, quieter now. “The hospital. Diplomatic letters. The laws put under her name. She shoulders all of it and never says a word. If I hand her this before it’s real, before it’s a threat…” Ino trailed off, shaking her head. “No. I won’t.”

 

The silence stretched again, but this time it was different — softer, almost heavy with an understanding neither needed to voice.

 

At last, Shikamaru sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Troublesome woman,” he muttered. But there was no bite in it. If anything, there was the faintest trace of respect — the kind he rarely put into words.

 

Ino’s lips twitched despite herself, but before she could answer, the iron-reinforced doors rattled softly on their tracks and slid open.

 

Sai stepped in, quiet as always, holding a rolled parchment against his side. His dark eyes flicked from Ino to Shikamaru, pausing long enough that the unspoken question was clear.

 

“He already knows,” she said simply, voice steady. “And he'll help. No point in dancing around it anymore.”

 

Sai studied him carefully, tilting his head just slightly. “That is… efficient,” he said at last, stepping fully into the room. “I was going to suggest his expertise.” He unrolled the parchment on the low table, the ink-stained map smoothing out under his palms. “I finally managed to decipher part of the script. But I'm stucked at the second layer ciphers."

 

Shikamaru leaned forward, scanning the parchment with a narrowed gaze. “Second layer, huh? So the first is just substitution—basic code-breaking. But this…” He traced one long finger over a cluster of looping symbols near the edge. “This isn’t a language pattern. It’s positional. Like shogi moves recorded out of sequence.”

 

Sai nodded, expression unreadable as always, but his eyes flicked brighter with interest. “I thought so too, but the sequences didn’t align with anything I could match. I assumed it was a mistake.”

 

Ino shook her head immediately. “Not a mistake. Whoever designed this wanted it layered. Look—see how the same character repeats, but at different points on the grid?” She tapped lightly at the page, nails clicking against parchment. “It’s not about the symbol itself, it’s about where it lands. Almost like… chakra pathway charts.”

 

“Exactly.” Shikamaru’s mouth quirked in faint approval. He reached for a pencil from Ino's drawer and began sketching small lines over the map, connecting seemingly random points. “If you overlay the sequences the way Ino said—like mapping out meridians instead of letters—then the second cipher falls into place.”

 

Sai leaned in, watching the network of lines unfold across the parchment. “So it’s both strategic and anatomical. A hybrid code.”

 

Ino smirked. “Which means it was made by someone really paranoid, or really clever.”

 

“Or both,” Shikamaru muttered. He drew the last connection, then stood straight, the map now marked with a precise constellation of points. He exhaled slowly. “And there it is.”

 

The three of them stared at the coordinates now clear at the map’s lower margin, circled in deliberate ink.

 

Sai’s hand hovered above it, tracing the characters. “North of the Sapphire Coast, an island. Remote, but reachable. No wonder they hid it behind layers.”

 

Ino’s stomach tightened at the revelation, but her voice came out firm. “Then that’s where the relic is.”

 

Shikamaru folded his arms, the faintest shadow of a grin on his face. “Troublesome puzzle. But now we’ve cracked it.”

 

Ino’s chair gave a soft creak as she swiveled sharply toward the bank of screens and monitors along the wall, her fingers flying across the keyboard. The whir of air-conditioners sounded in the background while files scrolled past in rapid succession. It took only seconds before she froze on a profile, her eyes narrowing.

 

“There,” she said, tapping the screen. “Private property. Fuyunomi Island. Registered under Daigo Kurobane.”

 

Sai leaned over her shoulder, gaze flicking over the dossier. “Civilian politician. Member of the Waves Council. He’s known for… hm.” His eyes lingered on a line. “Strict anti-military policies. Considers shinobi an outdated threat to international stability.”

 

“Outdated?” Ino snorted, unimpressed. “Tell that to the Akatsuki or the Ōtsutsuki.”

 

Shikamaru leaned closer, arms folded as he read over her shoulder. His brow furrowed. “Kurobane…”

 

Ino glanced at him. “You know him?”

 

“Not personally,” Shikamaru muttered, eyes narrowing as he recalled. “When I first got promoted to jōnin, Tsunade dragged me to a trade summit in the Land of Waves. Kurobane was one of the negotiators. He definitely hates shinobi—every word out of his mouth was some complaint about how we destabilize politics and economies. But…” He smirked faintly. “He backed off the second Tsunade put her name on the table. Senju blood carries weight. Especially in a council full of civilians who remember what happens when they underestimate Konoha.”

 

Sai, methodical as ever, rolled the parchment back up. “If the relic is on his property, infiltration would be the most efficient. Silent entry, retrieve, silent exit. No diplomacy required.”

 

Ino shook her head instantly, swiveling back to face them both. “Too risky. Kurobane’s island is locked down with private security, and if we’re caught sneaking in, it’ll cause more trouble than the relic is worth. If we go through official channels, full clearance, we can move freely—and with less suspicion. Besides, if this relic has any political weight, we need records proving we didn’t just steal it.”

 

Sai tilted his head, unconvinced. “Official access requires convincing Kurobane. He does not like shinobi.”

 

“Exactly,” Ino said firmly. “Which means we don’t go to him as shinobi. We go as envoys, under Tsunade’s authority if we have to. He respects her. Fears her, even.” She gave Shikamaru a pointed look. “And you already know how he reacts around her.”

 

Shikamaru exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowed at the glowing profile on the screen.

“Tsunade’s not exactly the kind of person you ask for a favor lightly,” he said, his tone edged with frustration. “She’s stubborn as hell, and if she catches even a whiff of what we’re actually after, she’ll bury us in questions until we choke on the answers. By the time we get through that, we’ll have lost our edge. Information doesn’t stay warm forever.”

 

Ino tapped her fingers against the desk, her jaw tightening. He was right. Tsunade’s stubborn streak could delay them for weeks.

 

That’s when Sai finally spoke, his voice calm and utterly unshaken. "Then why not Sakura?”

 

Both pairs of eyes snapped to him.

 

Sai continued without flinching, laying the folded map neatly on the desk. “She trusts you enough not to probe deeper. She wouldn’t press, not if you asked it of her. It avoids Tsunade and gives you clearance without drawing suspicion.”

 

The words hit harder than they should have. Ino’s hands froze above the keyboard, a sharp flash of irritation sparking across her features. "Are you insane?” She snapped, spinning toward him. “You want me to use Sakura as leverage? Drag her into this when we don’t even know if she’s ever spoken a single word to Daigo Kurobane in her life?” Her voice cut sharper than she intended, but the thought of using Sakura as a pawn left a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

Sai didn’t flinch. He never did. His dark eyes held hers, steady, unreadable, like ink on still water. “It’s her call to make,” he said simply. “Not yours. You either go to Sakura and ask for her help… or you go to Tsunade, and risk halting everything you’ve worked toward.”

 

Silence thickened in the room, punctuated only by the faint hum of the computers. Ino’s pulse pounded in her ears.

 

Shikamaru gave a low groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Well. Troublesome doesn’t even begin to cover this.”

 

Ino’s nails tapped restlessly against the desk as her chair swiveled half an inch, then back again. Her chest felt tight, like the walls of the operations room had drawn closer. She hated how quickly Sakura’s name could throw her off balance — the tug of instinct screaming keep her away warring against the tactician in her head whispering that this was the cleanest route forward.

 

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, voice lower than before, a little rawer. “Once she’s in it, she’s in it. I can’t—” She cut herself off, breathing sharply through her nose.

 

Shikamaru, leaning against the edge of the desk with arms crossed, tilted his head. “You’re overthinking again. Troublesome habit.” His tone was softer than usual, carrying none of its usual bite. “No one’s saying you’re dragging her into the mission. You’re just asking for clearance. That’s it. A signature. A word in the right ear. Nothing more.”

 

Ino’s lips pressed together. Logic told her he was right — they didn’t need Sakura to walk into danger, they just needed her authority, her name. But the other part of her, the part that always sharpened whenever Sakura’s possible safety was on the line, didn’t trust the world to ever leave Sakura untouched. Even something so small felt like a crack where trouble could slip through.

 

Sai’s steady voice broke the silence. “You’re projecting outcomes you don’t even know will happen. She may simply agree and move on. You’re making it heavier than it is.”

 

“Because it is heavy!” Ino snapped, sharper than intended, before clenching her fists in her lap. Her breath came out hard, and she looked away, as if the glowing monitors might ground her.

 

Shikamaru sighed through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, no one’s pushing you. If you don’t want her involved, we find another way. End of story. But you also know you don’t have to treat this like life and death. Not every step puts her at risk.” His gaze lingered on her, steady and measured. “You know that… right?”

 

Ino swallowed, her throat dry. 

 

Do I?

 

Her logic told her yes. Her heart screamed no.

 

She nodded stiffly anyway, though her hands wouldn’t unclench.

 

Her lips pressed together, her body tense as her mind screamed at her—just asking never stayed that simple. Not with Sakura.

 

But then another truth slid in, sharp and undeniable: They were not the only ones searching.

 

 Her chest tightened. The Elders—those calculating bastards—could already be three steps into this game, maybe more. If they had cracked this riddle too, they could already be moving. She couldn’t afford hesitation, not when the clock was ticking against them all.

 

Her jaw clenched, and she exhaled through her nose, forcing the words out. “...Fine.” The syllable was low, reluctant, like it cost her something. She shifted, straightening her posture, eyes hard as she locked on Shikamaru and Sai both. “We’ll ask Sakura. But only because we don’t have the luxury of time. If the Elders get their hands on this before we do, we’re finished.”

 

She leaned forward, her hands clasping together, knuckles pale. “But understand this—she doesn’t get dragged deeper than necessary. She opens the door, and that’s all. I won’t let her be the one paying the price for our gamble.”

 

Shikamaru nodded slowly, expression unreadable but his gaze steady, like he understood more than he was letting on. Sai, ever impassive, only inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 

But inside, Ino’s stomach coiled tighter, her possessiveness gnawing. She’d agreed because she had to—but that didn’t mean she’d forgive herself if Sakura ended up caught in the crossfire.

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

The air was warm and heavy with the scent of jasmine when Ino slipped through the hidden entrance of the estate’s private enclave. The night had settled fully by now, wrapping the forest around their sanctuary in hushed shadow, but here—here it was different. Lanterns hung from low branches, their glow muted and golden, mirrored by the water’s surface until the whole pool shimmered like spilled starlight. 

 

Fireflies drifted lazily above the rippling water, weaving constellations of their own among the leaves. The cabana at the center stood like a dreamscape, its gauzy curtains stirring gently in the night breeze, the pale fabric glowing faintly as though spun from moonlight.

 

Ino paused, breath catching, as her gaze found Sakura.

 

She was at the far corner, half-sunk into the bubbling waters of the jacuzzi, her bare shoulders gleaming where droplets clung to them, skin touched by lanternlight and firefly glow alike. Her back was turned, long pink hair flowing wet and loose, reaching past the ridges of her shoulder blades, darker with water but catching hints of light like strands of silk. She looked impossibly serene, chin resting against the cushioned edge of the jacuzzi, one hand holding a book just above the waterline. The pages flickered slightly with the glow of the fireflies, as though even the words themselves leaned toward her.

 

For a long moment, Ino simply stood there, rooted in place, watching. It wasn’t just beauty—it was something quieter, something that reached inside her chest and pulled. Sakura looked untouchable and yet entirely human in that moment: ethereal in her stillness, fragile and strong all at once.

 

Ino’s fingers flexed at her side, a flicker of longing and protectiveness threading through her all at once. This—this was the Sakura she had sworn to protect, the Sakura who didn’t even realize how the world bent around her presence. Under the lantern glow, among fireflies and waterlight, she looked like she belonged to some other world entirely.

 

For a moment, Ino almost forgot why she was here. Almost convinced herself this was enough: to stand there by the cabana and watch, unannounced, as if she could bottle this quiet and keep it to herself forever.

 

Her chest tightened, a war between logic and instinct pulling taut. Logic whispered she had no choice—Shikamaru was right, the Elders were likely already moving, and this lead was too fragile to let slip away. Instinct snarled against it: Sakura didn’t deserve to be dragged into this, not when she was already carrying so much. Ino could almost feel her own possessiveness coil hot in her stomach, whispering that the less Sakura knew of this danger, the safer she’d remain.

 

But safety wasn’t always hers to control. And, gods help her, Sakura had never been someone who allowed herself to be protected behind glass.

 

Ino inhaled slowly through her nose, forcing the storm in her chest down enough to wrap words around it. A teasing lilt slipped into her tone, her shield, as she finally let her voice break the quiet.

 

“Did you even leave this place at all today?” She asked, arching a brow as if she’d caught Sakura red-handed.

 

Sakura didn’t turn around, her focus still pinned to the book. “Depends,” she replied smoothly, the corner of her mouth quirking just enough to betray her amusement. “Do trips to the kitchen for tea count?”

 

Ino’s lips twitched despite herself. Of course she’d answer like that—half playful, half dismissive, wholly unbothered by Ino’s presence. And yet it made her heart clench tighter, because this, too, was why she’d always lose these battles with herself. One sentence from Sakura, and all her defenses came tumbling down.

 

 

---

 

 

The water bubbled lazily in the jacuzzi, carrying faint wisps of steam that curled into the evening air. Ino padded barefoot across the cool tiles, her damp hair dripping faintly against the collar of her robe. The scent of fresh soap still clung to her skin, sharp against the jasmine-kissed breeze. She rounded the pool and stepped onto the platform where the jacuzzi hummed, her presence announced by nothing but the faint splash of her steps.

 

Sakura hadn’t moved much from her earlier posture, still propped along the edge with her book, though her eyes flickered toward Ino briefly — quick enough to check, but stubbornly returning to the page, as though refusing to give her the satisfaction.

 

Ino smirked, sinking onto the platform beside her and letting her legs slip into the warmth. The water curled up around her calves, heat licking at her skin. Without asking, she leaned forward and brushed her fingers through strands of Sakura’s hair that had fallen along her shoulder, careful and deliberate in the way she tucked them behind her ear.

 

“You sound like you’ve been abandoned all day,” Ino murmured, her voice lilting with amusement, though the touch lingered longer than casual.

 

Sakura huffed softly, flipping a page with deliberate patience. “Well, maybe I have. Who chooses work over their girlfriend?"

 

“Me.” Ino said, smug and easy, but her fingers continued their slow, absent-minded swipe through Sakura’s hair, each pass softer than the last. "But I'm here now, am I not?"

 

Sakura made a quiet, petulant sound — half sigh, half complaint. “Hn. Took you long enough to listen when I told you to go shower, too.”

 

“And now I’m here, fresh and clean, just for you.” Ino leaned closer, teasing at her ear. “Happy?”

 

“Maybe,” Sakura muttered, but she didn’t move away. If anything, she tilted her head almost imperceptibly toward Ino’s hand, letting her fingers linger in her hair.

 

Ino’s smirk softened at that. She kept brushing the strands gently, content for the moment just to feel Sakura this close, the heat of the water below, and the quiet of the world outside their little cabana.

 

“So, Forehead,” she murmured, leaning just close enough that Sakura could feel the warmth of her breath against her ear. “What exactly did you do all day while I was gone? Besides hogging this whole cabana like it’s your personal hideaway?”

 

Sakura huffed a laugh, eyes flicking up to meet Ino’s before drifting away again. “I was making the most of my suspension, obviously. Which means…” She stretched her legs in the water with exaggerated languor, “…doing absolutely nothing.”

 

“Mmhm,” Ino drawled, unconvinced. “Nothing. Sure.”

 

Sakura gave her a look, a little sheepish but with that glint of honesty Ino knew too well. “Well… maybe not nothing. I had about twelve different urges to sneak back into your mansion and read through my medical files. But I restrained myself.”

 

Ino laughed, low and warm, her fingers sliding deeper into Sakura’s pink locks, twisting them gently like she couldn’t resist playing. “That’s restraint? You mean to tell me my perfect, hardworking little medic actually sat here all day instead of drowning herself in charts and reports?”

 

Sakura pouted at her tone, chin pressing a little harder against Ino’s lap in mock protest. “Don’t call me perfect. And yes. I managed. Barely.”

 

“Barely,” Ino echoed, her grin widening as she bent forward and brushed her lips just against the crown of Sakura’s head. “I’m proud of you anyway. You might even be learning how to relax. Imagine that.”

 

Sakura made a noncommittal noise, but her hand reached up and caught the edge of Ino’s robe, tugging just enough to keep her there, also a silent plead for her to get rid of it.

 

Ino stilled, heart catching in her chest before she smoothed it over with a chuckle. “Careful, Forehead. If you start rewarding me for showering and showing up clean, I’ll make a habit of it.”

 

“Good,” Sakura murmured, her voice warm but teasing, “then I won’t have to wait the whole day again.”

 

The bathrobe slid off Ino’s shoulders in one practiced motion, pooling like spilled silk at her feet before she stepped out of it. Her body caught the glow of the soft pool lights—sculpted from years of training, yet graceful in a way that was uniquely hers. Sakura’s eyes flickered over her, quick and sharp but unashamed, and then just as quickly darted away as her cheeks burned pink.

 

Ino noticed. Of course she noticed. A low, amused hum curled out of her throat as she eased into the warm water, ripples spreading out around her. “Caught you staring, Forehead,” she teased, her smirk smug but her eyes soft.

 

Sakura made a flustered little sound, looking anywhere but at her. “I wasn’t staring,” she muttered, which only made the lie worse.

 

Ino leaned back against the jacuzzi’s edge, sitting on the first stair underneath the water, stretching her arms along the stone lip as if offering herself up to the night. “You always do this,” she said, her tone laced with affection. “You act like you haven’t seen me a thousand times already.”

 

Sakura’s flush deepened. “Not like this,” she said before she could stop herself—quieter than she intended, her words slipping out like a confession.

 

That made Ino’s heart thud against her ribs. She tilted her head, hair falling over one shoulder as she studied Sakura in silence for a beat too long. Then, instead of another sharp tease, she let her voice drop to something gentler. “Then maybe I should make sure you never forget it.”

 

The air between them went warmer than the water as Sakura finally dared to meet her gaze. She shifted closer, tugging lightly at Ino’s hand under the water. Without words, it was a plea: come closer. Be here with me.

 

Ino moved without hesitation, sliding into Sakura’s space until the soft brush of their knees under the surface made Sakura’s breath catch. A moment later, Sakura leaned forward and pressed her lips to Ino’s—soft, unhurried, but brimming with the intimacy of lovers who needed no audience, no mask, no walls.

 

When they parted, Ino stayed close, brushing her nose against Sakura’s. “You’re flushed, you know,” she murmured, a wicked lilt returning at the edges of her voice.

 

Sakura huffed, her hands curling against Ino’s sides under the water, stubbornly refusing to let go. “Shut up.”

 

“Make me,” Ino whispered back, daring her with a smile.

 

The water lapped softly against the edges of the jacuzzi, but neither of them paid it any mind anymore. Sakura’s hands, once tentative, tightened at Ino’s waist beneath the surface, pulling her closer until the warm press of their bodies erased the distance between them.

 

Ino let out a low, pleased sound, slipping one hand up along Sakura’s damp shoulder, fingers grazing the curve of her neck before threading into the pink strands of her hair. “So much for shy,” she murmured, her breath brushing Sakura’s lips.

 

Sakura didn’t answer with words. Instead, she surged forward, kissing Ino deeper this time—no hesitation, no half-measures. It was heated, hungry, born of the ache that had lingered too long between them. Ino responded instantly, her lips parting, her tongue brushing teasingly against Sakura’s until Sakura’s soft gasp echoed between them.

 

The steam around them only added to the heady rush. Water rippled violently as Sakura shifted into Ino’s lap, straddling her, the robe she’d been clinging to long abandoned on the stone beside the pool. Ino’s hands roamed instinctively—one sliding over Sakura’s lower back, the other gripping her thigh beneath the water as if anchoring her in place.

 

When they finally broke apart for breath, both of them were flushed, lips slick and swollen. Ino leaned her forehead against Sakura’s, grinning despite the rapid thrum of her heart. “Careful,” she whispered huskily, “you’re going to start something you can’t take back.”

 

Sakura’s eyes burned with determination, her chest rising and falling against Ino’s. She pressed another kiss—slow but searing—to the corner of Ino’s mouth before answering, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t want to take it back.”

 

The words struck Ino like lightning, a dangerous thrill shivering through her. Whatever restraint she’d been holding onto snapped as her hands slid higher, cupping Sakura’s face, pulling her back down into a kiss that carried every ounce of longing, possessiveness, and devotion she’d held inside.

 

Steam still clung to their skin when they eventually padded barefoot across the wooden floor of the cabana, towels wrapped lazily around their bodies. The air inside was warmer, quieter—private. When Ino pulled the glass panels closed and drew the curtains, the world outside was gone, leaving only the soft lamplight and the massive bed that seemed to be waiting for them.

 

Sakura sat on the edge of the mattress first, towel sliding off one shoulder as she watched Ino finish securing the curtains. Her breathing was uneven, her lips still tingling from their kisses.

 

Ino turned, eyes sharp with intent but softened by something that made Sakura’s chest tighten. She walked over, the towel falling from her hands onto the floor, and stood before Sakura—towering just slightly, hair still damp, her presence magnetic.

 

“Lie back,” Ino said, voice low and edged with command.

 

Sakura’s breath caught, a flush spreading over her cheeks. She whined softly, half protest, half anticipation. “Ino…”

 

But Ino only arched a brow, her gaze unwavering. “Do it.”

 

And Sakura did. She sank back onto the sheets, her hair spilling out across the pillows, the towel loosening until it barely clung to her frame. Her heart raced, every nerve alive with heat, with want, with the dangerous thrill of giving herself over to Ino’s control.

 

Ino leaned down, bracing her hands on either side of Sakura’s head, her eyes roaming over her lover with open hunger. The corner of her lips tugged upward in a knowing smirk. “Good girl,” she whispered, and the words sent a shiver straight through Sakura.

 

The towel slipped from Sakura’s body completely with a faint whisper of fabric against skin. She trembled faintly beneath Ino’s gaze, though her eyes—half-lidded and dark—betrayed that it wasn’t fear making her chest rise and fall so quickly.

 

Ino’s fingers brushed Sakura’s collarbone, slow and deliberate, before trailing down across her chest. She didn’t touch yet, only hovered—teasing, testing. Sakura let out a soft, needy whimper, her hands twitching against the sheets as if she wanted to grab, to pull, to cling.

 

“Hands down,” Ino murmured. “Don’t move unless I tell you."

 

Sakura squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat, her flush deepening, before she obeyed—pressing her palms flat against the sheets, her knuckles white from the restraint. The sight made Ino smirk, a molten warmth curling inside her chest.

 

“You’re so good for me,” Ino whispered against her lips before capturing them in a slow, claiming kiss. It deepened fast—hungry, consuming—her tongue sliding against Sakura’s until Sakura was gasping softly into her mouth.

 

But neither of them reached for the names that usually guided their play. No Mistress, no Ma’am, no pet or flower—they didn’t need it at the moment. There were no roles to slip into, no games to structure what they were. It was only them, stripped bare of everything else, making love as themselves.

 

Ino trailed her lips down Sakura’s throat, biting softly at the pulse there, making Sakura arch with a breathless moan. Her hands finally moved, roaming possessively over Sakura’s body, squeezing her hips, her waist, her thighs—marking every inch as hers.

 

When Sakura’s back arched off the sheets, Ino pushed her down firmly with one hand on her sternum, holding her pinned with an effortless dominance that made Sakura shiver all over.

 

“Ino—please,” Sakura whispered, voice breaking, eyes wide with need.

 

Ino only gave a low laugh, husky and dark. “Patience.”

 

Her hand slid lower, teasing, feather-light touches that had Sakura trembling beneath her. When Ino finally gave her what she wanted, Sakura cried out, clinging to the sheets as if they were the only thing anchoring her.

 

The cabana filled with the sounds of water still dripping faintly from their hair, their mingled breaths, and Sakura’s soft, uncontrollable moans as Ino worked her over—slow at first, then faster, pressing deeper, not letting up even when Sakura tried to twist away from the overwhelming waves of sensation.

 

Ino’s mouth found her again—kisses against her collarbone, her breast, her neck, the bond imprinted on her chest—teasing her higher and higher until Sakura’s entire body shook.

 

When Sakura finally shattered with a broken cry, Ino didn’t let her collapse. She caught her, pulled her up into her arms, kissing her fiercely, possessively, as if to drink down every sound, every breath, every ounce of Sakura’s surrender.

 

And then, with her own body pressed tightly against Sakura’s trembling form, Ino whispered against her ear, voice dark with promise:

 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

 

She wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

 

What followed blurred into something endless—hours stretched and folded into each other, Ino refusing to let Sakura drift too far from the edge. Each time she broke, shuddering apart beneath Ino’s hands and mouth, Ino drew her back up again, relentless, dragging her through wave after wave until Sakura’s body was slick with sweat and her voice cracked from crying out her name.

 

By the time the moon dipped higher, Sakura was limp and trembling, her cheeks flushed a feverish pink. Ino slowed, brushing damp hair from her forehead, meaning to give her a chance to breathe. But then Sakura’s hand, shaky but determined, cupped her jaw and pulled her close.

 

“Ino…” her voice was hoarse, but steady. “I want you to—” she swallowed hard, eyes burning with a reckless need, “—sit on my face.”

 

For a heartbeat, Ino froze. The words rolled through her, heat striking straight to her core. A shiver ran down her spine, sharp and delicious, making her breath hitch.

 

Sakura’s gaze didn’t falter. “Please.”

 

Ino’s lips curved slowly, wickedly, though her pulse was racing. “Who am I to deny you that, hm?” She whispered, brushing her thumb over Sakura’s swollen bottom lip.

 

She shifted, deliberate and slow, watching Sakura’s anticipation build as she moved. The air between them was molten now, heavy with the promise of something raw, desperate, and new.

 

Ino didn’t give her much room to breathe. One hand buried deep in Sakura’s hair, the other gripping her shoulder as if to pin her in place, she pressed down with a low growl of satisfaction. “That’s it… don’t you dare slow down.”

 

Sakura obeyed without hesitation, fingers clutching at Ino’s thighs, nails digging in as if to anchor herself. She moved with a hunger that made Ino’s jaw clench, her body taut with restraint. Every sharp tug of her hair, every obscene word Ino fed her, only made Sakura push harder—determined to please, desperate to repay the rough mercy Ino had given her earlier.

 

“Good girl,” Ino rasped, breath breaking into a shudder. “Don’t you dare stop.” Her hand fisted tighter in Sakura’s pink hair, guiding the pace without mercy. “That’s it… you’re mine, every bit of you. Look at you—so eager, so shameless. My perfect little girl.”

 

Her voice dropped, sharper, more guttural, each word meant to brand itself into Sakura’s bones. “Say it—say you belong to me. Say you’ll take everything I give you.”

 

Sakura moaned in response, the sound muffled but desperate, her hands trembling as she gripped tighter. The vibration of her voice only tore another broken groan from Ino’s throat.

 

“Stars, Sakura…” Ino’s words fractured, her dominance fraying at the edges even as she forced herself to hold on. “You’re going to ruin me like this, and I’ll make sure you love every second of it.”

 

Ino let her head fall back, breath breaking into ragged fragments, though she never lost control of the scene. Even in her unraveling, she barked down commands between gasps, her voice low and cruelly sweet. “Look at you—so eager, so desperate for me you’ll choke on it if I tell you to. My good girl.”

 

Sakura made a muffled sound that was half-moan, half-answer, the vibration dragging a guttural sound from Ino’s throat. Ino tightened her grip in response, twisting her fingers deeper into the silky strands of pink, forcing Sakura closer with no room for hesitation. Her knuckles whitened with the strain of holding on, of not simply losing herself right then and there.

 

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” Ino hissed, the words spilling sharp and unfiltered between clenched teeth. “Greedy little thing—don’t you dare slow down.” Each curse snapped out like a whip, and each one made Sakura’s pace grow more fevered.

 

Her body pressed tighter between Ino’s thighs, rhythm steady and unrelenting. Ino’s hips twitched under the assault, legs clamping instinctively around Sakura’s shoulders as if to lock her there, to make sure she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.

 

The obscenity of Ino’s voice, the way each word struck like fire, burned through Sakura’s body. Her nails dug deeper into smooth flesh, dragging red crescents into Ino’s skin, desperate to anchor herself as every sound above her only drove her harder. Her entire being funneled into that singular purpose: giving, taking, drowning Ino in sensation until she shattered.

 

“Fuck, Sakura—so filthy for me. That’s it, that’s mine—” Ino’s curses cut and faltered, breaking into gasps, her head thrown back as her breath grew ragged. She rode each wave, straining to keep control even as the edges of it began to fray under Sakura’s relentless devotion.

 

It was raw, almost rough, the way Ino moved against her—each grind unrestrained, every shift of her hips meant to wring out more, to claim more. Her fingers curled tighter in Sakura’s hair, the pull sharp, commanding, keeping her exactly where Ino needed her. There was no gentleness in the way she held on, no hesitation in the way she pushed forward—it was all fire, all hunger, all of Ino refusing to hold anything back.

 

Sakura took it, every demand, every forceful tug, answering with a rhythm that only grew more desperate the longer it went on. Her nails dug deeper into Ino’s thighs, the tension in her shoulders straining with the effort of keeping up, of giving Ino everything she demanded and more. The air between them grew hot, sticky with breath and the sound of Ino’s voice as it cracked through curses and ragged orders.

 

Ino arched again, her whole body strung tight, the grind of her hips growing frantic as she dragged Sakura closer, closer still, until there was nothing between them but the sharp edges of need. It was vicious, yes, but it was also unbearably beautiful—the way she surrendered to it, the way her control unraveled thread by thread.

 

Her voice faltered then, no longer sharp, no longer biting, but trembling. The curses tumbled into broken cries, the sound of someone undone against her own will. Her grip tightened one last time before slipping, fingers shaking in Sakura’s hair as she gave way completely, her release tearing through her with a force that left her shuddering, breathless, and wholly unguarded.

 

The world narrowed to Ino’s ragged breaths and the fierce heat of her body. When the last shudder finally ripped through her, she yanked Sakura up by the hair, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that was bruising, desperate, claiming. Her lips tasted like fire and defiance, her tongue still sharp with the words she hadn’t managed to spit out before the climax overtook her.

 

Sakura, flushed and breathless, melted against her, still shaking, still hungry. Ino held her close, fingers tangled tight in her hair as if she would never let go. Even in her afterglow, the dominance didn’t fade—it only settled deeper, rough and possessive, into the space between them.

 

“You did so well,” Ino whispered finally, her voice wrecked but heavy with pride. Then, softer but no less fierce: “You’re mine.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I was debating whether or not to just end the night here. But then again, nah. You'll see what I mean in the next chapter.

Chapter 13

 

Sakura trembled at the words, a shiver racing down her spine that had nothing to do with the chill of the room. She pressed closer, her forehead against Ino’s collarbone, soaking in the rough warmth of her body, the ragged beat of her heart. Every breath between them felt like fire, every second stretched taut with something that refused to loosen its hold.

 

Ino’s hand slid down, cupping the back of Sakura’s neck, her thumb brushing slow, possessive circles into her damp skin. She tilted Sakura’s chin up, forcing her flushed face into view. Those green eyes, glassy and dazed, locked with her own—and Ino’s smirk curved into something darker, something that left no room for doubt.

 

“Say it,” she demanded, her voice low, roughened by release but still sharp with command. “Say you’re mine.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted, trembling, her breath caught between a whimper and a confession. She didn’t look away, didn’t resist—she couldn’t. The weight of Ino’s gaze, the unrelenting claim in her touch, broke through every wall she thought she still had.

 

“I’m yours,” she whispered, the words unsteady but raw with truth.

 

Ino’s grip in her hair tightened again, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her of the leash she’d willingly given over. Her smile was all teeth, fierce and unrepentant, before she bent down and captured Sakura’s mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle—deep, searing.

 

When she finally pulled back, both of them breathless all over again, Ino pressed her forehead to Sakura’s and let out a laugh, rough and low. “Good girl,” she murmured, the praise curling hot between them. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, her lips still swollen from the kiss, her body trembling against Ino’s. She hesitated only a second, then let the word slip free, soft but clear enough to cut through the haze.

 

“…Mistress.”

 

The effect was instant. Ino’s pupils dilated, her smirk sharpening into something far darker. The coil of restraint she’d been holding onto snapped. One hand still tangled in Sakura’s hair, she leaned in close, her voice a dangerous whisper that sent a fresh shiver through Sakura’s body.

 

“Oh, you want that,” Ino murmured, the words dripping with cruel delight. “You want me to ruin you again.”

 

Sakura lay sprawled across the mattress, her cheek pressed into the soft pillows, chest rising and falling with slow anticipation. She had barely adjusted to the warmth of the sheets when Ino’s hand brushed her side — gentle, deceptively so — and the Mokuton answered.

 

Wooden vines slipped across her wrists, smooth as silk at first, then firm as steel, tugging her arms behind her back. Sakura let out a startled breath, her body shifting against the bed, but the restraints only drew tighter, locking her down.

 

“Miss—” her voice caught as the next wave of chakra surged.

 

A thick vine slithered up the curve of her neck, tightening into a collar that pulled her head forward until her cheek sank deeper into the pillows. With a sharp tug from behind, her hips were lifted, half her body presented up and helpless, her thighs trembling as she realized just how completely the Mokuton held her.

 

“Perfect,” Ino purred from above, watching her lover’s body obey with every command the wood gave. She trailed her fingers down the rigid vines, savoring the sight of Sakura bound, displayed, ready.

 

Sakura whimpered, her flushed face turning into the pillow, but Ino’s hand caught her chin and wrenched her gaze back up. Her eyes were molten, cruelly tender.

 

“You wanted this,” Ino said, her voice low and rough, every word dripping dominance. “You asked for your Mistress. Now you’ll take every bit of me until you can’t breathe without it.”

 

Ino knelt behind her, hands gliding over Sakura’s bare skin, mapping out every shiver and twitch. But instead of diving in, she leaned close, her breath hot against Sakura’s ear.

 

“Do you remember your safeword?” Ino murmured, her voice silken but edged in command.

 

Sakura nodded quickly, but the collar at her neck tugged, forcing her head lower into the pillows.

 

“Say it,” Ino ordered, her hand wrapping in Sakura’s hair and pulling just enough to make her arch.

 

“S–Sage,” Sakura whispered, breath catching as she obeyed.

 

“Mmm, good girl.” Ino’s praise was molten, dragging over Sakura’s nerves like fire and silk. She let her thumb stroke along the curve of Sakura’s jaw, grounding her even as the vines creaked tighter around her bound arms. “Remember it. If you can’t take me anymore, you say it. Understand, pet?”

 

“Yes, Ma'am,” Sakura breathed, her voice shaking but full of anticipation.

 

Ino’s smirk was wicked, but her eyes burned with something more—possession, hunger, love. “That’s right. Because we both know once I start… I don’t hold back.”

 

Her hand slid down the line of Sakura’s spine, slow, teasing, until it gripped her hip. With a flex of chakra, the collar pulsed, forcing Sakura to lift her hips higher, presenting herself even more helplessly.

 

“Now,” Ino whispered, leaning over her prey, voice husky with promise, “let’s see just how much you can take tonight.”

 

Ino’s eyes glimmered with wicked anticipation as she watched Sakura on all fours, her body perfectly presented, bound, and trembling beneath the Mokuton’s hold. The collar around her neck forced her head forward into the pillows, her hips lifted, half her body exposed and helpless. Every small shift, every involuntary shiver, sent a thrill straight through Ino.

 

Today, she was trying something new—something they had only ever spoken about in whispers, something they had promised they’d experiment with someday. Her chakra surged through the Mokuton, shaping a new extension—long, supple, and responsive—almost like a strap, but alive, an unmistakable part of herself.

 

She could feel it as if it were her own body, every motion pulsing with her intent. She touched her hands around it, letting out a strangled moan, never expecting how sensitive it would be. The wood fully looked more like an actual mass of muscle and skin now, pressing against Sakura in ways that elicited shivers and soft gasps. 

 

Ino grinned, the sensation was intoxicating. It was one thing to guide the vines, to restrain and tease—but this… this was literally an extension of herself, reacting to her thoughts and commands as naturally as any part of her own limbs.

 

“This is what we promised,” Ino murmured, voice low and warm, leaning close so her breath brushed Sakura’s ear. “Something new… something only you and I would feel like this, especially with our chakra bond.”

 

The Mokuton extension curled lightly along Sakura’s restrained form, flexible but firm, pressing and teasing her entrance in a way that felt alive. Ino guided it deliberately, letting it move with intent, and could feel every tiny shiver it drew from Sakura’s body.

 

Her hands traced along the shaft, adjusting the pressure, guiding the motions, watching with satisfaction as Sakura arched instinctively. “Every pulse, every little twitch… I feel it too,” Ino whispered, voice hoarse, her lips brushing the back of Sakura’s neck. “It’s mine, literally part of me, reaching through the wood… and you can feel that, can’t you?”

 

Sakura’s soft whimper confirmed it, and Ino’s grin widened, cruel and possessive.

 

"M-more, please, Mistress—" Sakura gasped again at another tease to her entrance. "Please, just give it to me!"

 

Ino clicked her tongue, grinding herself against the younger girl, biting her lips through the moans escaping her lips. It was new, so she was still really sensitive but it was also hard, too hard in a way that she wanted to feel Sakura around it. 

 

"That's not very nice," Ino said, her fingers gripping each side of Sakura's thighs. "Was that a command I heard?"

 

"I'm sorry, I—please, I'm sorry Mistress," Sakura pleaded, voice slightly muffled as the collar pressed her into the pillow. 

 

"I'll forgive you for now," Ino smirked. "Only because I'm running out of patience myself."

 

Without warning, Ino shifted her hip with a sudden, precise push, and Sakura shivered violently under her control. The unexpected motion drew a sharp gasp, a tremor of surprise and anticipation that rippled through her body.

 

Ino’s own chest tightened as she felt their connection, every movement of her hips, every flinch and arch of Sakura’s body amplified through the Mokuton. She let herself sink fully into the sensation of control, the thrill of dominance, and the intimate bond they shared.

 

Sakura’s soft, breathless cries filled the room, each one proving the intensity of the moment. Ino’s eyes darkened even more with possessive delight as she watched her lover’s body respond so completely, so instinctively, to every throb of her chakra inside her. She adjusted the extension, curling and flexing it, using Sakura's core relentlessly while keeping her fully restrained.

 

The tension between them grew nearly unbearable—every shiver, every gasp, every tremble of Sakura’s body mirrored by Ino’s own heightened sensations. The room seemed to shrink, reduced to the heat of their closeness, the sound of gasps and rustling sheets. Ino couldn't remember how many times Sakura had come down from her high only to build up again, feeling the overstimulation from the way her lover almost ran from the sensation but couldn't, all as she chased her own high.

 

Ino’s lips curved in a satisfied smile when Sakura jolted once more as whispered against her ear, voice low and possessive: “That’s it… let it wash over you. Every tremble, every gasp… all of this is ours.”

 

And then—at that exact moment—Ino felt the perfect surge of intensity building through both of them, the culmination of every pulse in the connection of their bond, every push and pull, every carefully measured movement she had orchestrated. Her chest tightened as the connection peaked, and finally she let herself sink fully into the overwhelming sensation of release.

 

Sakura’s soft, panicked gasps and shivering frame made her heart race. Ino tried to pull back out, but the extension held firm inside Sakura's, keeping her in place, her muscles clenching around her own. 

 

Sakura whimpered, voice urgent and desperate. “Mistress… don’t pull out… please… I need…!”

 

Ino’s eyes dilated with possessive satisfaction. The intensity of Sakura’s reaction only drove her further as Ino let herself ride the wave of that tension, fully climaxing inside. She could feel Sakura pressing and clinging instinctively around it, desperate to maintain the connection, and the sight and sensation made her grin with amusement.

 

Finally, Ino allowed the pressure to ease slowly, letting the shared wave of sensation settle while keeping Sakura held, shivering, and utterly consumed by the experience. 

 

Ino leaned closer, letting the Mokuton extension hold Sakura in exact alignment, pulsing subtly with her own energy. "Color?"

 

Sakura whimpered, chest almost heaving violently up and down. "Yellow."

 

Ino’s eyes softened slightly, though her possessive edge never left her gaze. 

 

“Yellow,” she repeated, a low, approving murmur. She let the extension throb gently, coaxing Sakura to steady her breath, to ground herself in the rhythm of the wood. Each subtle thrum was almost teasing, reinforcing the intimate connection between them.

 

Sakura’s body quivered as she adjusted slightly, trying to relax while still under the exacting hold of the vines. Her wet eyes blinked up at Ino, still shimmering from exertion and intensity. “I… I can’t… I—” Her words trailed off into a soft whimper, almost swallowed by the pulse of the Mokuton inside her.

 

Ino’s hand brushed lightly down the curve of Sakura’s spine, steadying her. “Shh,” she whispered. “Breathe, my little flower. Let it settle. You did so well, every part of you. You’re safe… and mine.”

 

The extension pulsed again, this time in softer, slower waves, almost like a heartbeat. Ino adjusted the pressure subtly, letting Sakura feel the lingering tension and energy, while beginning to ease the overstimulation. 

 

Sakura’s whimpers softened to shudders, her chest rising and falling slowly as she tried to regain composure, still flushed and trembling. Ino pressed her forehead to the back of Sakura’s neck, letting her breath warm the skin. “Good girl,” she murmured, her tone a mixture of dominance, affection, and pride. “You held on beautifully."

 

The Mokuton pulsed one final time, gentle and alive, electrifying the space between them. Ino’s chest rose and fell with satisfaction, feeling the connection, the trust, and the intimacy in the silence that followed. Even now, as the intensity ebbed, Sakura remained in Ino’s grasp—shivering, soft, and utterly devoted. Ino allowed herself a genuinely fond smile, tender at once. 

 

Ino’s fingers traced lightly along the Mokuton vines, still coiling gently around Sakura’s restrained wrists and hips. The pulsing extension, alive with her chakra, kept Sakura perfectly still as it was still buried inside her. She watched her lover shiver slightly again, body still tingling from the earlier waves of sensation, and her chest tightened with a mixture of possessive pride and love.

 

“Color?” Ino asked again.

 

Sakura’s lips parted slightly, a soft breath escaping as she blinked up at Ino, still flushed but calmer now. Her body had relaxed somewhat, though the memory of the intensity lingered in every quiver of her muscles. “Green,” she whispered, her voice small but steady, the word a sign that she had settled back into herself.

 

Ino's lips moved to an approving smile. “Green,” she repeated softly, letting the Mokuton extension throb in gentle, reassuring waves. The pressure was light now, enough to reignite the pleasure without overwhelming her. She could feel the subtle shiver that ran through Sakura with each vibration, the way her breath came a little faster, the lingering flush across her cheeks.

 

Leaning closer, Ino pressed her forehead to the back of Sakura’s neck, letting her warm breath drift across the skin. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft but edged with the authority she always carried. “Green means you’re steady, balanced… calm again. I like that.”

 

Sakura let out a small, relieved sigh, nuzzling slightly into Ino’s presence. Even with the Mokuton still holding her in place, she felt safe, cherished, and entirely under Ino’s watchful care.

 

The pacing built slowly again. The Mokuton pulsed along Sakura’s restrained form, moving like they were almost sentient, guiding her, holding her, and drawing out every quiver and shiver. Hours of intensity had left them both spent and alert, yet the thrill of anticipation hung thick in the air—and Sakura clenched around the extension at another sudden push, earning a breathy gasp from Ino.

 

“Fuck, pet…” Ino murmured, her voice low, sultry, and slightly edged with mischief. “Let’s see… how long you can last until you scream your safeword, hm?”

 

She could hear Sakura letting out a yelp as she thrusted forward, going even deeper, and if Sakura thought she was relentless before—she hadn't experienced Ino being truly relentless yet as she hit Sakura's spot that left the younger girl in a spasm of pleasure and cries. 

 

She could hear Sakura letting out a yelp as she thrusted forward, going even deeper, and if Sakura thought she was relentless before—she hadn't experienced Ino being truly relentless yet as she hit Sakura's spot that left the younger girl in a spasm of pleasure and cries. 

 

“You’re mine,” Ino declared, making another bite on Sakura's back, now littered with tiny hickeys and marks, her lips eventually sucking on her neck as the chakra extension connecting them vibrated, and Sakura screamed as she came once more. “And I plan on making sure neither of us forgets it.”

 

 

---

 

 

Hours later, the room had fallen into a deep, hushed quiet, broken only by the faint noise of cicadas outside and the occasional ripple of the pool just beyond the glass walls of cabana. The Mokuton bindings had long since receded, leaving Sakura free in Ino’s arms. Her body, still flushed and trembling with overstimulation, was curled tightly against her lover’s chest beneath the soft covers spread across the wide lounge bed.

 

Ino’s fingers threaded gently through Sakura’s damp hair, brushing it back from her temple with patient care. The earlier intensity had left both of them exhausted, their limbs heavy, their skin marked with the story of the night—tiny bruises, teeth marks, and the reddened lines where vines had once held Sakura still.

 

“Drink,” Ino whispered, holding a cup of cool water to Sakura’s lips. She tilted it carefully, watching as Sakura obediently sipped, her lashes low and heavy. Droplets trailed down her chin, and Ino wiped them away with her thumb, smiling softly.

 

Sakura gave a tired little hum, then smirked faintly despite the haze still in her eyes. “You know… most people just… use a simple strap.” Her voice was hoarse, but the teasing lilt was there. “But not you, huh? You had to… take it up a notch.”

 

Ino raised a brow, lips curving in a slow, knowing smile. “Simple strap? That’s what you think this is about?” She leaned closer, brushing her nose against Sakura’s cheek. “I don’t need toys to keep you where I want you. I don’t need something that can be… taken off.”

 

Sakura’s breath caught, her body giving a tiny shiver. “Ino…”

 

“Mhm.” Ino’s voice dropped to a velvet edge, her hand sliding along Sakura’s thigh as Mokuton chakra stirred again, curling faintly against her skin like roots flexing beneath the earth. “Why would I settle for something artificial—something anyone can buy—when I can give you something real? A part of me. My chakra, my wood, my control.”

 

Her lips brushed against Sakura’s ear, the hushed words making her pulse trip. “That way… when you take me inside you, it isn’t just play. It’s me. Every. Single. Inch.”

 

Sakura swallowed hard, her cheeks flushed despite her exhaustion. “Tch—trust you to be extra even in bed,” she muttered, but her voice cracked, betraying how the words had hit her.

 

Ino chuckled low, her hand sliding lower, hovering at the core just enough to remind Sakura of what she meant. “Extra?” Her breath fanned hot across Sakura’s neck. “No, Forehead. Just… mine.”

 

Sakura let out a breathless laugh, the corners of her lips quirking despite the heavy flush in her cheeks. “Sage, Sage,” she giggled, the word slipping out in a playful sing-song instead of the desperate plea it usually was. Her head lolled back against the pillow, strands of pink hair clinging to her skin. “Kami, Ino… I’m completely drained. I can’t even move a single muscle.”

 

Her voice softened into a half-whine, half-pout. “You really wrung me out.”

 

Ino leaned over her, brushing back a few stray locks of hair from Sakura’s face. The smirk she wore was tempered by warmth, her eyes softer now. “Relax, Forehead,” she murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss to Sakura’s temple. “I’m not about to drag you through another round. You’re not the only one sore, you know.”

 

Sakura cracked one eye open, her lashes fluttering as she gave Ino a tired, amused glance. “Hah. Didn’t think the great Ino Yamanaka would admit that.”

 

Ino chuckled, rolling onto her side beside her, their bodies brushing. “Please. I’m human too. And I think I’ve just about matched you bruise for bruise tonight.” She shifted, pulling the sheets over both of them, her Mokuton retreating fully until nothing but warmth and skin remained between them.

 

Sakura let out a tiny sigh of relief as she nestled closer. “Good. Because if you even try—”

 

“I said relax,” Ino cut in smoothly, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was holding back a grin. She draped an arm around Sakura’s waist, tugging her flush against her. “I just want to hold you. That’s all.”

 

Sakura’s giggle returned, quieter this time, muffled against Ino’s collarbone. “Finally. That’s all I’ve been waiting for.” Sakura’s voice then came out rough, almost a whine. “But you really didn't hold back."

 

Ino gave a small laugh, the sound low and fond, but her blue eyes were sharp with tenderness as she pressed a kiss to Sakura’s forehead again. “You know I wouldn't, and I trust you every time I check in. But if I pushed too far…” Her words trailed, almost questioning, her hand brushing gently along Sakura’s neck where faint impressions of the vines still lingered.

 

Sakura shook her head weakly and nuzzled closer, inhaling Ino’s warmth. “No… I needed it. You knew exactly where to stop… exactly where to push.” Her lips curved faintly into a tired smile. “I’m sore in ways I didn’t think possible… but I’ve never felt safer.”

 

The possessive edge that always lived inside Ino softened at that, and she tightened her arms around Sakura, pulling the blanket higher over them both. “Good. Because I don’t ever want you doubting that. You’re mine, yes… but I’ll always take care of you, too.”

 

The night breeze carried in the faint scent of chlorine and jasmine, wrapping around the two of them in their private sanctuary. Ino tucked Sakura’s head beneath her chin, humming softly while her hand traced idle, soothing circles across her lover’s back.

 

Sakura’s breathing slowed, her exhaustion finally pulling her into the edges of sleep, but she murmured one last thing before drifting off.

 

“I love you, Ino.”

 

Ino kissed her hair and whispered back, a vow as much as a reply. “I love you too, Sakura. Always.”

 

 

 

Notes:

I'm warning you now. This is the calm before the storm.

Chapter 14

 

The first thing Sakura felt was the softness of the sheets beneath her cheek, cool against skin that still ached in the sweetest ways. Her lashes fluttered open slowly, vision adjusting to the hazy blur of morning. The cabana’s glass walls had already been drawn open, letting the crisp sea air slip inside. It carried the scent of salt and hibiscus, brushing gently over her bare shoulders, soothing her in a way that made her sigh without meaning to.

 

Sunlight filtered in only as a muted glow, softened by the heavy curtains that draped across the open walls. The balance of brightness and shadow left the room wrapped in a kind of hush, like the world outside knew to stay quiet after the night they had endured.

 

Sakura shifted slightly, and the movement made her wince faintly at the ache in her hips and wrists—a reminder of how relentless Ino had been, how little either of them had cared for time. The faint impression of Mokuton bindings lingered across her skin, warm against memory, even though the vines themselves had long since retreated. She pulled in a deeper breath, the morning air mingling with Ino’s familiar scent still clinging to her.

 

Sakura’s lips curved faintly as her senses caught the telltale signs of Ino’s presence. The sheets beside her were already empty, cool to the touch, and from outside drifted the savory scent of meat sizzling over an open flame. Her stomach gave a quiet protest at the reminder that they’d gone through the entire night on nothing but adrenaline and each other.

 

She pushed herself upright with a soft groan, the ache running through her hips and wrists reminding her in delicious detail of how thoroughly Ino had claimed her. Sore in all the right places, Sakura swung her legs off the bed and stood carefully. The robe hanging neatly on the rack drew her hand, and she slipped into it, tying the sash loosely around her waist.

 

Padding barefoot toward the open cabana, the sound of water accompanied her steps. As she pushed past the curtain into the brightness outside, her gaze fell on the grass clearing near the pool.

 

There, under the shade of a small open-air shed kitchen, stood Ino. She looked freshly showered, her damp hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, strands catching the morning light. A loose shirt and shorts hugged her frame casually, but it was the addition of slim reading glasses perched on her nose that made Sakura pause, warmth blooming in her chest. Ino was holding her work tablet, probably flipping through documents she got this morning while tending to the grill with the other, moving with unhurried grace as though multitasking like this came as naturally as breathing.

 

A steaming cup of coffee rested on the counter behind her, sending up curls of fragrant steam that mingled with the smell of barbecue. The scene was so perfectly domestic, so startlingly different from the intensity of last night, that Sakura found herself smiling, fondness rising to the surface.

 

Sakura stepped quietly across the grass, the morning dew cool beneath her bare feet, the robe’s hem swaying gently against her calves. Ino stood framed by the little open-air kitchen, sunlight catching on her damp golden hair as she bent over the report in her hands. The light scent of grilled meat drifted upward from the smoking rack, mingling with the faint trace of her shampoo. She was so absorbed—reading glasses perched low on her nose, lips pursed faintly in concentration—that she didn’t even sense Sakura’s approach.

 

Sakura’s lips curved into a small, mischievous smile. She slipped her arms around Ino’s waist from behind, pressing her cheek between her shoulder blades.

 

Ino startled, a soft gasp leaving her as the paper in her hand nearly slipped. Then she laughed under her breath, leaning back into the embrace, her body instantly recognizing the warmth.

 

“Morning,” Sakura murmured, her voice husky and still heavy with sleep.

 

Ino tilted her head just slightly, the corner of her mouth tugging up as she lowered the report. “Sneaky. You almost made me drop the Hokage’s briefing.”

 

Sakura only hummed against her back, arms tightening around her middle. “Didn’t mean to. Just couldn’t resist.”

 

The smell of barbecue smoke curled between them as Ino set the report down on the little side table with a deliberate motion, sliding the glasses off her nose and placing them neatly on top. “If you wanted coffee, you could’ve just asked instead of sneaking up like some cat burglar,” she teased, though her tone was lighter than the slight tightness that lingered in her shoulders.

 

Sakura laughed softly, chin still resting against her. “Maybe I like stealing more than coffee.”

 

Ino’s lips quirked, but she shook her head and slipped free of the embrace only enough to reach for the small kettle set over the flame. “You’ll get both.”

 

Sakura leaned on the counter beside her, watching the simple way Ino moved—the sure grip, the measured pour, the careful stir. It was strangely soothing, the kind of rhythm that came from years of discipline but softened by the fact that this was just them at home, not a battlefield or a command tent.

 

The steam rose, curling around Ino’s face as she set a cup in front of Sakura. “There. Just how you like it. Sweet, strong, and with enough milk to make it not taste like a mission report.”

 

Sakura smiled, cupping the warm porcelain in her hands. “You spoil me.”

 

“Don’t get used to it.” But Ino’s voice was fond, the banter hiding the faint furrow between her brows.

 

Sakura took a sip, letting the heat fill her chest before setting the cup down again. Her gaze lingered, tracing the curve of Ino’s shoulders where tension sat heavy, even though the blonde was dressed in soft, casual house clothes—loose shirt, hair still damp from a quick rinse. No regulation jacket, no polished boots, no communicator tucked in her collar.

 

It didn’t fit.

 

“You’re not in uniform,” Sakura said finally, her voice gentle but probing.

 

Ino stilled for just a fraction too long, her fingers resting on the edge of the counter before she answered with an easy shrug. “Half day off. Thought I’d actually take it this time.”

 

Sakura tilted her head, unconvinced. She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against Ino’s arm. “Mm. Maybe. But you’re carrying something, Ino.” Her smile softened, trying to coax rather than confront. “I can see it in your shoulders.”

 

For a moment, Ino didn’t answer, her blue eyes sliding away toward the small grill where the meat still smoked faintly. Then she breathed out, quiet, almost evasive. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just… not something I want to drag into the morning with us right now.”

 

Sakura studied her carefully, torn between pressing and letting it be. The sweetness of the moment wrapped around them like the warmth of the steam, but under it, there was something heavier that Sakura didn't really like.

 

Sakura’s lips parted as if to prod again, but then she caught herself, exhaling quietly through her nose. She let her hand trail down Ino’s arm instead, giving a small squeeze before pulling back. “Alright,” she murmured, offering a soft smile that asked nothing more. “Not this morning.”

 

Relief flickered across Ino’s features, subtle but there, and she busied herself turning a skewer on the grill as the rice began to cook on the stove. 

 

“Good girl,” she said lightly, almost as if she were teasing to cover the weight in her chest. “Besides, I’d rather talk about you.”

 

Sakura arched a brow. “Me?”

 

“Well, yeah.” Ino leaned on the counter, her hair slipping forward as she tipped her head toward Sakura. “You planning to actually do anything today? Or just laze around here like yesterday? I can’t keep saving you from drowning in boredom, Forehead.”

 

Sakura laughed softly, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I haven’t done enough lying around.”

 

“Mm, I’m not complaining.” Ino’s grin turned sly. “But I’m serious—what’s on your little suspended medic-nin schedule?”

 

The words might’ve stung if not for the way Ino said them—warm, teasing, like she was trying to soften the sting of reality. “Tomorrow, I’m heading back home. Mama wants to meet properly. It’s… overdue.”

 

Something softened in Ino’s gaze at that, but she only hummed, nodding once before letting her grin creep back. “So today’s just free?”

 

“Today…” Sakura tilted her head, thoughtful. “I’ll probably go back to the manor. Can’t freeload here forever.”

 

Ino snorted, finally cutting down the grilled slab of meat into pieces. “Please. You say that like you're not going to drag yourself back here anyway.”

 

Sakura giggled. “You’re impossible.”

 

“That’s what you like about me.” Ino leaned in, lowering her voice with mock-seriousness. “Face it—you’re already domesticated. Poolside breakfasts, backyard hot springs, Mokuton butler service if you behave…”

 

“Mokuton butler service?” Sakura repeated, nearly choking on her laugh.

 

Ino only smirked, clearly pleased with herself.

 

Sakura shook her head, still chuckling as she stole a piece of grilled meat off the plate before Ino could serve it properly. “Mm—maybe I should keep you as my personal Mokuton butler. You’ve got the breakfast part handled already.”

 

Ino swatted at her hand, though the smile never left her lips. “Hey, patience. Some of us actually respect presentation.”

 

Sakura popped the stolen bite into her mouth with a cheeky grin. “Tastes the same either way.”

 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Ino sighed in mock exasperation and set the plates down, adding bowls of rice and the small sides she’d put together. “Alright. Go back up there and sit.”

 

They carried their plates back toward the cabana, settling cross-legged on the low table with the morning light spilling softly across the cushions. The rhythm of clinking chopsticks, soft chewing, and the occasional laugh filled the space.

 

“Mm, this is good,” Sakura admitted between bites. “If this is what being domesticated looks like, I might not complain.”

 

“You already don’t complain,” Ino teased, tapping her chopsticks against Sakura’s soup bowl. “You’ve been spoiled rotten and you know it.”

 

Sakura giggled, nudging her shoulder gently against Ino’s. “Maybe. But you make it too easy.”

 

For a while, it was just comfortable silence—the kind that didn’t need to be filled. The breeze shifted the curtains, the pool lapped softly in the background, and the warmth between them felt steady.

 

But after the third time Ino’s hand drifted back to her tablet—fingers swiping across the screen as she scrolled through something mid-bite—Sakura’s gaze lingered. It wasn’t just absentminded checking. Her eyes sharpened with focus each time, her shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly.

 

Sakura took another sip of her coffee, letting the taste settle on her tongue as she watched Ino from the corner of her eye. The blonde was smiling, laughing even, but that heaviness was still there. Carried in the lines of her posture, in the way her thumb hovered too long over her tablet before she set it face-down on the table again, only to pick it back up minutes later.

 

Sakura didn’t say anything—not yet. She only reached for another bite of rice, keeping her expression soft. But inside, she was already convinced that whatever Ino had brushed off earlier… it hadn’t left her at all.

 

Sakura poked at her bowl, noticing how the last of her soup had disappeared. She set her empty bowl down with a soft clink, fingers absently brushing the rim. She was about to push herself up when Ino’s hand landed lightly on her knee, the kind of casual touch that carried intent.

 

“I’ll get it,” Ino said, already rising, her tone smooth but leaving no room for argument. “Let me spoil you a little, yeah?”

 

Sakura huffed a quiet laugh. “You sound like some gentlewoman out of a romance novel.”

 

“Exactly.” Ino grinned over her shoulder as she stepped down the tiled cabana stairs toward the open-air kitchen, damp hair swaying at her back. “Now sit tight and let yourself be adored.”

 

Sakura shook her head, amused, but didn’t argue. She drank another batch of her coffee, listening to the faint sounds of plates clinking and the low hiss of the grill as Ino moved around below the pool area. The warmth of the water and the scent of smoke mixed pleasantly, wrapping the moment in an almost domestic stillness.

 

She speared another slice of grilled meat from the tray, chewing absently—until something on the counter caught her eye. The tablet. It had been left open, glowing faintly against the wood.

 

Sakura hesitated. She knew better. Ino didn’t just leave things open, which meant she mist have been preoccupied and distracted to mind her surroundings, although a part of her understood because Ino always let her giard down around her. But as much as she wanted to know what was keeping her lover stressed in the morning, it wasn’t like her to snoop—well, not anymore. Still, the pale blue light felt like it was calling to her.

 

Her brows furrowed as she finally leaned in, just a little. Just a glance.

 

The name was the first thing she caught: Daigo Kurobane.

 

Her chewing stilled.

 

The face matched immediately, smug even in a still photo, eyes too shrewd for someone who liked to pretend at harmless charm. Sakura remembered him clearly—the civilian councillor from the Land of Waves who had an annoying habit of “accidentally” crossing her path during war preparations in the Land of Iron. Always wanting meetings. Always pushing for an audience with Tsunade.

 

Sakura’s nose wrinkled faintly. 

 

Of all people.

 

But it wasn’t just a profile picture and a name. It was detailed—pages of information scrolling down, precise notes on his affiliations, financial movements, even private correspondence snippets.

 

She blinked, heat prickling under her skin. This wasn’t just casual research. This was… surveillance.

 

Her lips parted slightly. What would Ino want with him of all people?

 

Sakura’s grip tightened around her chopsticks before she carefully set it back down, heartbeat just a touch quicker than before.

 

And that was exactly the moment footsteps padded back across the tile, Ino’s voice floating in light and casual as if nothing was out of place:

 

“Refilled, steaming, perfect,” Ino announced as she reappeared, bowls in hand. The sunlight caught on the curve of her smile as she set Sakura’s in front of her with a little flourish. “See? Spoiled.”

 

Sakura mustered a chuckle, willing her heart to stop its quickened pace. “You really don’t let up, huh?”

 

“Never,” Ino said easily, sliding back onto the cushion beside her. She picked up her chopsticks with the same smooth grace she always carried, tapping them once against the rim of her own bowl. “Besides, you eat like you’ve been starved half your life. Someone’s got to keep up with you.”

 

Sakura snorted, grateful for the levity as she dipped her spoon back into the soup. “Says the one who’s been glued to her tablet since breakfast.”

 

“Mm.” Ino hummed, as if it were nothing at all. “Just making sure the world hasn’t fallen apart while I’m here with you.”

 

They slipped back into conversation, laughter bubbling in pockets. Ino teased her about sleeping posture again, about the way her hair stuck up in the back no matter how many times she smoothed it down. Sakura teased back, poking fun at the fact that Ino cooked like she was hosting a clan gathering for twenty instead of just the two of them.

 

It should’ve been easy to leave it there. To let the warmth of the food, the comfort of their banter, and the gentle quiet of the morning wash everything else away.

 

But the profile—the sharpness of Daigo Kurobane’s smirk frozen in that still frame, the meticulous detail of the notes—it lingered in Sakura’s mind like an itch she couldn’t ignore.

 

Her spoon paused midway to her lips, her voice slipping out before she could stop it.

 

“Ino…”

 

“Mm?” Ino didn’t look up, focused on plucking a bit of meat from her bowl.

 

Sakura’s chest tightened. The words were out before hesitation could reel them back in. “Did Daigo Kurobane do something against Konoha? Is he a threat? For you to keep studying his profile so dutifully?”

 

The silence that followed cut sharper than she expected.

 

Ino’s chopsticks stopped. She set them down carefully on the rim of her bowl, her gaze dropping for a moment before lifting to meet Sakura’s.

 

Her face gave nothing away. Not surprise, not relief. Just that careful, still look Ino only wore when she was thinking too many things at once and deciding which—if any—to share.

 

And for the first time in their morning together, Sakura wasn’t sure if she’d crossed a line, and she found her answer when Ino's jaw tightened.

 

“You looked.”

 

Sakura suddenly felt the need to find an excuse, to diffuse the sudden tension, but didn't have the right words. “You… left it open.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you were supposed to read it,” Ino shot back, voice sharp as glass.

 

Sakura swallowed, trying to steady her tone. “Ino, we share things about work all the time. I didn’t think it was that—”

 

“It is that big of a deal.” The words snapped like a whip across their space. Ino leaned forward, her hands pressing hard into the low table, tension rolling off her in waves. “This isn’t about what we share over dinner or in bed, Sakura. This isn’t your business.”

 

Sakura blinked, the sting hitting harder than she expected. “Not my business?” She echoed softly, her voice threading between disbelief and hurt.

 

Ino’s eyes flickered, a storm barely held together, and for a long second, neither of them moved. The pool water lapped faintly in the background, the curtains shifting with the breeze as if mocking the sudden heaviness in the cabana.

 

Sakura opened her mouth, ready to push—ready to argue that everything in their lives was their business, that she had the right to know what haunted Ino like this. But the look on Ino’s face, that iron-clad wall of fury and fear mixed in her blue eyes, slammed her words back down her throat.

 

The silence that followed wasn’t gentle anymore. It was thick, brittle, and sharp—like glass that could shatter with the slightest touch.

 

Sakura forced a sigh and reached across the table, fingers brushing toward Ino’s wrist. “Hey,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice even. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just—wanted to understand. That’s all.”

 

Ino pulled her hand back like the touch burned. “You don’t need to understand, Sakura.” Her voice rose, tight with strain. “You don’t need to stick your nose in every corner of my work just because we’re together.”

 

The words landed hard, but Sakura didn’t flinch this time. She swallowed, steadying herself. “That’s not fair, Ino. You know I’m not—”

 

“Not what? Not nosy? Not meddling?” Ino’s laugh was harsh, sharp. “Funny, because that’s exactly what you just did. Couldn’t help yourself, right? You had to pry.”

 

Sakura’s throat tightened, but she pushed through, refusing to look away. “I wasn’t prying. I was worried. There’s a difference.”

 

Ino’s eyes flashed. “Worried? Or just hungry for something else to fix? You can’t stand not knowing everything that you need every little detail lined up like a patient file or else you’ll claw at it until it bleeds.”

 

Sakura froze, the words cutting deeper than she expected. Her chest squeezed, breath catching, but she didn’t retreat. Not this time.

 

“Ino…” she said carefully, her voice trembling at the edges. “I know you don’t mean that.”

 

“Don’t I?” Ino shot back, her voice louder now, breaking the morning calm. “Maybe it’s exhausting, Sakura. Maybe sometimes I want to deal with things my way without you hovering over me, waiting for me to crack open like one of your case studies!”

 

The pool’s gentle lap and the rustle of curtains felt suddenly too loud, too mocking. Sakura stared at her, hands curling into her lap, the sting in her chest sharp and raw. She knew—gods, she knew—Ino lashed out like this when she was cornered, when she thought she was shielding her from something. She knew it wasn’t truth, not really.

 

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

 

Sakura’s lips parted, searching for something steady to hold on to, but the sharpness in Ino’s voice kept slicing through her composure before words could form.

 

“Ino, I wasn’t trying to cross any lines. I only asked because you seemed—”

 

“Because I seemed what?” Ino cut her off, her voice laced with venom. She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Distracted? Obsessed? Like I couldn’t handle myself?”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Sakura’s voice trembled, softer, earnest. “I just… worry about you. I wanted to understand why you’re carrying this by yourself.”

 

“And you think you deserve that answer?” Ino’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “God, Sakura, not everything I do revolves around you. Not every thought in my head is yours to pull out and examine.”

 

Sakura blinked hard, swallowing against the sting. She could take the heat, she told herself. She could let Ino burn. “I never said it had to revolve around me,” she whispered.

 

“Didn’t you?” Ino’s words were like poisoned needles, precise and cruel. “You can’t stand not being part of everything. You don’t even realize it—you’re always there, always trying, like if you don’t keep proving yourself, you’ll fade away.”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, chest squeezing tight. She forced herself to meet Ino’s eyes, though every part of her screamed to look down. “That’s not fair.”

 

“Fair?” Ino’s voice rose, sharp enough to echo faintly against the wooden walls. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see how hard you push, how desperate you are to keep up? You’re always chasing something—someone—to measure yourself against.” Her blue eyes flashed, cruel and cold. “You were never satisfied being just ‘Sakura.’ It always had to be Sakura, the one who finally caught up.”

 

 

The words landed like a kunai to her gut, each syllable reopening old scars Sakura had buried beneath years of grit and hard work. She gripped the edge of her robe, knuckles pale.

 

“Ino,” she whispered, the name breaking like glass on her tongue. "Stop."

 

But Ino didn’t stop. She pressed forward, voice trembling with her own storm. “You think you’re subtle? That I don’t see the way you look at me sometimes—like you’re scared I’ll realize you’ll never measure up? Like I’ll suddenly decide you’re not enough?”

 

Sakura’s breath faltered, her throat tightening as tears threatened. She wanted to deny it, to push back, but the truth was too raw. Too real. She stayed quiet, hands curling tighter in her lap.

 

Ino’s anger flared at the silence. “Say something, damn it! Don’t just sit there looking at me like I’m the villain!”

 

Sakura finally found her voice, shaky but sincere. “What do you want me to say, Ino? That you’re right?”

 

The words cracked between them, sharp and brittle. Ino blinked, thrown off for just a heartbeat before her expression hardened again.

 

“You’re damn right I’m right,” she said, though her voice was thinner now, like the fury was holding her together more than conviction. “And you’re proving it—sitting there like a kicked puppy because you can’t handle the truth.”

 

Sakura’s jaw tightened, her chest aching. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to match fire with fire—but she couldn’t. Not against Ino. Not when she knew why the words were coming. Besides, Ino was right, all of it. 

 

She forced herself to breathe, though her voice wavered. “You’re hurting me just to keep me away. I don’t… I don’t know why you think you need to.”

 

Ino froze, lips pressed thin, eyes glinting with something unspoken, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she scoffed and looked away, her shoulders rigid.

 

The silence that followed was anything but peaceful. It pressed down heavy, smothering, the kind that made the air feel too thick to breathe.

 

And Sakura sat in it, trembling, knowing she couldn’t outfight Ino’s words. Not because she didn’t have the strength—because she couldn’t bring herself to wound Ino back, even as every word dug into her like a blade.

 

 

Notes:

Seriously, Ino need therapy.

Chapter 15

 

The air between them was molten, thick enough that every breath scraped like ash in Sakura’s throat. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, fragile and frantic, while her fingers shook no matter how hard she tried to lock them still. She didn’t flinch away from Ino’s gaze—she couldn’t—but the weight of it pressed down like stone, suffocating.

 

And Ino—gods, Ino—looked frayed at the edges, like she was holding herself together by sheer force. Her beauty twisted into something raw, dangerous, like lightning caught in human form.

 

Her voice came low, not loud anymore, but sharp enough to strip skin from bone. “You know what the worst part is, Sakura?”

 

The words slithered in before Sakura could even brace herself. Her lips parted, dry, breath catching, though her throat was tight enough to strangle any answer.

 

“The worst part,” Ino said, her tone breaking, hard and wild in turns, “is that no matter how hard you work, no matter how much blood you spill, no matter how loud you scream—there will always be someone people would rather stand beside than you. Naruto. Sasuke. Tsunade.” Her teeth clicked as her jaw clenched. “Hell, even me.”

 

Her eyes gleamed with fire, cruel only because it was desperate. “You’ll always be second, Sakura. Always.”

 

The silence that followed was brutal.

 

The words didn’t just hit—they sank, buried deep, lodged in a place Sakura never let anyone touch. Her chest caved with one strangled breath, a hollowing that felt like her entire body had been scooped out.

 

Always second.

 

It wasn’t fair. Gods, it wasn’t fair. She had fought to shatter that shadow her whole life. Every scar etched into her body was proof of how much she had clawed her way forward. She’d faced down monsters, gods, her own limits, just to stand tall. And yet… the truth of it lingered, a poison that spread through her veins.

 

Because hadn’t she thought it before? In the dead of night, when no one could hear? That no matter what she became, no matter how strong she was—Naruto’s light would outshine hers. Sasuke’s name would echo louder. Tsunade’s legacy would tower higher.

 

And Ino—beautiful, terrifying Ino—was driving the knife straight into that wound she’d kept hidden all this time.

 

Her lips trembled. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight back. To say no, you’re wrong, I’ve carved my place in this world. But when her throat opened, nothing came out. No denial. No defiance. Just silence, sharp and bleeding.

 

Her body betrayed her with the smallest, weakest sound—a breath shattering into something close to a sob.

 

Ino’s mouth pressed into a hard line, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Fury warred with something else in her eyes, something that flickered and fled too fast. Regret, maybe. Terror. But she didn’t take the words back. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t. The only way she knew to hold herself together was to leave the blade buried in Sakura’s chest.

 

Sakura sat there, raw and unraveling, her whole world tilting sideways. She knew. Gods, she knew Ino didn’t mean it, not truly. This was the storm, the fear, the cracks bursting open all at once. But knowing that didn’t soften the blow—it only made it worse, because it meant the one person who knew her best also knew exactly where to cut deepest.

 

Her nails bit crescents into her palms until she tasted copper at the back of her throat. Her vision blurred, and she blinked hard, but the tears brimmed anyway. Outside, the pool whispered and lapped against its edges, too calm, too steady, mocking the chaos splintering her apart inside.

 

“Ino…” The name stumbled out of her, cracked and fragile. Her voice had none of its usual steadiness, none of the medic’s steel, none of the fighter’s grit. "Please stop."

 

For the first time, she didn’t sound like Sakura, the one who always held herself together. She just sounded small.

 

And the silence that followed was unbearable, because it left Ino standing there, torn between breaking further and running, while Sakura crumbled with nothing left to shield herself.

 

The silence should have been enough to end it. To give them both space to breathe, to recoil before the damage became permanent.

 

But Ino didn’t stop.

 

Something restless and furious had already taken root in her, and now she couldn’t seem to tear it out. Her words came sharp and uneven, like a blade hacking at flesh instead of carving clean.

 

“You think patching up wounds and memorizing every tendon in the human body makes you special?” Her voice shook, but the venom didn’t falter. “You’re just filling gaps left by everyone else. That’s all you’ve ever done, Sakura. Picking up scraps, trying to be enough where the real chosen ones couldn’t be.”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, her head bowing, gaze fixed on the untouched soup between them. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her throat was tight as a noose.

 

So she turned inward instead.

 

Her nails dug harder into her palms. She slowed her breathing—four counts in, six counts out—forcing her diaphragm to expand even as her chest wanted to cave. She shifted her focus, isolating the panic, naming the rush of cortisol, the spike in heart rate. She found her pulse hammering at her wrist and pressed her thumb hard against it, regulating, coaxing it down one beat at a time.

 

It was survival. It was control. It was the only thing she had left.

 

And still, she couldn’t bring herself to look up at Ino.

 

Ino saw it—saw her fold inward, saw her refuse to fight back—and it only made her angrier. Her words came harsher, crueler, because she couldn’t stand the silence, couldn’t stand how Sakura swallowed everything instead of spitting it back.

 

“You think I don’t see it? The way you hover around, waiting for someone to finally say you’re enough? Waiting for Naruto to need you, for Sasuke to hear you, for Tsunade to call you her heir.” Ino’s laugh was bitter, cracked. “Pathetic, Sakura. You cling so hard to scraps of validation you can’t even stand on your own without them.”

 

Sakura inhaled sharply, deeper than she should have. Her chest ached with the restraint. She counted the beats—one, two, three—forcing her body into calmness even as the words shredded the edges of her composure.

 

Her vision swam. Tears brimmed, hot and stinging, but she blinked them back with furious precision. She refused. She would not cry. Not for this. Not for Ino’s storm.

 

Her jaw locked tight, trembling with the effort to keep still.

 

But Ino, still, didn’t stop.

 

“Tell me, Sakura,” she pressed, voice cutting lower now, dangerous with its intimacy. “When was the last time anyone chose you first? When was the last time someone saw you and not the shadow you follow? Even now—you can’t even look me in the eye. Because deep down, you know I’m right.”

 

Sakura’s fingers curled tighter into her palms until pain sparked, grounding her. She focused on it—the sting, the sharp edge—anything to keep herself tethered. She tracked her own adrenaline like she would a patient’s vitals: elevated, but manageable. She forced her breath through her nose, slow, deliberate, refusing the tremor that wanted to betray her.

 

She wouldn’t give Ino the satisfaction. She wouldn’t break.

 

But gods, it hurt.

 

And still, she couldn’t lift her eyes. Couldn’t meet the storm bearing down on her. She stared at the table instead, the wood grain blurring and splitting through her unshed tears, every line mocking her with how easy it was to fall apart when she’d sworn she never would.

 

She kept her head bowed, lashes trembling against her cheeks. She would not cry. Crying was surrender. Crying was proof that Ino was right—that she was fragile, always on the edge of breaking, never quite enough.

 

So she reached for what she knew best.

 

Her body was a map, and she had studied it more intimately than anyone alive. She tracked her pulse in her wrists, the tremor in her diaphragm, the weight of adrenaline tightening her chest. She recognized the markers of panic like symptoms on a chart. Elevated heart rate. Muscle tension. Accelerated respiration.

 

She regulated them one by one, stubbornly, clinically. Inhale—four counts, deep into the belly. Hold—just enough to stretch the ache. Exhale—six counts, emptying everything, forcing her body into a state of calm it did not want to obey. Again. 

 

 

Again.

 

Her nails began to dug deeper crescents into her palms again, until blood welled. She embraced the sting, welcomed it. Pain was familiar, grounding. She clung to it like a tether.

 

And still she did not look up.

 

Ino’s voice cracked the fragile stillness again, harsher now, like she couldn’t stand Sakura’s silence. “What is it, huh? You think if you don’t say anything, if you just sit there and take it, it proves me wrong? You think it makes you strong?” Her laugh was sharp, splintering. “It doesn’t. It makes you pitiful. A coward who can’t even defend herself.”

 

The words stabbed, twisting inside her chest. Sakura’s breath faltered for half a beat, but she recovered, forcing air through her nose until it steadied again. Her vision blurred, one hot tear spilling before she could catch it, sliding down her cheek and splashing against her hand. She scrubbed it away, violent in her refusal to let it linger.

 

Not yet. Not here.

 

But Ino saw. Of course she did. And instead of softening, it ignited something crueler.

 

“When was the last time someone called you their first choice, Sakura? Not Naruto, not Sasuke, not even Kakashi.” Ino’s voice trembled, but the knife never wavered. “You’ve always been filler. A stand-in. Even Tsunade trained you because she couldn’t bear to see her own legacy die with her. You were convenient. Replaceable.”

 

Sakura’s throat convulsed, strangling the sob clawing its way upward. Replaceable. The word rang louder than the rest, so sharp it almost deafened her.

 

Her jaw clenched until it ached. Her lips pressed so tight they turned white. Her whole body quivered under the strain of holding herself together, like a dam stretched to breaking under the weight of a flood.

 

Not yet. Not here.

 

She kept her gaze fixed on the table, but her eyes burned, lashes wet, blurring everything into shapeless streaks. The air felt thick as syrup, clogging her lungs, and she breathed through it anyway, steady, steady.

 

Steady.

 

Every word Ino hurled at her had been a stone, each one heavier than the last, but she bore them the way she always had—quietly, swallowing the pain until it lodged somewhere behind her ribs. If she let it spill out, she feared it would drown them both.

 

So she didn’t fight back. 

 

Her throat ached with everything unsaid, but her lips stayed parted in silence, dragging in shallow, fragile breaths. Maybe if she stayed still, Ino’s rage would burn itself out. Maybe if she took it all, Ino would finally be emptied.

 

But instead, Ino faltered.

 

Sakura saw it—the way her lover’s eyes flickered, the way her fists trembled like she was holding herself together by threads. For a heartbeat, Sakura thought maybe the storm would pass. Maybe Ino would fall quiet too.

 

Then Ino’s voice came again, sharp and uneven, laced with desperation.

“Why won’t you say anything? Damn it, Sakura—scream at me. Hate me. Stop just sitting there like I’m right!”

 

The words cut, but it was the edge beneath them that gutted Sakura—the plea, the ache. She wanted to answer, wanted to lift her head and say I could never hate you. But nothing came. Only silence.

 

Her silence was all the answer Ino needed.

 

And then it happened.

 

The fury broke, twisted into something raw, and Ino’s voice splintered into a whisper that seared itself into Sakura’s chest.

“God, maybe you don’t fight back because… because deep down, you know you’ll never be enough for me.”

 

The world seemed to go hollow in that instant.

 

Sakura blinked, once, twice, but the tears refused to fall, burning hot behind her eyes instead. Her heart stuttered, and the ache was so sharp it felt physical, as if Ino had reached in and carved something vital from her.

 

Not enough.

 

The words rang, merciless, echoing every fear Sakura had buried, every insecurity she’d crushed under years of discipline and training. She had been told she wasn’t strong enough, not smart enough, not worthy enough—by teachers, by rivals, by herself. But never Ino. Not her Ino.

 

Her chest lifted on a tremor of breath, and she thought she might choke on the silence lodged in her throat. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even defend herself. Because maybe—just maybe—Ino was right.

 

Sakura’s chest clenched so tightly it felt like the air itself had been stripped from her lungs. The words were still echoing in her head, cruel and final, like a blade that had struck somewhere deeper than flesh could ever reach, and the words remained, like something carved into her mind.

 

You’ll never be enough for me.

 

Her hands trembled, though she stilled them almost instantly, the way she’d trained herself to do on the battlefield. A medic didn’t get to lose control—not when someone else’s life was at stake, and not even when her own heart was breaking. So she forced her body into the rhythm she knew best once more: in through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow. Steady. Clinical. She regulated her pulse, calmed the shallow gasps threatening to burst into sobs. 

 

When she finally lifted her gaze, there was no anger in her eyes—only the hollow, stillness of someone who had survived too much to let one more wound show. Her green eyes met Ino’s, but they didn’t see her. They only saw the grief carved into Ino’s features, the horror dawning there as if she herself had just realized the monster her own mouth had given voice to.

 

And that hurt more than the words. Because Ino regretted it already. And still, Sakura knew some things couldn’t be taken back.

 

“Are you done?” Sakura’s voice was soft, empty, stripped of warmth. It was not a challenge. Not a plea. Just a question.

 

Ino’s lips parted, but no sound came. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

 

That was enough of an answer.

 

Sakura rose slowly, her body sore, every step a reminder of the tenderness they had shared just last night—tenderness that now felt like a lie buried beneath ash. She pulled her robe tightly around herself, fingers steady even as her soul trembled, and turned toward the exit.

 

The sanctuary Ino had built for her—the hidden pool and cabana tucked away like a secret, a place meant to be theirs—felt smaller than it ever had. Stifling. Unsafe. Sakura didn’t want to breathe in its air anymore.

 

She walked out without looking back. The wooden frame of the hidden entrance creaked behind her as the door slid shut, final as a closing wound. Barefoot, robe gathered tight, she stepped into the morning light, every ache and soreness from their love-making forgotten, every warmth gone. The path back to their mansion stretched long and lonely, but it was better than staying. Better than bleeding in silence where Ino could see.

 

And so she left her there, in the ruin of words that could never be unsaid.

 

 

---

 

 

The cabana was too quiet when Sakura’s footsteps faded. Ino didn’t chase her—not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t. Her body refused to move, frozen in the space Sakura had just vacated. The air still smelled of her—chlorine-sweet skin, faint smoke from the grill, that grounding medic’s cleanliness that always clung to her robes. It lingered, taunting.

 

Ino sat there trembling, nails cutting into her palms as though pain might root her back into herself. But nothing anchored her. She felt hollow, carved open by her own tongue.

 

She had wanted to hurt Sakura. No—she hadn’t wanted it, not truly. She had needed it. Needed to lash out, to make Sakura flinch, to force her to recoil, to scream, to prove she wasn’t untouchable. Because when Ino had seen Sakura’s eyes on that tablet—her file—everything inside her cracked.

 

Daigo Kurobane.

 

The name alone was a weight, pressing against Ino’s temples like an iron band that would not relent. It wasn’t just a name; it was a history, a scar carved into the kind of records that people like Sakura weren’t supposed to see. Sai had slipped her the details that morning, the kind of precise intel that was stripped of emotion but not of truth. Every line she read burrowed deeper, staining her thoughts until she could feel the rot of that man’s existence in her lungs. 

 

They had only needed information so they could negotiate and enter his property to find damn relic—but Ino’s body thrummed with fury at what she found. He was despicable, beyond redemption. She could still see the words burned into her vision: human trafficking, ritualistic killings. Kurobane wasn’t just another man with power. He was a predator cloaked in wealth and blood. And if Sakura had kept reading—if she had scrolled one page further—she would have seen the photographs, the testimonies, the sheer horror of what this man had done.

 

The panic hit her like a flood. Images she couldn’t shake—Sakura being dragged into the same darkness, Sakura’s soft hands forced into cruelty, Sakura’s body marked by the same filth. The same Sakura who had been hurt, broken, nearly taken from her too many times before. Ino’s chest tightened, and it was like drowning, like no matter how deep she pulled the air into her lungs, it never reached her.

 

Ino hadn’t wanted that. She hadn’t wanted Sakura to carry the same bile on her tongue, the same pit of acid clawing at her chest. She knew Sakura—knew she would’ve squared her shoulders, clenched her fists, and stepped forward with her Senju name blazing like a torch. I’ll help. I can make them listen. That was who she was. Brave, unyielding, too selfless for her own good. But for Ino, the thought of Sakura inserting herself into that nest of danger, of binding her safety to a name that still carried enough power to draw enemies from the shadows—it was unbearable.

 

So she snapped. She lashed out. Because that was easier than admitting the truth: that she was terrified. Terrified of losing Sakura to something she couldn’t control, something beyond even her Mokuton’s reach. Terrified that one day, her roots and vines wouldn’t be enough to hold Sakura in place.

 

That morning, she had woken before dawn, slipping out of their tangled sheets without even brushing her lips to Sakura’s temple the way she usually did. The file had been etched in her mind all morning, and she couldn’t bear to lie down, not with Sakura’s warmth pressed against her, not with the ache in her chest screaming that she might one day lose it. 

 

So she busied her hands instead—chopping, stirring, layering flavor after flavor into a soup that smelled like home, like comfort. She thought if she cooked for Sakura, if she poured herself into every cut of the knife and every simmer of the broth, maybe she could keep her mind from looping back to him, to the relic, to the Elders painting a target on her back.

 

But it didn’t work. Every time the steam rose, every time she ladled out a bowl, the pressure of what she was facing was still there, a shadow at the back of her tongue. By the time Sakura stirred awake, stretching softly in the sunlight like she had every right to exist in peace, Ino was already fraying at the edges.

 

And when she saw Sakura’s empty bowl later, the simple innocence of her offering to refill it, Ino felt the crack split wider. Because Sakura didn’t know. She didn’t see the danger circling around her name. She didn’t see the way it clawed at Ino’s throat to imagine her walking blindly into it. And that was when the fear twisted itself into poison, when the words spilled from Ino’s mouth like daggers instead of confessions.

 

Because to say I’m scared of losing you would’ve meant showing her weakness again, and she had done enough of that already.

 

And Ino Yamanaka had never been good at weakness.

 

And something in her chest broke.

 

She couldn’t let Sakura’s nobility become her death sentence.

 

So she said things she didn't mean. She took the sharpest blade she had—her words—and carved the distance herself. If Sakura was going to insist on bearing her burdens, then Ino would make sure she regretted it, make sure she stayed back, even if it meant staining herself with cruelty.

 

But now—now that Sakura was gone, robes drawn tight around her body as though shielding herself from the chill, from her—the silence pressed in like an executioner. She had wanted Sakura to fight back, to argue—Ino had wanted to get rid of the unbearable pressure building from her chest, the raw fear and panic—she hadn't meant a single word, Sakura knew that—but she kept going, again and again.

 

 

Ino staggered back a step and caught the edge of the low table, breath ragged. Her chest heaved like she’d just run a battlefield sprint, but there was no enemy here. Just shadows and the echo of her own voice, venomous and unforgivable.

 

Her breath hitched, shallow and sharp, as the echo of her own words rattled inside her skull like glass shattering endlessly against stone.

 

"...because deep down, you know you’ll never be enough for me."

 

She pressed her hands over her ears as if she could block it out, but it was carved into her blood, branded into her very marrow. The silence that followed Sakura’s leaving was louder than any scream—louder than battle, louder than the chaos she’d grown up with. It was a silence that accused her, that mirrored back everything she swore she would never do: hurt Sakura.

 

Ino’s knees gave out beneath her, and she found herself crumpled on the wooden floor of the cabana, nails digging crescents into her thighs. She had wanted to protect Sakura. Gods, that was all she had ever wanted. All her fury, all her possessiveness, all her darkness—it was never meant to push her away. It was supposed to shield her, to keep her from bleeding again, from suffering again.

 

But instead, she had bared the ugliest, cruelest part of herself. She hadn’t thrown fists. She hadn’t unleashed Mokuton. No—she had chosen words, the one thing Sakura trusted her with most, the thing Sakura leaned on when everything else broke. And she had poisoned them.

 

Her stomach twisted violently, bile clawing up her throat. She stumbled forward on her palms, trembling, staring at the spot where Sakura had stood before she left. The image burned into her eyes—Sakura in her robes, face pale and blank, her eyes emptied of every spark they once carried for her. Ino would have preferred rage. She would have preferred Sakura striking her, screaming, hating her. Anything but that hollow, lifeless look.

 

Tears blurred her vision, hot and merciless, and she dragged her hands into her hair, pulling until her scalp screamed. “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered hoarsely, though there was no one left to hear her. “I didn’t mean it, Sakura, I didn’t—”

 

But she had said it. She had taken the sharpest blade she had—her tongue—and carved into the very heart she worshipped. And the wound she left there couldn’t be healed with medical chakra, couldn’t be undone with an apology, couldn’t be erased by the thousand ways she had shown her love before.

 

Ino had spent years honing herself into someone strong enough to stand at Sakura’s side, strong enough to bear the world’s hatred if it meant Sakura could walk unscathed. And now, with one slip of fear, with one ugly flash of anger, she had become the very thing she vowed to protect Sakura from.

 

She curled against the floor, the cabana’s air suffocating her, the sanctuary she built for Sakura now choking her with its emptiness. The panic clawed at her chest, raw and unrelenting: what if Sakura never came back? What if this time she had gone too far? What if her words had finally done what no enemy ever could—drive Sakura away from her?

 

And the guilt sank deeper, sharp as barbed wire around her ribs. She never wanted it to escalate like this. She never wanted Sakura to feel unloved, unwanted. She had only wanted her safe. Safe from Daigo Kurobane. Safe from relics and Elders and politics. Safe from all the shadows that hunted her name.

 

But in trying to keep Sakura from breaking, she had broken her herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

You know that feeling when you're mad at yourself and you just wanna lash out at somebody, say things you know would hurt them so they could fight you, and actually expend that anger?

No?

Okay, well, I'm just creating drama.

Chapter 16

 

The bedroom was colder than she remembered it, even though nothing had changed. Sakura slipped inside quietly, as though the silence itself would shatter if she moved too loudly. The vastness of the mansion’s master bedroom pressed in on her, gilded walls and heavy curtains doing nothing to ease the ache in her chest. Her eyes flicked to the bed—rumpled sheets, a pillow still faintly carrying Ino’s scent, a reminder she didn’t want but couldn’t avoid. Her throat tightened, and she hurried past it.

 

The bathroom was mercifully dim, the soft light from the sconces casting long shadows against the marble. She shut the door behind her and twisted the lock, the click ringing far too loud in the quiet. Her hands trembled as she reached for the tub’s faucet, turning it until water gushed out and filled the basin with a low rush. She stripped without thought, sliding into the warmth, but her body was tense, her arms wrapping around her knees as if she needed to hold herself together before she came apart completely.

 

She tried to focus on the water’s heat seeping into her skin, on the rising steam that blurred the edges of the room, on the faint echo of dripping against porcelain. But no matter how hard she tried, the words followed her here.

 

“…because deep down, you know you’ll never be enough for me.”

 

They rang in her skull like a cruel mantra, cutting deeper every time they repeated. Sakura’s breath hitched, her chest seizing around something she had no strength to push down anymore. She bit her lip until she tasted iron, desperate to keep herself composed—but the privacy of the bathroom stripped her defenses bare.

 

Her hands rose to cover her face, and that was it. The dam broke. Hot tears spilled freely, faster than she could catch, falling into the bathwater until she couldn’t tell what was steam and what was grief. A sob tore out of her throat, sharp and unrestrained, filling the space where Ino’s voice had been just moments ago.

 

She knew. She knew why Ino had lashed out, why fear had twisted into something ugly and brutal. She understood it, she did—Ino’s protectiveness, her terror of losing the one thing she could never replace. But understanding the reason did nothing to soften the pain. Understanding didn’t erase the venom in those words.

 

Because what if Ino wasn’t wrong? What if, after everything, she really wasn’t enough?

 

Sakura buried her face against her knees, shoulders shaking as she cried harder, the sound of her sobs echoing off the pristine marble. She had faced wars, blood, death—she had walked through hell itself with her teammates—but never had she felt this small, this raw, this powerless.

 

Alone in the tub, water rising around her trembling form, she allowed herself to crumble. Only here, behind a locked door, could she bleed out her heartbreak without Ino’s eyes catching it—because gods, even now, she still wanted to shield Ino from her pain, to save Ino from regrets she knew Ino was beating herself with.

 

But the words had already lodged themselves too deep. They weren’t going away.

 

Her sobs came in waves—ragged gasps, then softer whimpers, then another sharp break as though her chest couldn’t decide whether to collapse or fight. At some point, her tears blurred into the steam, her face slick and hot, but the ache inside her stayed sharp, unrelenting. She pressed her forehead against her knees, trying to breathe evenly, to anchor herself in the warmth of the water, but the echo of Ino’s voice wouldn’t loosen its grip.

 

She didn’t mean it, Sakura whispered to herself in her mind, mouthing the words like a prayer. She didn’t mean it. She was angry. She was afraid. She always gets like that when she feels cornered.

 

She clung to the thought like a lifeline, repeating it until the words lost shape, but the wound it tried to cover throbbed too raw to let it settle. Every time she tried to swallow the doubt, it clawed back up, sharper than before.

 

What if it wasn’t just fear speaking? What if, for a split second, Ino had peeled back the mask and let the truth slip out?

 

Her chest tightened. The idea hollowed her out in a way that even battlefield wounds had never managed. She’d faced kunai to the gut, broken bones, poisoned blood—but this? This was worse.

 

“No…” she rasped aloud, shaking her head hard, water sloshing around her shoulders. Her voice cracked, but she kept going, clinging to it as if defiance alone could undo the pain. “She loves me. She—she’s always loved me. She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t…”

 

But the doubt slithered through the cracks, merciless. Then why did it sound so easy for her to say it? Why didn’t she stop herself?

 

Her nails dug into her skin, leaving crescents along her arms as if pain might keep the thought from growing. It didn’t.

 

She wanted—needed—to believe Ino’s words had been nothing but heat-of-the-moment cruelty, born of fear and possessiveness. She wanted to believe that if she just walked back out there, if she reached for Ino’s hand, everything would unravel into apologies and soft promises.

 

But the wound was too fresh. The venom too sharp. Every time she tried to picture Ino’s face, the memory of that line cut across it like a scar.

 

"Replaceable."

 

"Always second."

 

“You’ll never be enough.”

 

And once it was heard, it couldn’t be unheard.

 

Sakura shut her eyes tight and sank lower into the water, as if it could drown out the thought, as if submerging herself might scrub the words from her bones. But when she surfaced again, breath shuddering, they were still there—lodged deep, waiting.

 

She bit down on another sob, her body trembling. For now, all she could do was sit in that unbearable in-between: wanting to forgive, wanting to believe, but powerless against the gnawing doubt that maybe… maybe Ino had meant it.

 

Sakura sat there in the water, the warmth clinging to her skin, but inside she felt frozen—like the words had lodged deep in her marrow, turning everything brittle. She tried again, one last time, to convince herself that Ino hadn’t meant it, that it was nothing more than fear tangled in anger. But the harder she pushed, the louder the other voice grew, the one that had been whispering in the back of her mind long before tonight.

 

What if it wasn't just a maybe, but what if she did mean it?

 

The thought was small at first, hesitant, but once it slipped through, it spread like poison. It wound around her heart, tightening until she could hardly breathe.

 

What if all this time she’d been chasing something she couldn’t hold onto? What if every smile, every kiss, every whispered promise in the dark had been fragile—beautiful, yes, but fragile—and today, Ino had finally shown her the truth beneath it?

 

Her breath stuttered as the doubts unfurled, each one sharper than the last.

 

You were never her first choice. 

 

You’ll never be enough to soothe her fears. 

 

You’re always one mistake away from losing her.

 

Sakura’s hand shot up to her mouth to stifle the sound that threatened to break free, but it didn’t stop the tears that surged again, hot and relentless. She curled forward, body trembling, as if she could fold herself small enough that the words wouldn’t find her. But they already had. They were carved inside her now.

 

She thought of the sanctuary Ino had built for her—the hidden cabana, the effort, the care. A place meant to protect her. And yet this morning, in that very place, Ino had torn her open with a sentence Sakura would never forget. The irony twisted cruelly inside her chest.

 

If she couldn’t believe Ino’s love was steady, then what could she believe? If Ino could look her in the eye and say she wasn’t enough—even if she regretted it later—then how was Sakura supposed to unhear it?

 

She dug her fingers into the edge of the tub, knuckles white, nails scraping porcelain. For so long, she had told herself she was strong enough to weather anything, that love was worth the storms. But today… now, it felt different. Now, the storm wasn’t outside—it was inside her, tearing at the very thing she had built her life on.

 

And for the first time in years, Sakura felt that gnawing, merciless mistrust that maybe love, no matter how fiercely fought for, wasn’t enough to silence the doubts.

 

She hated herself for thinking it. She hated herself for letting it fester. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t push it away.

 

Ino’s words were the wound, her silence now was the infection—and Sakura was drowning in both.

 

 

---

 

 

Two days blurred together in a haze of silence that felt heavier than any battlefield Sakura had ever stood on. The estate's grand halls seemed to echo with the absence of their laughter, the void where their voices used to find one another. Sakura had become an expert at avoidance, slipping through rooms like a shadow, her footsteps deliberate, her eyes cast elsewhere whenever Ino was near.

 

If an estate worker brought her a message—“Lady Yamanaka asks if you’ve eaten,” or “She requests your input on the barrier plans”—Sakura would nod politely, mutter a thank you, and return to whatever meaningless distraction she’d buried herself in. She didn’t look toward Ino, didn’t acknowledge the desperate flicker of hope in those attempts, didn’t even allow herself to feel the tug in her chest that wanted so badly to forgive.

 

Because every time she tried—every time her heart yearned to step back into that orbit of warmth she had only ever found in Ino’s arms—those words came crashing back like a blade twisting in her ribs.

 

“…because deep down, you know you’ll never be enough for me.”

 

It burned, over and over, a poison she couldn’t spit out. She knew why Ino had said it. She understood the panic, the fear, the way Ino shouldered her love in a way that was sometimes suffocating. And yet…again, understanding didn’t erase the wound. It didn’t stop the question that had whispered in the dark corners of her mind: what if she meant it?

 

So she pulled back. It was subtle at first—staying longer in the training yard, retreating early to the library, finding excuses to be away when she felt Ino’s presence drawing closer, and even sleeping in the guest room, never stepping foot inside their shared chamber. Then it became deliberate. She let her gaze pass over Ino as if she were nothing more than another face in the estate, a presence too familiar to ignore entirely but too painful to confront.

 

And it killed her. Every time she saw Ino’s eyes—red-rimmed, hollowed by sleepless nights and gnawed by guilt—something inside Sakura screamed to reach out, to tell her she was forgiven, that it was alright. But the wound was too raw, the scar too tender. She couldn’t do it. Not yet.

 

She didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of Ino’s arms tightening around her, of her voice whispering reassurance, terrified her. Because if she gave in too soon, if she forgave before she was ready, what if the next time Ino lashed out, the wound was deeper? What if the next time broke her beyond repair?

 

So she distanced herself, and with every act of silence, every turned face, every swallowed word, she felt a little more hollow. Because the truth was, Ino’s presence wasn’t something she could ignore. It was oxygen. It was life. And cutting herself off from it was killing her just as surely as it was killing Ino.

 

But she couldn’t stop. Because every glance at Ino made her chest ache, every second near her made her insecurities roar louder—and the cruelest part was that a piece of her, the piece that still bled freely, whispered that maybe Ino was right—that maybe Sakura would never be enough, not just for Ino—but for everything.

 

More days had blurred. She woke early, often before the estate fully stirred, and slipped out before Ino could corner her in some hallway or muster up the courage to try again. Her feet seemed to find the Senju Manor without thought now, as though her body had chosen distance as its only form of self-preservation.

 

Her mother welcomed her without question—always with a pot of tea already steeped, scrolls unfurled across the low table, notes scribbled in the margins in her sharp, impatient hand. Tsunade had been diving deeper than ever into the mysteries of the Byakugō Seal, peeling back layers Sakura had never even realized existed, mapping lines of chakra storage and release in ways that made the seal feel almost like a living organ.

 

Once, this would have thrilled Sakura. Once, the notion that she stood at the cusp of something her mother had only begun to grasp would have sent her mind racing. She used to wrestle with those conversations, the expectation balanced against her own determination to prove herself worthy of carrying on the legacy. Pride and fear had warred in her chest, and she had clung to every word.

 

But now… she sat there, nodding when Tsunade spoke, her hands wrapped around a cup gone cold, her eyes drifting to the window where the afternoon light stretched long shadows across the courtyard. Words that should have carved into her memory slipped past her ears like water over stone. She caught fragments—“slug symbiosis… deeper resonance with nature energy… potential refinements in regenerative pathways”—but none of it sank in.

 

Because Ino’s voice lived louder than her mother’s.

 

It threaded itself between Tsunade’s explanations, coiling in the pauses, echoing in the margins of the scrolls. Sakura tried to banish it, tried to anchor herself in the knowledge before her, but every attempt ended the same—her focus splintered, her chest tightened, and her insecurities bled into the silence between them.

 

Tsunade noticed, of course. She always noticed. More than once her gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, as if she were dissecting the quiet slump of Sakura’s shoulders or the way her answers came a beat too late.

 

“You’re distracted,” her mother said once, flat and unflinching.

 

Sakura forced a smile, the same one she’d been wearing like armor these past days. “Just tired. The estate’s been demanding.”

 

It wasn’t entirely a lie—living under silence and sorrow was exhausting. But it wasn’t the kind of tired sleep could fix.

 

She tried to bury herself in the comfort of study, in the old ways of her mother’s tutelage, but her mind kept slipping back to the Estate. To the way Ino’s eyes had followed her like a shadow when she returned at night. To the way Ino’s hands twitched when they passed in the hall, as though aching to reach for her but paralyzed by the distance Sakura held like a weapon.

 

And the worst part—the part Sakura couldn’t admit even to herself—was that she missed her. Gods, she missed her so much it hurt. The absence was unbearable, a hollow carved out of her chest. But every time she let herself feel it, every time she imagined closing that distance, the words came back.

 

Not enough. Not for her. Not for anyone.

 

So she stayed in the manor longer than she should, nodding at her mother’s brilliance while her thoughts drowned elsewhere. It wasn’t that the discoveries were unimportant—they were groundbreaking, precious—something that could definitely help her in figuring out more about her body's evolution, but Sakura couldn’t hold them right now. Not when she was too busy holding together the fraying edges of herself.

 

And in those moments, when Tsunade turned back to her scrolls, Sakura would catch herself staring at her own reflection in the teacup’s surface—her tired eyes, her clenched jaw, the faint dark circles that sleepless nights had carved beneath them. And she would wonder, with a sharp pang that nearly stole her breath, whether Ino had seen the same reflection in her—and meant every word.

 

 

---

 

 

Tsunade had been watching her for days now, watching the way her daughter slipped into the manor with that carefully arranged smile—the one that never quite reached her eyes. Watching her drift through their lessons, nodding along to every explanation about chakra reserves and the nuances of Slug Mode without ever really hearing them. Watching her laugh at Shizune’s jokes whenever her first apprentice was home, in a way that was a little too light, a little too practiced.

 

And today, as Sakura sat across from her at the tea table, her gaze unfocused, hands trembling slightly as she lifted her cup, Tsunade had had enough.

 

“Put that down.”

 

Sakura blinked, startled. “What?”

 

“The tea.” Tsunade’s voice carried the weight of command. “Put it down.”

 

Slowly, Sakura obeyed, her eyes darting nervously toward her mother’s face, searching for what she’d done wrong.

 

Tsunade folded her arms across her chest, her gaze sharp as a kunai. “I suspended you from the hospital so you could rest. And yet you sit in front of me looking like you’ve been run ragged twice over. Don’t lie to me, Sakura. You look worse than the day after the war ended.”

 

Sakura swallowed hard, her lips parting soundlessly.

 

“You think I can’t see it? You come here every day with that same damn mask on, trying to fool me, as if I wouldn’t notice my own daughter falling apart.” Her voice softened, but only slightly, the steel still there. “You’re exhausted, but it’s not from work. It’s something else. Something you’re too damn stubborn to admit.”

 

Sakura’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She shook her head once, quick and stiff, like a soldier refusing interrogation.

 

“There’s nothing wrong,” she muttered, voice clipped. “I’m fine.”

 

“Don’t give me that crap.”

 

Her daughter flinched at the words, but Tsunade didn’t soften. Not yet. Sakura had always been too good at bottling things until she cracked—too much like herself.

 

“You’ve been stumbling through our spars like you’re not even here,” Tsunade pressed, leaning forward, arms braced on the table. “And don’t think I don’t see those sleepless nights written under your eyes. You can’t lie to me, Sakura.”

 

Sakura’s jaw worked, her gaze locked stubbornly to the side. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll—”

 

“—Handle it?” Tsunade snapped, cutting her off. “That’s your answer for everything. ‘I’ll handle it.’ You’re drowning, and you sit there acting like I can’t see you sinking right in front of me. Damn it, Sakura—talk to me!”

 

Her voice cracked against the walls of the manor, loud and sharp enough to rattle the teacups. For a long moment, there was only silence—then a tremor ran through Sakura’s shoulders. Her hands balled into fists on her lap, trembling, knuckles bone-white.

 

“I—I can’t.” Her voice came out thin, fraying at the edges. “If I say it out loud, it’ll feel too real.”

 

Tsunade’s chest tightened, but she held steady. She didn’t move closer, not yet. “Then say it anyway. Let it out before it eats you alive.”

 

And just like that, Sakura broke.

 

Tears spilled over before she could stop them, her face contorting as the dam cracked open. “We fought,” she choked, words tumbling out in jagged pieces. “Me and Ino. And she—she said things, things I know she didn’t mean but—” Her voice caught in her throat. “They still—hurt.”

 

Her hands came up to cover her face, shoulders shaking as the sobs forced their way out.

 

Tsunade’s brows knit tight. She exhaled through her nose, steady, then moved around the table and sat beside her, placing a heavy, grounding hand on Sakura’s back.

 

“What things?” she asked quietly, though her tone carried the weight of command all the same. “Tell me.”

 

Sakura shook her head, words spilling between gasps. “She—she called me a coward. Made me think I'm weak. That I’ll never be enough. And gods, I know she didn’t mean it, I know—” her voice cracked to a raw whisper—“but what if she did? What if deep down she really thinks that? What if it’s true?”

 

The sob tore out of her chest then, ugly and heart-wrenching, and Tsunade felt her own throat tighten. She pulled Sakura against her, pressing her daughter’s head into her shoulder, one hand cradling the back of her skull the way she hadn’t since Sakura was small.

 

“You listen to me,” Tsunade said, voice low but fierce, a thunderclap wrapped in velvet. “That girl could lose her tongue tomorrow and she’d still never take back how much she loves you. People lash out when they’re scared—especially ones like Ino. You know that better than anyone.”

 

Sakura’s sobs muffled against her shoulder, hot tears soaking into Tsunade’s robe.

 

“And you,” Tsunade continued, softer now, “are not a coward. You’re my daughter. You’ve stood toe-to-toe with monsters that would’ve killed lesser shinobi a hundred times over. You’re stronger than you believe, Sakura. Always have been.”

 

Her hand tightened against Sakura’s back, steadying her through the storm. “Don’t you ever let one fight make you question that.”

 

Tsunade held her daughter tighter as the sobs finally began to taper, Sakura shuddering against her chest like a child again, like all the weight she carried as a shinobi had finally cracked wide open under the simplest truth that words could wound just as deep as blades.

 

Ino.

 

The name burned like acid at the back of Tsunade’s throat. She wanted to storm into that damn Yamanaka Estate, drag the girl by her collar, and demand how she dared—how she dared—to cut Sakura down with the one thing she’d always struggled with. Not her strength, not her will, but the doubts that had lived inside her since she was small, the fear of never being enough.

 

Her fists clenched instinctively against Sakura’s back, nails biting into her own palms. That reckless brat had no idea how lucky she was Tsunade had seen Sakura’s tears first.

 

But then… she exhaled slowly, forcing the rage back into something quieter, sharper. She did know, didn’t she? Ino wasn’t cruel by nature. The girl was fiery, blunt, overprotective to a fault. And Tsunade had been alive long enough to recognize the venom that slips out when fear and desperation coil too tight around the tongue. She’d spat her own share of words she could never take back—words that had driven wedges, left scars, haunted her.

 

That knowledge made it worse. Because Tsunade understood, and understanding didn’t soften the blow—it made the whole thing that much more dangerous.

 

She smoothed a hand over Sakura’s hair, pressing her lips to the crown of her head, anchoring her even as her own mind seethed.

 

She called you a burden? After everything you’ve carried, everything you’ve bled for? That girl forgets who you are too damn easily.

 

But beneath the anger was a deeper ache, the terror in Sakura’s eyes when she confessed it. That desperate whisper—maybe she meant it—would echo in Tsunade’s chest long after today. She hated how familiar it sounded. The same doubt that once gnawed at her whenever Dan doubted her choices, whenever her comrades whispered about her gambling, whenever she told herself she’d never be enough to protect anyone she loved.

 

She hated that Ino had awakened that in Sakura again.

 

“Listen to me, brat,” Tsunade murmured, tilting Sakura’s chin so she’d meet her gaze through the sheen of tears. “I don’t give a damn what words flew out in a fight. You are not a burden. You’ve never been one. Not to me, not to this village, and not to her.”

 

Sakura’s lip trembled, but Tsunade didn’t let her look away.

 

“She’s a fool if she doesn’t realize what she has in you. And she’s even more of a fool if she thought her fear gave her the right to wound you like that. But that doesn’t make her hatred true. It just makes her human.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Oh, to have a lover's quarrel as intense as Ino and Sakura.

Chapter 17

 

Tsunade watched her daughter’s shoulders finally slump, the fight draining out of her as the tears left her hollow and fragile. She brushed damp strands of pink hair away from Sakura’s cheeks with a gentleness that felt foreign even to herself—hands made for war and healing, not for cradling broken hearts. And yet, here she was, holding her little girl like she had when Sakura was barely old enough to walk.

 

“You’re not going back there tonight,” Tsunade said firmly, leaving no room for debate. Her thumb stroked Sakura’s temple as she tilted her chin up. “You’ll stay here. With me. This house is your home as much as it’s mine. No more dragging yourself back to the Yamanaka Estate just to pretend everything’s fine.”

 

Sakura opened her mouth as if to argue, but Tsunade pressed a finger against her lips. “Enough. You need rest, not excuses. I’ve heard enough excuses to last a lifetime.” Her voice softened, quiet but unwavering. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Not here. Not with me.”

 

And finally, finally, Sakura let her weight collapse fully against her, curling into her chest with a sob so raw it made Tsunade’s own throat ache. She held her daughter tight, rocking her ever so slightly, murmuring nonsense comforts, old lullabies she hadn’t sung in decades, words she never thought she’d use again.

 

Hours passed like that, the storm of Sakura’s grief slowly wearing itself down into little hiccups and long, shuddering sighs. When the trembling subsided, Tsunade guided her to her old room—still kept neat, still smelling faintly of paper and ink from the journals she used to leave behind as a girl.

 

She pulled the covers back and helped Sakura into bed, tucking the blanket up to her shoulders like she was a baby again. Sakura mumbled a protest, but her body betrayed her, too heavy with exhaustion to resist. Tsunade sat at her side until the girl’s breathing evened out, until she could feel the weight of real sleep finally claim her.

 

Tsunade lingered there in the doorway next, her hand braced against the wood, staring at the fragile, sleeping rise and fall of Sakura’s chest. The day outside had quieted to early dusk, but inside her chest the old, familiar ache roared, gnawing and relentless. It was a miracle that she could even watch Sakura breathe like this, alive, within reach—because for more than a decade, she had thought her daughter was gone forever.

 

Her mind dragged her back to that night. Sakura had been only eleven months old, still barely toddling, still clutching at her hair with tiny fists when she carried her. And then the ambush—how quickly it had all collapsed. S-rank bounty hunters, ruthless and planned, knew exactly who to strike. 

 

She remembered Shizune's screams, how her own hands felt useless, paralyzed by the sight of blood. Tsunade could still see it—still feel it—the moment her baby was ripped from her. That single frozen heartbeat where she thought she could fight her fear, save her, only to stumble, choking on her own weakness, and then the sight of that small bundle hurled off the cliff.

 

The scream that tore out of her throat that day still haunted her dreams.

 

They had searched for days—weeks—but there had been nothing. No body, no trace. Just the cruel certainty that their daughter was gone. Jiraiya had slaughtered their enemies in return, made them suffer in ways that was not expected from somebody kind like Jiraiya. But vengeance hadn’t brought back the child they’d lost. For years, it was a wound Tsunade carried in silence, one more ghost added to her endless tally.

 

And then, after she was dragged back to Konoha to take the mantle of Hokage, the impossible happened. A pink-haired genin under her tutelage—bright, stubborn, burning with potential—was grievously injured on a mission. Blood tests were required, and what should have been routine brought her world crashing open. The DNA matched. Their child. Their daughter. Alive.

 

Tsunade had almost fallen apart that day, clutching the medical chart like it was proof from the gods themselves. Jiraiya had gone quiet, a raw, dangerous silence she had never seen before, like the earth itself might split beneath him.

 

But then came the aftermath—finding out what Sakura’s life had been in their absence. The orphanage reports. The bruises and starvation that were dismissed as “discipline” by those who should have cared for her. The way she had been left to fend for herself, learning to fight hunger and fists at the same time. Tsunade had never hated herself more.

 

They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t protected her.

 

Even now, as she watched Sakura curled up in bed, the echoes of that reality stung sharper than anything. She could rebuild empires with her fists, heal crushed bodies with her chakra, but she couldn’t give Sakura back the childhood that had been stolen from her. And gods, how it burned in her chest to know the girl still carried that loneliness, still fought wars in her own heart even now.

 

They had never been a conventional family—Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Shizune. Jiraiya was always gone, chasing shadows across the continent. Tsunade herself had been too restless, too broken, drifting from village to village with Shizune as her anchor. There had been no home, no stability. Just the road, and the tiny bundle of their daughter growing between them. Until that day. Until everything had been ripped away.

 

Now, all she had was this second chance—imperfect but hard-won. Watching Sakura’s face soften in sleep, Tsunade had long sworn, the vow heavy and bitter in her chest, that she would not lose her again. Not to war, not to loneliness, and certainly not to the kind of love that twisted into hurt.

 

Her fingers tightened around the doorframe. If Ino ever made her daughter cry like this again, Tsunade wasn’t sure even her previous Hokage title restraint would be enough to hold her back.

 

With one last look, she closed the door softly, leaving Sakura to her rest.

 

She stepped into the hall and immediately caught the eye of one of the manor attendants. “Make sure the room stays warm. Send for the kitchen—have light soup ready when she wakes. And I want fresh linens every day until I say otherwise. She is not to want for anything. Understood?”

 

The attendants bowed deeply.

 

Because after everything, after decades of loss and cruel miracles, Tsunade would make damn sure Sakura was safe.

 

Even if she had to stand between her and the entire world to keep it that way.

 

That thought settled deep in Tsunade’s chest, heavy as stone, and it brought with it an old truth she couldn’t deny—one of the reasons she had allowed Ino so close, even when others whispered that the Yamanaka girl’s attachment was too fierce, too consuming. Tsunade had seen it from the start. Ino didn’t flinch when the world turned against Sakura. She didn’t hesitate when Sakura faltered. She chose her—again and again—with a conviction that was both terrifying and admirable.

 

For all her bravado, for all her beauty, Ino wasn’t like the other clan heirs who measured loyalty in terms of politics or duty. No, Ino was reckless with it, brutal in her simplicity: Sakura first, always. Tsunade had watched her hover in the background during the war, unwilling to leave Sakura’s side even when ordered elsewhere. She’d seen the way Ino’s voice steadied her daughter when her hands shook in the blood-soaked tents of the medical corps. She’d seen the way Ino’s Mokuton bent not only to her will, but to her desperation whenever Sakura’s life was in danger.

 

It was dangerous, yes. The kind of bond that frightened other leaders, that made people whisper about obsession and instability. But Tsunade… Tsunade knew the truth behind that fire. She recognized it because it was the same thing that burned inside her own chest now—the refusal to lose Sakura ever again.

 

That was why, despite her fury tonight, she had never truly hated Ino. She couldn’t. How could she despise the girl who wanted the same thing she did? Who would tear the world apart if it meant keeping Sakura alive, safe, whole? It was reckless, it was flawed, it was frightening—but it was also real. And Tsunade, who had lost and lost until she had nothing left but her title and her strength, would never underestimate the power of someone who had chosen her daughter the way Ino had.

 

Her gaze softened as she remembered the rise and fall of Sakura’s shoulders beneath the quilt.

 

Yes. That was why she had tolerated it. Why, in her secret heart, she had even approved when Yamanaka Ino bowed deeply to her, voice shaking but resolute, asking if she could formally have Sakura stay in the Yamanaka Estate, if she could have Tsunade’s permission to be her daughter’s lover—officially.

 

It had been a thoroughly selfish plea. Ino had known, all too well, how much Tsunade cherished the rare, fleeting moments she had with her daughter—those evenings when Sakura returned to the Senju Manor, tired but alive, and Tsunade could still pretend they were simply mother and daughter, not Hokage’s heir and shinobi healer. And yet, despite knowing, Ino had asked.

 

Tsunade remembered the sight of her then: a girl who had already seen too much loss for her age, standing straight as steel but trembling at the edges, willing to expose her heart before a woman who could have crushed it with a single word or rejection. No one else would have dared. No one else would have risked Tsunade’s wrath for something so intimate, so raw.

 

Because Ino had loved Sakura with the kind of reckless abandon Tsunade herself had once known—and had lost.

 

And Tsunade, though she had let her silence stretch long enough to watch Ino squirm, had felt something in her chest ease that night. Because at least someone had the audacity to want her daughter wholly. To claim her, not out of duty, not out of respect for lineage or for Tsunade’s name, but out of a devotion so fierce it bordered on madness.

 

Because Sakura—her sweet, stubborn, brilliant Sakura—deserved that kind of love. She deserved someone who would always, without hesitation, without compromise, choose her. Even against the whole world.

 

That was why she had let it happen. Why, in her heart, she had approved.

 

And that was also why tonight’s wound cut her twice as deep: not just as a mother watching her daughter unravel, but as a woman who knew exactly how rare and precious that kind of devotion was. Tsunade had never been naïve about love—she knew it was fragile, mercurial, often warped by grief or power or simple human weakness. But Ino… Ino had stood before her with a fierceness in her eyes and a tremor in her voice, swearing that she would make Sakura happy. That she would protect her, cherish her, never let her feel alone again.

 

Tsunade had believed her, not because the promise itself was convincing—words were cheap—but because Ino had meant it. Every line of her face, every breath she drew had carried that vow. And Sakura, gods, Sakura had glowed under it. For the first time since Tsunade had taken her daughter back into her arms after the war, she had seen her truly, fully alive. That was why she had given her consent, why she had swallowed down the selfish desire to keep Sakura entirely to herself and allowed Ino to take her hand instead. Because Ino loved her in a way few dared, and because her daughter deserved someone willing to burn everything for her. 

 

Yet here they were. Sakura—red-eyed, trembling, hiding her pain behind a practiced mask. And it wasn’t because she was a tattletale; her girl was no such thing. Sakura never went running to anyone when things between them soured. She kept it locked inside, tight and suffocating, and Tsunade only ever found out because she knew. Because she had been there, loved her, memorized the smallest tells that others missed. A slight break in her voice, the too-bright smile, the restless hands that twisted fabric when she thought no one was watching.

 

So yes—this cut deeper than Tsunade cared to admit. Ino had sworn never to wound her daughter, and yet Sakura had come apart in her arms tonight, and the contradiction of that—the truth of love and the truth of failure—burned in her chest like fire, even if she may try convince herself that she understood.

 

 

---

 

 

The room smelled of ink and old wood, scrolls spread like an endless battlefield across the desk. A bottle of sake sat half-empty beside her hand, the faint burn in her throat not nearly enough to dull the ache in her chest. She tipped the cup again anyway, eyes narrowing on the Council’s latest stack of decrees—proposals about trade barriers, funding for reconstruction, all things she should care about but that blurred into meaningless scratches of ink.

 

Her thoughts kept drifting upstairs, to the faint, steady rhythm of her daughter’s breathing in the next wing of the manor. That sound was the only anchor tonight, and yet it reminded her of the crack she’d seen earlier in Sakura’s composure, the shudder in her shoulders when she finally broke.

 

Tsunade rubbed her temple, the weight of it all pressing down again. She hated the Council more tonight than usual—hated the way politics demanded her time now of all times.

 

She didn’t even hear the knock, not until the doors creaked open.

 

“Lady Tsunade?”

 

She turned sharply, almost reaching for the bottle like it were a kunai. Shizune stood in the doorway, travel dust still clinging to her dark uniform, her expression halfway between exasperation and concern.

 

“I’ve been knocking for five minutes,” Shizune sighed as she stepped in. “The attendants said Sakura was home. I didn’t expect you to be buried in paperwork when she’s here.”

 

Tsunade blinked at her. “Shizune? You’re back already?”

 

Her assistant’s brow rose, arms folding. “Already? I’ve been away three weeks. You’d notice if you weren’t drowning your desk in sake.”

 

A faint, humorless snort escaped Tsunade. She set her cup down with a sharp clink. “Three weeks. Feels like longer.”

 

Shizune’s eyes softened at that, the healer in her catching the thread immediately. “Then something’s happened.”

 

Tsunade didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flicked past Shizune, back to the unopened scrolls waiting like vultures on her desk. For all her years, for all her strength, it still felt like treason admitting how much her daughter’s pain could hollow her out.

 

“She’s upstairs,” Tsunade muttered at last, voice low. “Resting, and I’ll damn well keep her that way.”

 

Shizune stepped closer, her tone gentler now. “Then tell me. What happened while I was gone?”

 

Tsunade leaned back heavily in her chair, her shoulders sagging against the carved wood. She gestured sharply at the chair across from her. “Sit. You look like you’ve been dragged through three provinces without stopping for a bath.”

 

Shizune arched a brow but obeyed, smoothing her uniform as she lowered herself into the seat. The dust on her boots said she hadn’t even bothered to rest before coming here. That, at least, Tsunade appreciated.

 

“How’d it go?” Tsunade asked, voice gruff as she reached for her cup. “The clinics. The negotiations. The daimyo’s endless red tape—what fires did you put out this time?”

 

Shizune hesitated, caught between suspicion and duty. But she answered anyway. “The River Daimyo’s men finally gave way. They’ll allow Konoha medics into the border villages, but only under the condition of monthly reports and resource audits. I had to sit through three days of their quibbling about sovereignty and interference, but they’ll take the deal. The people in those towns will finally have real clinics.”

 

“Good,” Tsunade muttered, though she barely seemed to hear. “And the Senju Hospitals?”

 

“Running, for now. Barely. Short-staffed as always. But the new training rotations are working. The younger medics are starting to catch up.” Shizune’s tone softened. “Everyone still measures themselves against Sakura. She’s the backbone of the entire system, Tsunade-sama. She's the standard everyone aspire to be, it helps because they're obviously improving.”

 

The name—Sakura—snapped something taut inside her. Tsunade’s hand clenched around the cup, sake sloshing over the rim and onto her desk.

 

“Yes,” she said, voice sharp. “I know.”

 

Shizune tilted her head, studying her mentor the way a medic studied a patient. “What happened?”

 

Tsunade stared at the dark stain spreading across the paper in front of her. For a long time, she said nothing. Then she leaned back, tossed the last of the sake down her throat, and let the empty cup fall with a clatter onto the wood.

 

“She fought with Ino. Again."

 

Shizune blinked, taken aback. “…Fought?”

 

“Not fists. Words.” Tsunade’s mouth twisted around the word like it tasted foul. “That girl—Ino Yamanaka—she knows exactly where Sakura’s soft spots are. Exactly where the old insecurities sit buried, and she dug every single one of them up.”

 

Her hand came down on the desk with a heavy thud, rattling the half-empty bottle.

 

“Sakura came home broken. Eyes red, voice cracking, her hands shaking so badly she could barely get her cloak off. Do you know how rare it is for her to cry in front of me, Shizune? Not as a girl, not even during the war. She holds it all in, always has. Tonight she couldn’t. Tonight she broke.”

 

Her voice splintered at the edges, rough with a fury too big for the room.

 

“And the worst part? She didn’t tell me a thing. Not one word. She never does.” Tsunade’s chest heaved as she forced air into her lungs. “She keeps it locked inside, because she doesn’t want anyone to bet involved. But I know. I always know. The smile that’s a little too bright, the way her fingers fidget when she thinks no one’s looking. I know.”

 

Shizune stayed quiet, her expression grave. She knew better than to interrupt.

 

Tsunade dragged a hand down her face, then slammed her palm flat on the desk. “That damn girl swore to me—swore to me!—That she would never hurt Sakura. She knelt in this very house, begged for my blessing, promised she’d protect her happiness, and what did she do? She shredded her with words sharp enough to draw blood.”

 

The lanterns hissed as their flame wavered, shadows dancing like specters across the shelves.

 

“I want to strangle her,” Tsunade spat. “Gods help me, Shizune, I want to march to the Yamanaka Estate right now and remind her what happens when you break my daughter. I want to put her through the same pain she put Sakura through, make her feel it.” Her hands trembled, fists tightening against the desk. “She made my daughter cry. She made her doubt herself. She made her feel small.”

 

The last word tore from her throat like a curse.

 

But then Tsunade’s face twisted, grief tempering her fury. Her voice dropped, low and raw.

 

“And yet… I can’t hate her.”

 

Shizune looked at her, startled.

 

“Because I’ve seen it.” Tsunade’s eyes softened despite the fire burning in them. “I’ve seen the way she looks at Sakura. The way she stood by her when everyone else faltered. Ino doesn’t love her like a clan leader. She loves her like a soldier bleeding out in the mud who’ll claw her way through hell just to keep the person she loves breathing. Reckless. Brutal. Honest. She loves her the way I do.”

 

Her voice shook. “That’s why it cuts so deep. Because I know she meant it when she swore she’d protect her, and yet she failed. She broke her promise. She broke my daughter's heart."

 

Tsunade turned her gaze to the ceiling, to where Sakura’s faint, steady breathing reached even here. For a moment, the fury ebbed, leaving only exhaustion and ache.

 

“I don’t know what they said. I know they argue and fight sometimes, I've even helped mediate a few. But this one seemed different. I don’t know what started it. But I know this much—if it happens again, if Ino ever makes her feel that small again, I’ll tear her apart with my own hands. I’ll damn the Council, damn the clans, damn the whole village if I have to.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve lost too much already, Shizune. I won’t lose her too.”

 

Shizune exhaled softly. Her eyes searched Tsunade’s face, seeing not just the raw fury there but the cracks beneath it—guilt, weariness, the weight of too many years of loss pressing on her shoulders.

 

“Tsunade-sama…” Shizune’s voice was low, careful, like she was soothing a wounded beast. “Don’t talk like that. I know how much you love her, but you can’t let your anger drive you. If you act rashly against Ino, if you let your rage dictate what happens next, you’ll destroy more than just her. You’ll break everything Sakura is trying to hold together.”

 

Tsunade’s knuckles whitened around her cup. The sake inside trembled, rippling as though it too feared her temper. “Do you think I don’t know that?” She snapped, then immediately shut her eyes, breath hissing out between her teeth. “I’m not some child throwing a tantrum. I know exactly what’s at stake." She paused, her tone hardening again. “I just can't accept the fact that Ino of all people, who should know better, cut her down.”

 

Shizune leaned closer. “And yet you just admitted it—you can’t hate her. Because you know why she said it.”

 

Tsunade’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking at the corner. She downed the last of her cup, then poured another, not meeting Shizune’s eyes. “…because I know fear when I see it,” she said bitterly. “I’ve lived in it. I’ve drowned in it. And that girl—Ino—she’s terrified of losing Sakura. Terrified in a way most shinobi never even feel for their own lives. It’s consuming her. That love of hers—it’s like wildfire. Burns everything, even herself.”

 

Her gaze flicked to the window, to where the faint glow of lanterns marked the garden below. “And that doesn’t make it better. Fear doesn’t excuse it. I don’t care if it came from love, or from panic, or from whatever else she tells herself. All Sakura heard was cruelty from the one person she trusts most."

 

Shizune’s lips pressed into a thin line, her heart heavy. She had seen Sakura grow under Tsunade’s hand, had seen how fiercely Ino shadowed her, clung to her, fought for her. She knew how entangled they had become, how dangerous and fragile that bond was.

 

“…then what are you going to do?” She asked carefully. “You can’t protect Sakura from Ino without tearing them both apart, and if you tear them apart, I don’t think Sakura will forgive you. Not even as her mother.”

 

Tsunade looked at her then, eyes gleaming with something harsher than tears. “I’ll do what I must,” she said, her voice hoarse but unyielding. “If Ino can’t control herself—if she keeps letting that fear poison her love—then I’ll make her stay away. I won’t let her drag Sakura into the same cycle I’ve lived. Not when Sakura deserves more than I ever had.”

 

But even as she spoke, her throat tightened. Because in her heart, Tsunade knew—Sakura wouldn’t let go of Ino so easily, and that terrified her even more than her own fury.

 

Shizune hesitated for a long moment, her hands twisting in her lap. She knew better than to poke the dragon when Tsunade was in this kind of mood, but this wasn’t about politics, or pride, or even the Council. This was about Sakura, and if she didn’t say it, no one else would.

 

“Tsunade-sama…” she began softly, careful, like approaching a wounded animal. “You say you’d tear them apart if Ino hurts her again. But… is that really what Sakura needs?”

 

Tsunade’s eyes snapped toward her, sharp and blazing. Shizune almost flinched, but she held her ground, drawing a slow breath.

 

“You said it yourself—you’ve seen how Ino looks at her. You’ve seen how she fights for her. I know it’s messy, maybe even destructive sometimes. Gods, I know it scares you. But Sakura’s alive, Tsunade-sama. Alive and stronger than anyone thought she could be, and you know as well as I do that Ino is a part of that. She’s been there when we couldn’t be. When you couldn’t be.”

 

The words landed like stones dropped into deep water, ripples spreading through the silence. Tsunade’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t interrupt.

 

Shizune pressed on, her voice low but steady. “You think Ino failed her. Maybe she did. Maybe she said the wrong thing. But I’ve watched them for years, Tsunade-sama. Ino’s love—it isn’t clean, it isn’t gentle, but it is relentless. It’s the kind that refuses to let go, even when it hurts. And I think… I think that’s why Sakura holds onto her too. Because no one else will love her that way.”

 

Tsunade shut her eyes briefly, and for a moment she looked every bit her age. Her hands flexed on the table, torn between fury and grief.

 

“You want to protect Sakura. I know that. But if you tear them apart…” Shizune’s voice trembled, but she pushed through it. “What if that does more harm than anything Ino could ever say? What if the thing that breaks her isn’t Ino’s love, but losing it?”

 

The words hung in the air.

 

For a long time, Tsunade didn’t move. Her throat worked, and when she finally spoke her voice was hoarse. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t seen it? I know Sakura breathes easier when Ino’s around. I know she smiles more. I know Ino would throw herself into fire if it meant sparing her even an ember. But that’s just it, Shizune. That girl’s love—it’s consuming. It’s fire and storm and roots strangling everything around it. And my daughter’s at the center of it.”

 

Her eyes opened again, wet with unshed tears, the fury dimmed but not extinguished. “Yes, Ino’s love keeps Sakura alive. But it could just as easily burn her down."

 

Shizune reached across the desk between them, her hand closing gently over Tsunade’s. It wasn’t often she touched her mentor this way—Tsunade was a fortress of willpower and pride, someone who bristled at pity and recoiled from comfort. But right now, the woman sitting before her wasn’t the previous Hokage, not the most influential political figure in Land of Fire, wasn’t the legendary Sannin—she was a mother, conflicted at the edge of helplessness.

 

“Tsunade-sama…” Shizune said softly, her thumb brushing against the back of Tsunade’s hand. “I know you want to protect her. I would, too. But maybe… maybe you have to trust that Sakura doesn’t need you to fight this battle for her. That she’s strong enough to stand in the middle of that fire and not burn.”

 

Tsunade’s jaw worked, but no words came. Her gaze dropped to their joined hands as if searching for stability there.

 

Shizune pressed on, her voice quiet but steady. “Ino’s love—it’s messy, yes. Unrefined. Too sharp at the edges. But Tsunade-sama, it’s also the reason Sakura is alive. It’s the reason she didn’t break even after all the things she's been through since she was a child, the reason she still gets up and fights every day when so many others have given up. What you see as destructive… might be the very thing that has kept her whole.”

 

Tsunade’s lips parted, a sound catching in her throat, but it wasn’t anger. It was something deeper, older—fear, regret, love all tangled into one unbearable knot.

 

Shizune squeezed her hand. “I’m not asking you to forgive Ino. Not yet. I know you can’t. But if you tear them apart, if you force distance where Sakura has chosen closeness, you risk breaking her more than any argument ever could. Maybe… maybe the best thing you can do for her now is trust her. Trust that she knows what she’s doing, even if it scares you.”

 

Silence stretched, broken only by the faint murmur of working attendants outside the room and the soft, steady pulse of Sakura’s chakra above them. Tsunade’s eyes slid shut, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world pressed heavier all at once.

 

Finally, she exhaled, ragged and long. “You’re asking me for a lot, Shizune.” Her voice was hoarse, stripped of its usual authority. “To watch. To wait. To do nothing while someone who already hurt her is allowed to stay so close. To trust when every bone in my body is telling me to rip her away.”

 

Shizune’s grip didn’t waver. “I’m asking you not to do nothing. I’m asking you to have faith in Sakura. To let her do what she wants. To let her fight this one on her own terms. To let her decide whether Ino is worth keeping.”

 

Tsunade’s eyes opened again, glassy with unshed tears. They met Shizune’s, and for once, she didn’t argue. She didn’t slam the table or roar or curse the heavens. She only nodded, slow and reluctant, the gesture small but monumental.

 

“…I’ll try,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “I’ll try. But don’t ask me to promise anything more than that.”

 

Shizune smiled faintly, relief washing over her features. “That’s enough, Tsunade-sama. For now, that’s enough.”

 

Tsunade bowed her head, free hand dragging across her face as if to wipe away the storm inside her. She didn’t say another word, but her silence no longer carried the crackle of lightning. 

 

It carried something else—frail, tenuous, but alive. A willingness to wait. 

 

To trust. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

The morning came quietly.

 

Sakura stirred awake to the faint sound of cicadas buzzing beyond the glass panes, her body sinking deeper into the familiar yet different softness of the bed. For a moment she lay there, blinking up at the clean white ceiling, registering the silence. No creak of the old hallway floors, no muffled laughter of attendants rushing about with trays, no faint scent of flower petals drifting in through half-open screens.

 

This wasn’t the Yamanaka Estate.

 

She sat up slowly, drawing in a breath and rubbed her eyes. Her limbs felt unusually light—well-rested, even if her heart was still knotted.

 

By the time she dressed and stepped out, the house was already alive in its own way. Senju Manor was not a place that clung to traditional architecture. Its modern glass walls and polished wooden beams gave it a sleek, almost cold elegance. Maids moved quietly, efficient and unobtrusive, setting up for the day without the warmth of chatter. It was practical, efficient—everything her mother preferred.

 

Breakfast was set in the back garden, beneath a wide canopy that stretched over polished stone floors. Tsunade was already seated with a steaming cup of tea in hand, her expression unreadable, though her eyes softened at the sight of Sakura approaching. Shizune was beside her, smiling, gesturing toward the spread laid out—grilled fish, rice, fresh fruit, tea served in simple, elegant ceramic.

 

“Morning, Sakura,” Shizune greeted warmly. “You look like you actually slept.”

 

“I did,” Sakura admitted with a small smile, taking her seat across from them.

 

The back garden stretched wide and flawless behind them, every tree pruned to symmetry, every stone laid with intention. The koi pond shimmered like glass, lily pads positioned in a way that looked almost painted. It was beautiful—immaculate, even, fitting for a Senju heritage. A garden meant to be admired, not lived in.

 

Sakura lifted her teacup, the warmth seeping through her fingers, but as she sipped, the stillness pressed against her.

 

She had lived here for years. From twelve until almost two months after the war, this had been her world. These manicured paths, the polished wood decks, the maids who always came and went quietly—it had been safety, stability, a place where she could return bruised and tired from missions and know she was cared for. Tsunade had built this mansion into something modern, clean, strong, and it had been everything Sakura had needed.

 

But now… it didn’t feel like home.

 

Her mind drifted instead to the Yamanaka Estate. Its garden was nothing like this. Messier, louder, alive in a way this perfect order could never be. Vines sometimes grew out of bounds, flowers tangled and spread wherever they pleased. She remembered how Ino told her that her mother had once kept it vibrant with her hands in the soil, until she was gone, that even now, after the war had taken Inoichi too, it was Ino herself who lingered there—her footsteps in the grass, her laugh breaking the silence, her careless way of plucking blossoms to tuck into her hair.

 

That garden wasn’t perfect. But it was warm. It was lived in. It was hers, and now, in a way Sakura hadn’t realized until she left, it had become Sakura’s too.

 

Her chest ached as she lowered her chopsticks to her plate, appetite fading. It had only been one night away from Ino, but already she missed the wildness, the warmth, the sense that she could just be without worrying about disturbing the air around her.

 

She glanced at her mother, then at Shizune beside her—both eating in calm silence, both familiar in a way that should have comforted her. And yet, she couldn’t escape the truth echoing quietly in her heart.

 

This place had raised her. But her home wasn’t here anymore.

 

Her home was Ino.

 

Sakura’s chopsticks lingered above her rice bowl, the steam curling upward, the faint fragrance of grilled fish and miso mixing with the morning noise of the garden around them. Her thoughts had slipped too deep—back into unruly flowers and warm laughter, a different table, a different company.

 

But her mother’s voice cut through, sharp and grounding.

 

“So,” Tsunade said as she set her cup of tea down with a soft clink, her amber eyes flicking toward Shizune, “you vanish for three weeks, and the first thing I see in your report this morning is that you’ve been in the Land of Hot Water of all places. Care to explain?”

 

Shizune laughed nervously, setting her chopsticks neatly across her plate. “Not vanishing, Tsunade-sama. It was, so to say, a side quest for a medical committee I visited. They wanted me to survey their clinics, see how the new chakra-sterilization protocols were being implemented.”

 

“Hmph.” Tsunade leaned back slightly, one brow arching. “And?”

 

“They’re… trying,” Shizune admitted carefully. “Some villages adapted quickly, especially in the cities. But in rural areas, it’s still difficult to convince people to abandon traditional methods. I had to demonstrate three different times that boiling instruments in ordinary water isn’t enough.”

 

“That’s because most shinobi barely have the patience to listen to medics,” Tsunade muttered, picking up a slice of pickled radish. “They don’t take infection seriously until they’re half-dead from it.”

 

Shizune smiled faintly, tilting her head. “Which is why we need more training missions like that, not fewer. If medics from the Leaf can show results, smaller nations will start requesting us for guidance. It could set a precedent.”

 

Sakura blinked, forcing herself back into the present. Her mother and Shizune were talking, their words steady and familiar, like the morning rhythm she’d grown up with for years. Medicine. Always medicine. Shizune reporting her observations, Tsunade dissecting them with equal parts brilliance and impatience.

 

The heaviness in her chest loosened slightly. She let the flow of their conversation pull her out of her longing, away from the ache of missing gardens and warm laughter. She’d spent half her life at this very table listening to these exchanges, rolling her eyes when she was younger, taking notes when she was older.

 

And now—now it almost felt like slipping into a pair of shoes she hadn’t worn in months. They still fit, but her feet had grown, changed.

 

She took a sip of tea, watching the two of them debate protocols and training strategies, and realized with a soft pang that this was still home too—just not the only one anymore.

 

Tsunade let Shizune’s words trail off, her amber gaze drifting over the teacup, then flicking toward her daughter with a sharpness that always seemed to pierce right through hesitation.

 

“And you,” she said at last, her voice measured, but undeniably direct. “You’ve been listening quietly long enough, Sakura. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Younmay be suspended now, but you're the one buried in hospital cases every day. What’s caught your attention lately?”

 

Sakura stiffened, her chopsticks halfway to her lips. She swallowed, set them gently back down, and tried to keep her tone neutral. “It’s… not anything revolutionary, really.”

 

Tsunade’s brow arched. “Spare me the humility. Out with it.”

 

Shizune offered her a gentle nudge, smiling. “She’s right, Sakura. You’ve had more contact with patients in the last month than either of us. Your perspective’s valuable.”

 

That reassurance gave Sakura just enough of a push. She inhaled softly, fingers brushing the rim of her teacup as she gathered her thoughts. “It’s about medication this time, not chakra protocols. I’ve been seeing an increasing number of patients—mostly civilians, sometimes even shinobi—who aren’t responding properly to standard analgesics after surgery. The dosages work for pain, but the side effects are… troubling.”

 

Shizune leaned forward slightly. “Troubling how?”

 

“Delayed clotting,” Sakura said, her tone sharpening with focus now. “And in some cases, their healing rate slowed. Not alarmingly, but enough to notice in charts. I tracked it for a week before I realized—” she paused, excitement creeping into her voice, “—that it wasn’t the medicine itself, but the way it interacts with chakra-saturated tissue. Especially after accelerated healing. The compounds that dull nerve pain also interfere with the micro-signals cells use to knit together properly.”

 

Tsunade had gone still, her eyes narrowing, intrigued.

 

Sakura, oblivious to the weight of their attention, kept going, her hands gesturing unconsciously to map her explanation in the air. “So I tested smaller doses combined with mild coagulants, and—this is the important part—I added a drop of infused willow extract, chakra-treated to stabilize nerve activity without disrupting cellular messaging. The results were nearly immediate: pain control remained, but clotting normalized, and tissue repair returned to baseline.”

 

Shizune blinked. “You… invented a whole new compound.”

 

Sakura flushed faintly, shaking her head. “Not really. Just a small modification. It still needs refining—different patients respond differently, especially depending on their chakra affinity. I think earth-nature patients stabilize faster, while lightning-affinity ones need slightly higher dosages for the same effect. I haven’t tested broadly enough yet.”

 

Tsunade suddenly gave a short, incredulous laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “A small modification, she says. Do you even hear yourself, Sakura? You may have just solved one of the longest-standing problems in post-op care without realizing it. Analgesics that don’t compromise clotting or regeneration? That’s not a tweak, that’s a breakthrough.”

 

Sakura’s cheeks warmed. She ducked her head toward her rice bowl, mumbling, “I just… noticed something off in the records and adjusted for it. Anyone could have.”

 

Shizune chuckled softly, exchanging a glance with Tsunade. “Not ‘anyone.’ I’ve been treating patients for decades, and it never occurred to me to test chakra-treated willow for nerve pain regulation.”

 

“Exactly,” Tsunade said, jabbing her chopsticks lightly toward her daughter. “That’s your brain, Sakura. You’re not just a healer, you’re a researcher without even knowing it. You sit at the table, half-asleep with grilled fish, and out spills a formula that could change how every village handles recovery medicine.”

 

Sakura groaned quietly into her teacup, her blush deepening.

 

But Tsunade’s laugh was warm this time, rolling into something fond. “You really don’t realize how far you’ve come, do you?”

 

Shizune covered a smile with her sleeve, her eyes crinkling. “She doesn’t. That’s what makes it even more endearing.”

 

And despite herself, Sakura felt her lips curve as well. The morning sun spilled across the table, the garden quiet except for birdsong, their laughter threading through it all.

 

For a moment, she forgot about yesterday’s unease, about the ache in her chest for the Yamanaka estate. Because here, between Tsunade’s sharp pride and Shizune’s gentle amusement, she realized she didn't have to be split between two homes or two lives—she could simply be herself.

 

Shizune set her chopsticks down neatly, reaching for her teacup with that careful grace she always had. “I should be gone again next week,” she said lightly. “There’s been talk of sending me to the border villages. Supplies are running low in some of the clinics there, and they’re still struggling to stabilize their surgical rotations.”

 

Tsunade hummed, pouring herself another splash of sake into her cup despite the hour. “Good. They’ll learn more from you in a week than they would from their own fumbling for a year.” She sipped, then smirked. “But don’t run yourself ragged. You’re not a twenty-year-old apprentice anymore, Shizune. You’ve earned the right to pick and choose your assignments.”

 

Shizune’s mouth pulled into a small, wry smile. “I’m still capable of long hours, Tsunade-sama.”

 

“Capable, yes,” Tsunade said, eyes narrowing with sly amusement, “but maybe you should spend your hours differently.”

 

Sakura paused, chopsticks halfway to her lips. The tone of her mother’s voice was dangerous—the kind that always led to embarrassing territory.

 

Shizune caught it too. Her cheeks colored faintly as she pressed her cup to her lips. “Tsunade-sama…”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Tsunade drawled, waving her hand as though batting away Shizune’s glare. “Kakashi seems plenty capable of keeping up with you these days. Isn’t that right?”

 

Sakura nearly choked on her rice. She coughed, hand flying to her mouth, glaring at her mother. “Kaa-chan!”

 

Shizune sputtered, nearly spilling her tea. “That is not—! It’s nothing like that!”

 

Tsunade chuckled low in her throat, clearly enjoying herself. “Please. You’ve been circling each other since before the war. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you end up in his company. Always a mission here, a strategy meeting there, late nights at the hospital when he just happens to stop by whenever you're there…”

 

Sakura groaned, slumping forward until her forehead almost hit the table. “Ugh, stop! Don’t say it like that! That’s Kakashi-sensei you’re talking about!”

 

Her mother only smirked wider, clearly delighted. “He’s hardly just your sensei anymore, brat. He’s the Sixth Hokage—and he’s Shizune’s contemporary. They’re of an age, they share responsibilities, and from what I hear, they even share tea breaks rather frequently.”

 

“Kaa-chan!” Sakura whined, covering her ears as if that could block it out. “No, no, no—I don’t want to hear this! This is weird!”

 

Across from her, Shizune had gone pink to her ears, shaking her head furiously. “Tsunade-sama, really! There’s nothing to tell!”

 

“Yet,” Tsunade said smugly, tipping back her sake.

 

Sakura groaned again, dragging her hands down her face, muttering, “I did not survive the war to be traumatized at the breakfast table…”

 

At that, both Tsunade and Shizune burst into laughter—the warm, easy kind that filled the garden air and softened all the sharp edges of the morning. 

 

The realization crept on Sakura slowly, the way warmth seeped into chilled hands after too long in the cold. As Shizune sputtered, cheeks flushed, and Tsunade smirked with all the smugness of someone who knew exactly where to press for a reaction, Sakura let her forehead drop into her palm with an exasperated groan.

 

“Please,” she muttered, voice muffled against her hand. “I don’t need this image in my head. Kakashi-sensei is practically—ugh—family.”

 

Tsunade only chuckled, unbothered by her daughter’s dismay, while Shizune hissed, “Tsunade-sama!” Under her breath, swatting lightly at the older woman’s arm.

 

The sound of their laughter lingered, playful and warm, and that was when it hit Sakura.

 

They weren’t really trying to embarrass her. Not really. This wasn’t just idle chatter or Tsunade’s mischievous streak surfacing at Shizune’s expense. No—this was deliberate. This was them tugging her gently out of her silence, out of that heavy loop of thoughts that kept circling back to Ino.

 

That scene. The way Ino’s voice had delivered blows. The way Sakura’s chest still ached with everything that was said.

 

Her fingers tightened around the porcelain teacup. For a heartbeat, she thought she might drown in it again, but then Shizune caught her eye and gave her one of those soft, knowing smiles—the kind that made Sakura feel seen without words. Tsunade, for all her teasing, had shifted subtly too. Her hand rested lightly against her own cup, but her golden eyes were watching Sakura with a patience she didn’t often show others.

 

They were trying to protect her, in their own way. Trying to pull her away from the storm in her chest. Not by lecturing her. Not by demanding explanations. But by reminding her that laughter existed. That warmth still lived around her. That even in the middle of her doubts and pain, she wasn’t alone.

 

Sakura swallowed hard, the tea suddenly thick on her tongue. She blinked down at the half-eaten breakfast in front of her, and for the first time since yesterday’s fight, her chest loosened just a little.

 

“..you two are ridiculous,” she said at last, her voice softer than before but steady.

 

“Ridiculously charming,” Tsunade corrected, grinning.

 

“Ridiculously unfair,” Shizune added with a huff, though her blush betrayed her.

 

And despite herself, Sakura laughed. A small sound at first—but it was hers, and it was real.

 

Chapter 19

 

Ino hadn’t slept. Not for a night, not for the past four—she couldn’t even remember when she’d last closed her eyes properly. The exhaustion gnawed at her body, left her temples throbbing and her vision wavering whenever she blinked, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop.

 

Her wood clone sat at the Sensory and Communications Division even now, tirelessly sorting through reports and passing on intel with mechanical precision, the other working through clan reports with the Clan Elders. It was an illusion of normalcy, of stability—that everything was functioning as it should under her leadership. But that wasn’t Ino anymore. The real her was here, back inside the Yamanaka Estate, where the silence pressed against her chest like a weight too heavy to breathe beneath.

 

Her room was a disaster. Papers scattered across the desk where she had tried—failed—to distract herself with work, brushes and scrolls tossed to the floor, her mattress untouched. She paced instead, fingers twisting against each other until her knuckles ached. Every time she stilled, every time she even thought of lying down, Sakura’s face swam before her.

 

The last words she had thrown at Sakura echoed endlessly. Too sharp. Too cruel. Words that had cut not out of truth, but out of fear, frustration, that poisonous wrath of desperation that always lurked too close whenever it came to her. Ino hadn’t meant them, not really. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Sakura. But she had, and Sakura, gods, Sakura had looked at her—eyes wide, hurt shimmering like glass that had shattered under Ino’s careless hand.

 

For the past days, Sakura had still come home. She had slipped through the door late, quiet, distant, treating Ino like little more than air. Her voice, when it came, was polite but clipped, acknowledging her only when necessary. It had been a punishment far worse than shouting or anger—it was indifference. A distance Sakura rarely ever put between them, and Ino couldn’t stand it. Yet still, no matter how long Sakura lingered with the Senju, she had always come back. Always.

 

But not last night.

 

Not last night.

 

That truth hit Ino like a kunai to the gut every time her mind circled back to it. She had waited, and waited, and waited. The clock ticked past midnight, past dawn, and still no sound of the door sliding open, no familiar chakra brushing against her senses to ground her. For the first time in months, Sakura hadn’t come home.

 

It was as if the world had dropped out from beneath her.

 

Panic had wrapped icy claws around her throat and hadn’t let go. A thousand thoughts, each more unbearable than the last, had torn through her—what if Sakura had finally had enough? What if she was gone, this time for good? What if she had decided that Tsunade’s home, Tsunade’s side, was safer, warmer, freer than what Ino offered her?

 

Her chest hurt from it. Her lungs burned as though every breath dragged glass into them. She pressed her palm flat against her sternum, but it didn’t quiet the ache. Because it wasn’t just about last night. It was about everything. The years of being at Sakura’s side, the moments they had shared, the bond that had grown into something too vast, too consuming to ever describe—and the way Ino had ruined it all with one careless moment of cruelty. 

 

She wanted a fight, an argument, but Sakura had punished her instead with silence.

 

She wanted to take it back. Gods, she would have given anything to take it back.

 

Every glance Sakura had turned away, every second she had treated Ino as though she wasn’t even there, every night she had left her waiting with silence instead of words—it carved deeper into Ino’s heart, and now, with Sakura gone from their home entirely, it felt like the final blow.

 

What if Sakura never came back?

 

The thought broke her. The idea of walking into this house, this empty space, again and again, with no Sakura around—it was unbearable. She couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t live it. Her whole life, her whole self, everything she was now, was bound to Sakura. If she lost her—no, she couldn’t. 

 

She wouldn’t.

 

Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and stinging, but she swallowed them down. She didn’t deserve to cry, not when she was the one who had pushed Sakura away. Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed, fingers gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. Her body trembled with exhaustion, but her mind was mercilessly awake, replaying Sakura’s face again and again until it drove her mad.

 

She had always been terrified of losing her. Terrified that one day, someone or something would rip Sakura away. She had promised herself she’d never let that happen. But now, she realized with a crushing kind of clarity, she was the one who had driven Sakura away.

 

The silence of the estate seemed to mock her. Once, this estate had felt warm, alive, the place where she could always return with Sakura at her side. Now it felt hollow, cold, stripped of its heart. Because that heart—her heart—wasn’t here.

 

It was with Sakura. Always with Sakura, and Ino didn’t know if she’d ever get her back.

 

Ino could practically feel Shikamaru’s irritation, sharp as a blade pressed against her throat. Even through the tether of her wooden clone stationed at the Sensory and Communication Division, she could sense it—that familiar tightening in his voice, the pointed pauses between his words that made it clear he was close to snapping. Her delays were piling up, the reports late, the coordination fragile, and every time Shikamaru reached out, she could hear it in him. He wanted to shred her clone apart with his own chakra, drag her back to her responsibilities by force if he had to.

 

But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not now. Not when Sakura hadn’t come home last night.

 

The thought again made her chest feel like it was splitting in two, the pressure mounting with every shallow breath she took. Sakura always came home. Even if they barely spoke. Even if she treated Ino like air, acknowledged her only with clipped nods and the smallest of words, Sakura still returned. That tether, fragile as it was, still held. Until last night. And without it—Ino felt like she was standing over a precipice with nothing below but endless darkness.

 

The Elders and that damn relic hunt could burn the world to ash for all she cared. What use was saving anyone, what use was holding Konoha together, if Sakura wasn’t there with her? If Sakura didn’t want to come back to her? The thought twisted something deep and ugly in her, the same kind of suffocating panic that clawed at her chest during battle when she thought she’d lost track of Sakura’s chakra. Only this time, there wasn’t a battlefield. Just silence. Just the absence of her footsteps in the Yamanaka halls.

 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to the bedside in front of her, woodgrain cool under her palms. She had been spiraling since dawn, replaying every cruel word she had thrown at Sakura like a cursed mantra. Every syllable cut her deeper now, mocking her with how carelessly they’d slipped from her tongue. The memory of Sakura’s face—shocked, then shuttered—gnawed at her until her chest ached.

 

Sakura should have fought back. She should have said something worse, she knew Ino more than anyone—it would have had been so easy to break her in the same way—yet Sakura had stayed silent, taking her words like Ino had meant them, and it only made her irritated more that she couldn't stop even when Sakura asked her to.

 

“Damn it,” Ino whispered into the empty room, her throat raw from the words she had screamed into her pillow hours earlier. “What the hell did I do?”

 

Sakura was with Tsunade. She knew that much. She could feel it in the faint trails of chakra she’d brushed against, the way the Senju manor pulsed faintly in the corner of her senses like a hearth-fire too far away to warm her. Safe. Protected. Sheltered from her.

 

The thought should have been a comfort. Instead, it shredded her.

 

She dragged herself upright, her legs weak, her body heavy with exhaustion from nights of no sleep. Every nerve screamed for her to collapse, but her mind was already racing—how could she fix this? What words could possibly undo the damage? What actions could prove that she wasn’t just some selfish, reckless idiot clinging too tightly to the one person who meant everything?

 

She tried to imagine it—walking up to Sakura, opening her mouth, saying I’m sorry. But the words felt too small, too fragile, too late. They wouldn’t carry the weight of what she felt. Of how losing Sakura’s presence for even a single night had made the entire world collapse inward.

 

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. 

 

She won’t even look at me… and I can’t blame her.

 

Still, she couldn’t sit here waiting. Not anymore. Not when panic gnawed holes through her chest. Not when every instinct screamed that if she didn’t go now, she might lose Sakura forever.

 

With a ragged inhale, she gathered her chakra. The wood clone tether wavered, Shikamaru’s voice already barking orders at it, demanding she refocus. She ignored it. She would deal with him later—if she had to. Let him rage. Let the relic wait. None of it mattered right now.

 

Her priority wasn’t any relic. Wasn’t plans against the Elders. Wasn’t the weight of the peace everyone seemed to think she had to shoulder.

 

It was Sakura.

 

It had always been Sakura.

 

So she made her choice.

 

She would go to the Senju manor herself. Even if Sakura slammed the door in her face. Even if Tsunade ripped her apart for daring to show up. Even if Shizune told her she didn’t deserve a place near Sakura anymore.

 

She would go. Because not going meant giving up, and if there was one thing Ino Yamanaka had never done, it was give up on Sakura Haruno.

 

 

---

 

 

The Senju Manor was as imposing as Ino remembered it from missions where she had dropped Sakura off in the past, but now it felt foreign, impenetrable. The gates loomed tall, painted in deep black lacquer that gleamed under the midday sun. The large Senju crest carved into the center of the doors stared back at her, like a silent warning: this is not your home, you are not welcome here.

 

The guards at the front straightened as she approached, their faces stiff and unreadable. These weren’t random shinobi; Tsunade didn’t keep amateurs around her estate. Their posture alone told Ino that they knew who she was, and that they had been expecting her.

 

When she stopped a few feet from the gate, the one on the left stepped forward, his voice formal but firm.

 

“Yamanaka-sama. You’re not permitted entry.”

 

The words stung, though she had anticipated them. Still, her hands curled into fists at her side.

 

“I’m here to see Sakura,” she said evenly, though her voice wavered just a little.

 

“The order is clear,” the other guard cut in. “You are not to pass these gates. Not today.”

 

Her throat tightened. She could hear the implication in his tone—it wasn’t just about today. She wasn’t welcome at all. Sakura had truly gone this far, put distance between them so thick that even the Senju crest itself seemed like a wall meant to keep her away.

 

So she waited.

 

At first, it was easy enough. She leaned against the stone post, her eyes trained on the gates as though sheer force of will could open them. Time passed. The sun climbed higher. Cicadas sang in the trees. Ino refused to move.

 

But minutes bled into an hour, then another. Still no word. Still no sign of Sakura.

 

She shifted from foot to foot, restless, her jaw aching from how tightly she clenched it. The guards didn’t waver, didn’t so much as flinch under her icy stare. They weren’t cruel about it—they even offered her water once, though she refused—but they were immovable, a human wall ordered to keep her out.

 

By the time afternoon shadows stretched long across the cobblestones, her patience cracked.

 

She stepped forward, her voice low but sharp.

 

“Do you even understand what you’re doing? She’s my—” She caught herself, swallowed, tried again. “She’s everything. And you’re standing there, pretending this gate changes anything? Pretending that I’ll just… stop?”

 

The guards didn’t answer, only stared straight ahead.

 

Her chest burned, shame and desperation twining into something sharp. She hated this feeling—of being powerless, of being treated like some outsider when Sakura was her entire damn world. Her Mokuton stirred under her skin, restless and eager, but she forced it down. The last thing she needed was to look like a threat here, of all places.

 

Still, she couldn’t just stand there forever. Her nails dug into her palms as she hissed under her breath, “Fine. If I can’t wait her out here, then I’ll go in myself.”

 

She turned her head, her blue eyes blazing at the crest. If Sakura was really inside, she would make it through—somehow.

 

Because for the first time in years, Ino wasn’t sure Sakura would come home to her at all.

 

Suddenly, the gates were no longer just gates—they were mocking her, daring her, taunting her with every heartbeat.

 

Ino’s fists clenched. Her chakra swelled on instinct, the Mokuton humming beneath her skin, whispering to her: tear it down. Break it. Nothing should keep you from her.

 

Nothing.

 

Her nails bit into her palms as she shook her head violently. No. She couldn’t. Not here. Not this. The last thing she wanted was for Sakura to look at her with hate—like she was some monster who couldn’t control herself.

 

Still, when the guards at the gate stiffened at her movement and crossed their spears before her, it was the final push.

 

“Move,” she hissed, her voice low, frayed at the edges.

 

They did not.

 

Ino’s pupils sharpened, her chakra lashing out like a whip. Threads of her will surged forward, not through wood this time, but through minds. Their resistance crumbled under her raw desperation. Within a heartbeat, both guards stiffened, their spears lowering as though bowing to her command. Without hesitation, they turned and shoved the gates open with a groan of ancient wood and grinding metal.

 

The instant path carved before her made her chest twist with guilt—but she couldn’t stop now.

 

The manor stretched ahead across a vast front yard, manicured lawns and stone paths, a world of Senju pride carved into every corner. Her footsteps fell quick and unsteady against the stone as her heart thundered, every step screaming closer, closer, closer.

 

But the Senju were prepared.

 

From the flanks of the yard, more guards appeared—uniforms marked with the Senju crest, their formation sharp, their numbers meant to overwhelm. Spears bristled in the air like a wall of thorns, bodies aligning into a barrier.

 

“Stand down!” One barked, voice booming, but Ino barely heard him over the pounding in her chest.

 

She didn’t have the luxury of patience anymore.

 

Her hands twitched, and her controlled guards from earlier surged forward at her command. Their clash was immediate—steel ringing against steel, bodies colliding in shouts of confusion and anger. The air filled with the sound of chaos, of men who weren’t supposed to be fighting each other but suddenly had no choice.

 

Ino slipped through the chaos like a ghost, her eyes locked on the grand double doors at the end of the yard. Every heartbeat was louder, every breath harsher, her throat raw with words she couldn’t say.

 

The Mokuton still whispered beneath her skin, urging her to clear the way, to let it pour from her in a flood that nothing could stand against. But she fought it back with every step, clamping down on the power coiled tight within her veins.

 

Because this wasn’t about destruction. This wasn’t about war.

 

This was about Sakura.

 

And Ino would rather drown in her own guilt than face her with blood on her hands.

 

By the time she reached the towering double doors, her pulse was a roar in her ears. Behind her, the guards fought—confused cries, the thud of bodies, the scrape of steel on steel. Ino didn’t look back though.

 

Her trembling hand pressed against the carved wood of the doors, her breath catching. For the first time in days, she was this close—one step away from facing what she feared most.

 

Sakura.

 

Her rejection.

 

Her silence.

 

Her absence.

 

And Ino, who had destroyed everything just to get here, had never been more terrified.

 

The heavy double doors closed behind her with a thud that reverberated across the polished marble of the foyer. The grand Senju Manor stretched before her in muted grandeur—high ceiling, pale cream walls framed with rich wood panels, the great chandelier above glittering like captured starlight, and two spiral staircases curling upward on either side as though holding the heart of the house aloft. It should have felt like a place of history, of family, of stability. But to Ino, the air was heavy, suffocating, the foyer less like a home and more like the frontlines of a war. Her war.

 

Her boots echoed across the polished floor as she stepped forward, heartbeat thrumming in her throat. She had been here before—once as Sakura’s guest, once during clan business, once when Tsunade had called her and Shizune in for orders. Each time she remembered warmth. Now every corner seemed cold, each shadow cast suspicion, as if even the walls of this house judged her for daring to step inside.

 

“Ino Yamanaka.”

 

The voice came low, laced with irritation and authority. From one of the side halls, Tsunade emerged. Her presence filled the room before she even stopped walking—golden hair tied back in its usual way, pale green robe swaying with the power of her stride. Her arms were folded, her expression carved in stone, lips set in a thin, unimpressed line.

 

She looked like a wall Ino could never climb. A wall built by love for her daughter.

 

“You’ve got some nerve,” Tsunade continued, her honey eyes narrowing into sharp blades as they swept across the young kunoichi. “Breaking through my guards. Forcing your way in here. After what you did to Sakura.”

 

The accusation sat heavy in the air, and Ino almost flinched under the weight of it. Almost. Instead, she straightened her back, refusing to let her body betray the storm churning inside.

 

“I—” Her voice faltered before she caught it, forcing steel into it. “I needed to see her.”

 

“You needed to?” Tsunade scoffed, the sound dripping with incredulous anger. She shifted her stance, like a predator circling prey, though she hadn’t moved an inch. “What you need doesn’t matter here. Sakura matters, and I see it necessary to keep her away from you."

 

The words stabbed straight through her chest, a pain sharper than any kunai. Ino bit down on the scream clawing its way up her throat. Her Mokuton stirred inside her like a wild beast, hungry to lash out, to break down the house, to force her closer to the only thing she cared about. She clenched her fists tight enough her nails dug into her palms, grounding herself, forcing the temptation to the back of her mind.

 

If she let it slip—if she let her nature consume her now—Sakura would never forgive her.

 

“I won’t leave,” Ino said at last, each syllable trembling with restrained emotion. “Not until I see her. I’ll stand here for days if I have to, Tsunade-sama.”

 

Tsunade’s brow furrowed, her lips curling as if the sheer audacity both infuriated and—somewhere deep down—tugged at her respect. But the scowl never broke.

 

“You think standing here makes you strong?” She snapped. “You think Sakura will look at you with anything other than disappointment when she hears you turned my home into a battleground?”

 

The chandelier overhead swayed faintly, as if echoing the tension that knotted the air between them.

 

For a heartbeat, Ino thought she would be cast out again—physically this time, hurled into the street by the Councillor herself.

 

But she held her ground, blue eyes locked unflinchingly on Tsunade’s.

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

Tsunade’s gaze sharpened, the weight of years and authority pressing down like stone. She stepped closer, voice low but cutting. “Do you remember what you promised me, Ino? When you came to me, begging, swearing on your life, asking for my permission to take Sakura’s hand as your lover, to have her live with you in the Yamanaka Estate?”

 

Ino’s chest tightened, the memory of that day flashing like fire through her mind—the desperate words, the pleading look in her eyes, the way Tsunade had measured her, weighed her heart, her soul, before granting the tentative blessing. “I remember,” she admitted, voice trembling but firm.

 

“And yet,” Tsunade continued, each word deliberate, heavy with reprimand, “seven months later, she comes back to me brokenhearted. And who, pray tell, caused that?” Her gaze locked on Ino’s, unwavering and sharp. “It was you. You—the one I trusted to protect her heart, to cherish her, to be the person strong enough to burn the world if needed to keep her safe—you failed. And she carries the scars of that failure.”

 

Ino swallowed hard. Every fiber of her being itched to defend herself, to explain the circumstances, to spill the truth of her feelings and fears. But the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t deny it—Sakura was wounded, and Ino’s actions, her intensity, had poisoned the balance Tsunade had entrusted to her.

 

Tsunade’s voice softened just slightly, though it remained firm. “Do you understand why I like you, Ino? Not because you’re flawless, not because you’re perfect. But because, as flawed as you are, you are the only one willing to burn the world for Sakura. That fire in your heart… that passion, that unyielding devotion—it’s rare. It’s why I allowed you into her life in the first place.”

 

She took a deliberate breath, letting the words settle. “But right now… your love has become a poison. Your intensity, your fears, your doubts and insecurities—they’ve seeped into her mind. She’s questioning herself, questioning you, questioning everything she once held safe. I will not allow that. I will not allow the woman I trust to protect my daughter to become the one who unravels her.”

 

Ino felt the sting of shame, the heat of guilt burning across her chest, and yet within it, a flicker of determination remained. Tsunade’s eyes, piercing and commanding, bore into her like a mirror of the responsibility she’d claimed.

 

“You wanted her, Ino,” Tsunade said, voice unwavering, “and you have every right to fight for her. But if you cannot love her without fear, without control, without letting your doubts twist her world… then I will stop you. Not because I hate you, not because I don’t want you to be with her—but because she is my priority, and right now, your love is too dangerous for her to bear alone.”

 

Ino’s chest heaved, the sting of Tsunade’s words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. Every syllable echoed in her head, reverberating through the core of her being: your love is too dangerous for her to bear alone.

 

Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms until the pain grounded her in the reality of her failure. She could feel the weight of the Senju Manor pressing down on her, the grandeur and authority of Tsunade towering over her like a mountain she could never hope to scale. But beneath it all, beneath the layers of political power, military authority, and unshakable presence, there was something else—Tsunade was Sakura’s mother. The woman whose heart Sakura had always sought comfort from, whose judgment and protection were absolute.

 

Ino’s blue eyes shimmered, the storm of desperation and guilt threatening to break free. She could not—would not—accept what Tsunade was implying. To walk away now, to leave Sakura behind, to retreat as if this was merely a matter of pride or decorum… it was unthinkable. Her entire world revolved around the girl who had captured her heart, whose smile could ignite a fire beneath her exhausted bones, whose very presence made the pain of her own flaws worth confronting.

 

Her legs trembled as the full weight of her emotions pressed down on her. Slowly, almost painfully, she sank to her knees on the polished marble floor of the Senju Manor, letting the cool surface bite into her skin. She sank not as the Chief Sensor of the Sensory and Communications Division, not as the war hero, or the leader of Yamanaka Clan. No, she sank here as nothing but herself—the woman who had claimed Sakura’s heart, who had failed to protect it, who had hurt the one person she could not imagine a life without.

 

Her head bowed low, a single, trembling hand pressed against the floor as if grounding herself in the only truth she could grasp: the absolute necessity of regaining Sakura’s trust. Tears stung her eyes, spilling freely now despite her attempts at restraint, and her voice, when it came, was ragged, raw, and utterly sincere.

 

“Tsunade-sama… please,” she whispered, voice breaking like glass under pressure. “I know… I know I’ve failed. I know I’ve hurt her. I know I’ve been reckless, selfish… and maybe even frightening. But I cannot… I cannot go back home without her. Not like this. Not when I’ve left her heart in pieces because of my own flaws.”

 

Her chest shook with every word, each syllable carrying the weight of sleepless nights, endless regret, and an unyielding, desperate love. “Please… let me see her. Let me talk to her, just for a moment. I need to… to make things right, to apologize… to show her that I can be the one she can trust again. I will not leave her… not until I’ve done everything I can to repair what I broke.”

 

Ino’s head lowered even further, forehead almost touching the marble, body shaking with the effort of restraining the chaos of her emotions. “I am nothing in this house… not the Chief Sensor, not the Yamanaka Clan Head, not the leader of anyone. I am nothing… but the one who loves her. The one who has hurt her, yes… but also the only one who will burn myself down to protect her if she lets me. I am hers, Tsunade-sama. And if you do not allow me this chance… I will lose her forever. Please… I beg you.”

 

Her words hung in the air, fragile yet urgent, a raw plea against the authority that towered over her. The silence that followed was deafening. Ino could feel her pulse thundering, her own breathing loud and ragged in the hushed grandeur of the foyer. Every nerve was alight with fear—fear of rejection, fear of judgment, fear that the very person she loved most might never forgive her.

 

And yet, beneath the fear, a fierce ember of determination burned. She would not give up. She could not. Her entire being was tethered to Sakura, and if this was what it took—kneeling, humbling herself, exposing every flaw, every regret, every raw piece of her heart to the woman who birthed the girl she loved—then she would endure it. She would endure everything, for Sakura.

 

Her eyes, misted with tears, lifted slightly, meeting Tsunade’s gaze with a combination of desperation and unshakable resolve. “Please… let me see her. Let me fix this before it’s too late.”

 

The words carried the full weight of her soul. Every heartbeat, every tear, every trembling breath screamed the same thing: Sakura was everything, and Ino would not let her slip away—not now, not ever.

 

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed, her arms tightening across her chest as she took a slow step closer. The sharp lines of her face softened only slightly with the weight of her concern, but her voice cut like steel.

 

“Begging won’t fix this, Ino,” she said, low and precise. “Your words, your tears—they mean nothing if the actions don’t follow. Right now, you should leave. Go back to your estate. Let her—let Sakura—have the space to heal without you suffocating her with more of your intensity. You have caused enough damage already.”

 

Ino’s chest seized, the words striking her like a blade she couldn’t dodge. She opened her mouth, desperate to argue, to plead once more, but a voice stopped her before she could speak.

 

“Mama… please,” came a clear, trembling voice.

 

Ino’s heart jumped, and she turned her head to see Sakura standing a few paces away, her bare hands clenching slightly at her sides. Her shoulders were squared, her chin lifted with quiet defiance, as though the weight of the world rested on her alone. “It’s alright,” Sakura said, her voice carrying both warmth and steel. “She… she’s not going anywhere. I can handle this.”

 

Tsunade froze, blinking once, sharply. Her gaze flicked to her daughter, and then to Ino, who was still kneeling, eyes wide with disbelief.

 

It hit Ino like a tidal wave, a truth so clear it almost stole her breath: even after everything—after the harsh words—Sakura still stood for her. She still chose her, even when she didn’t have to. Even when she had every right to turn her back.

 

The ache in Ino’s chest softened, replaced by a heat that throbbed with raw, unfiltered emotion. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but no words would come. 

 

Sakura’s gaze flicked to hers, and for the first time in days, Ino felt the faintest whisper of hope. A thread, fragile but unbroken, that told her how he still had a chance to make things right. And now, she would not waste it.

 

Tsunade’s lips pressed into a thin line, her piercing gaze softened only slightly as she looked from Ino to her daughter. Yet her tone remained stern, the authority of a mother, a leader, unbroken. “Sakura, this isn’t—”

 

Sakura cut her off, raising a hand as though to stop her mother’s words midair. “No, Mama,” she said, voice steady but laced with emotion, “I said it’s alright. I can handle her. I—” she hesitated, inhaling shakily as her gaze fell on Ino’s trembling form, “I want to speak with her.”

 

Ino felt her throat tighten, a strangling mixture of disbelief, awe, and love swirling down in her chest. Her heart thudded so violently she feared it might burst. She wanted to collapse entirely, to curl into herself and sob, to confess every mistake and failure, but all she could do was watch. Watch as Sakura, the girl she had hurt more than anyone else, choose her again, even after all the times she messed up.

 

Sakura’s gaze finally met hers, eyes glistening yet blazing with something unspoken. That single look tore through the armor Ino had worn for days. It revealed all the truth she had been too frightened to acknowledge, that despite everything—Sakura had never stopped caring.

 

The tears finally broke through, spilling freely down Ino’s cheeks. She felt them burn her skin, hot and salty, yet liberating in a way that nothing else could offer. Her voice came in a broken whisper, choked with emotion, a trembling thread of sound barely audible over her heartbeat. “Sakura… I—”

 

Sakura’s hands, small yet insistent, reached out and grasped Ino’s trembling arms, lifting her gently from the cold marble floor. “Come on,” she murmured, voice soft but firm, grounding Ino in the present. 

 

Her eyes held a determination that left no room for refusal. Ino’s legs wobbled beneath her as she allowed herself to be guided, each step toward the grand staircase heavy with lingering guilt, yet propelled by hope she dared not name aloud.

 

They moved through the halls in silence at first, the sound of their footsteps mingling with Ino’s ragged breaths. Ino’s mind raced, torn between the fear of rejection and the desperation to mend what she had broken. Every corner of the manor felt impossibly large, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something to explode.

 

Up the stairs they went, Sakura’s hand steady and unwavering in hers, guiding her past the portraits of generations past, past the polished bannisters that gleamed like silver in the sunlight filtering through the windows. Each step was a reminder of the distance Ino had let grow between them—the silence, the sharp words she could never take back, the doubt that had shadowed every tender moment she had shared with Sakura.

 

Finally, they reached Sakura’s room. The door swung open, revealing a space that was a reflection of the girl she had come to love: soft, warm light spilling through the curtains, a bed neatly made, personal trinkets carefully arranged, and the faint scent of flowers mingling with the familiar aroma of Sakura herself.

 

Ino opened her mouth, every emotion bottled inside threatening to spill, but before she could speak, Sakura’s voice cut through the tension.

 

“What are you doing here, Ino?” Her tone was cautious, a subtle edge of the past days' hurt lingering beneath her words.

 

Ino’s chest tightened, every fiber of her being aching as she searched for an answer that wouldn’t come out sounding like excuses. “You… you didn’t come home—” she started, her voice breaking mid-sentence.

 

“I… I fell asleep last night,” Sakura said softly, leaning against the doorframe, “I was going to come back later today.”

 

Ino’s heart stuttered at the explanation. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, the weight of her fear and guilt pressing down like a vice. “I… I was scared,” she admitted, voice trembling, almost inaudible, “scared that… that you’d realize I’m no longer… no longer your home. That after the things I said, after everything I did… you’d realize you wouldn’t ever want to come back. That you'd be gone… for good.”

 

Sakura’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding breaking through the wariness in her eyes. “You… thought I’d leave you?” She whispered, almost incredulous.

 

Ino’s hands tightened around hers, nails digging into skin without her noticing, looking down. “I thought… I thought you’d see me as someone who hurt you too much, who made you question everything, and that you’d… push me away. I can’t—Sakura, I can’t bear the thought of losing you… not after all this. Not after everything.”

 

Sakura took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. “I'm not leaving,” she said firmly, voice soft but resolute, “I’m not going to let you go. You’re… you’re still my home, Ino. You’ve always been. Even when things hurt… even when I was scared… I never stopped needing you.”

 

The words struck Ino like the sun breaking through a storm, warmth and light flooding into the hollow spaces she had carried for too long. Tears streamed freely now, unrestrained, burning paths down her cheeks as she finally allowed herself to release the tension, the guilt, the fear, and the overwhelming love she had fought to keep in check.

 

Sakura’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but the warmth in her gaze was tempered by a fragile, brittle edge. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking, her voice quiet but firm. “But Ino… I… I can’t just forget what you said.”

 

Ino’s heart dropped like a stone into an endless abyss. She had hoped that her desperate admission of fear and love would be enough—but she realized now that some wounds cut too deep to be soothed by words alone.

 

Sakura stepped closer, but there was a cautious distance in the way she moved, as though trying not to collapse into Ino, but also trying not to let the fragility of her own emotions fracture entirely. “What you said… the things you told me… the doubts, the accusations… they weren’t just words, Ino. They weren’t fleeting. They were… a knife. A blade that cut deeper than any I’ve ever faced. And it hurts… even worse because it came from you—the person I trusted with my heart. The person I… love.”

 

Ino felt the cold twist of guilt in her chest, a pain almost physical. Her hands fell to her sides, trembling as she searched Sakura’s face, desperately trying to find a thread of hope amidst the shadow of her words. “I know,” she whispered, voice breaking, raw and ragged, “I know, Sakura… I know I hurt you and I’ll never… I’ll never be able to take it back. Not the words, not the insecurities I made you feel again… but please… please let me make it up to you. Please.”

 

Sakura’s gaze softened imperceptibly, but her stance remained firm. “I… I want to hear you,” she admitted, voice tight with controlled emotion, “but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive. Not yet. What you said… it revealed your own fears too, your own insecurities… your desperate need to keep me safe. And yes, I understand that—but understanding doesn’t mean it didn't hurt.”

 

Ino’s throat tightened, and she knelt on the floor once more, bowing her head as she held Sakura's hand. “I know,” she breathed, the single admission heavier than a mountain. “I was scared, Sakura. Scared of losing you. Scared that if I didn’t control everything—myself, you, the world around us—I’d fail to protect you. And when I couldn’t find another way… when I didn’t know how to keep the fear from consuming me… I lashed out. I projected it onto you, and it was wrong. It was the worst thing I could have done. I’m… so sorry.”

 

Sakura’s hands, hesitant at first, lingered on Ino’s face, brushing a loose strand of hair back with a gentleness that belied the storm between them. She crouched low, her touch careful, deliberate—a fragile bridge across the chasm that had opened with Ino’s panic, a tether back to the person she trusted most.

 

Her voice was soft, measured, but carried a weight that demanded honesty. “Ino… please. Tell me. What made you… spiral like that? What caused you to lash out?”

 

Ino’s chest tightened, a knot of fear and dread curling in her stomach. She could feel her pulse hammering, threatening to drag her down into panic all over again. Her eyes fell, and the memory of that moment—the surge of terror when she saw Sakura looking at the tablet—pressed down like a physical weight. “It’s… Daigo Kurobane,” she said, voice trembling so badly it sounded foreign even to her own ears.

 

Sakura’s frown deepened, sharp but thoughtful. “A Councillor from the Land of Waves. I’ve seen him before… he’s… persistent, always pestering me to see Mama. I ignored him back then because everyone was too busy with the war… but what is it about him that had you so… on edge?”

 

Ino swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat. She felt raw, exposed, the floodgates of guilt and fear threatening to tear her apart. “Last month,” she began, voice barely above a whisper, “the Elders… they used my authentication to let those envoys into Konoha for the Medical Alliance Summit you led. We… we later discovered the Sapphire Coast had traded information about a relic to the Elders in exchange for entry. The Elders didn’t expect—no one expected—they’d kidnap you. It was an oversight, but the consequences were already spiraling."

 

Ino paused, hesitating. "And… the trail… it all leads to me. Everyone would see only me. Any mistake, any misstep… they’d blame me. And if anyone tried to look deeper… if anyone tried to accuse the Elders… the evidence was gone, hidden, destroyed… or made to appear as though I failed. I… I couldn’t risk you… so I carried it all myself.”

 

Sakura’s hand clenched instinctively, nails biting into her own palm as her eyes widened, piecing together the truth. “They trapped you in a stalemate,” she murmured, voice tight with rising fury. “And you… you didn’t tell me?”

 

Ino’s chest heaved violently, her nails digging into her own palms now, trying to ground herself. “I—Sakura, I’m telling you now! I… I didn’t want you to worry, to feel burdened. You already have so much to carry… and I—” Her words stumbled, catching in her throat, unspooling in a sob.

 

Sakura’s eyes bore into hers, unflinching. “I would still want to know, Ino. I need to know. Don’t hide from me.”

 

The dam broke. Ino’s knees trembled, and her whole body shook. “Sai and Shikamaru—they suggested… they told me I should ask for your help. To use your Senju name to gain access to Daigo Kurobane’s private island, where the relic might be… but when I saw you looking over the file I had on him…” Her chest heaved violently, breath ragged. “The things he’s done… the manipulations, his crimes, the ways he toys with people… I panicked. I imagined him near you, even indirectly, and I… I froze. I couldn’t think. I lost myself. And instead of protecting you, I… I hurt you. I lashed out. I lashed out at the one person I should have protected most.”

 

Sakura’s thumb brushed lightly across Ino’s cheek, grounding her, offering a tether in the storm. “Ino… you have to understand, I trust you. I’ve given you everything, time and time again. Even my Senju name, if it means keeping us safe, if it means stopping these threats before they touch Konoha. I told you that you're free to use me. You think I’d turn my back on you? I’ve shown you my trust over and over… yet you keep making me feel like I’m some fragile little girl who needs shielding from the world. I’m a Sage, Ino. I can handle danger. I can face armies, monsters, death itself… but you treat me like I can’t even face a single man.”

 

Ino’s hands trembled around hers, gripping so tightly it hurt, as though the pressure could somehow squeeze the fear, the panic, the guilt out of her chest. Her voice broke, raw and ragged, a confession torn from the depths of her soul. 

 

“I’ve lost too much, Sakura… too much to ever feel safe. I’ve… I’ve walked through fire and seen everything I loved… everything I was… burned, shattered, ripped away, until all that was left was… nothing. And now… now the thought of losing you—it’s unbearable. Every time I picture you out there, even for a moment, I feel it claw at me… twist me apart from the inside. I can’t… I can’t control it. I can’t stop it. I hate myself. I… I loathe myself. I hate that I let fear rule me. I hate that I let it spill over and hurt the one person I should have cherished above all else. I am… broken, Sakura. I am… a monster.”

 

Her voice cracked completely, splintering under the weight of her own confession. “I deserve… I deserve to die. I should have… I should have ended long ago, before I hurt anyone… before I caused so much damage. I am nothing but mistakes, shadows, regrets. There’s no saving me. There’s no part of me left worth anything in this world… except you. You. You are the only light in the darkness I’ve created. The only thing in me that hasn’t been poisoned by everything I’ve done. You are the one piece of me that I can hold onto… the only part of me that’s not a complete, utter failure. You are… my only reason to exist, Sakura. My only reason to try to keep breathing, to keep fighting. Without you… I am nothing, that I'm worthless. Nothing. Nothing but the wreckage of someone who should have never survived, someone who should have been buried with the horrors she’s caused.”

 

Her chest heaved violently, her tears falling freely now, scalding, unrelenting. “I don’t… I don’t deserve your love. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. And yet… I’m here, kneeling before you, because even a monster like me… even someone who should never have lived to see this day… cannot bear the thought of losing you. You… you are everything. And if I lose you… if I let you go… then there is nothing left of me worth saving. You’re the only thing that makes me human. The only thing that makes me… someone who could be worth loving. You… you’re the only thing that makes me matter.”

 

Her forehead lowered, trembling, and yet she forced herself to keep looking at Sakura, to let her see the shattered, desperate truth. Every heartbeat screamed it, every tear traced it: she was nothing but ruin, pain, and fear—but Sakura… Sakura was the only spark left in her soul worth clinging to.

 

Her voice cracked completely, tears spilling over, streaming down her face, burning hot and relentless. “If I lose you… I don’t know if I’ll even have the strength to keep going. I… I can’t… I won’t survive it. I’d rather die a thousand times than let anything take you from me. I can trust you… I’ve always trusted you, but it’s me I can’t trust. I can’t trust that I’ll ever be enough. And yet… yet I am begging you. Please. Please don’t leave me. Please… let me try to make this right. Let me protect you… let me be the one who never fails you again. I… I am nothing but yours, Sakura. And I can’t… I won't live in a world where I’ve lost you.”

 

Sakura’s knees buckled, and she sank to the carpeted floor beside Ino, the soft fibers doing little to cushion the weight of the emotions crushing them both. Her hands immediately went to Ino’s shoulders, gripping her tightly as her own tears spilled unchecked.

 

“No… no, Ino,” Sakura sobbed, voice raw, shaking, cracking with a mixture of grief and fury. “Stop saying that… stop saying you don’t deserve… you don’t deserve anything good. You… you idiot! Do you have any idea what I see when I look at you? You’re not a monster! You’re not broken! You’re not… nothing! You’re Ino! You’re fierce and brilliant and… and the strongest person I know! And you… you saved me. You… you saved my life more times than I can count! And you still fight… still live… still love me, even when you think you’re worthless! How can you say that about yourself?!”

 

Her voice cracked, the anger and heartbreak weaving together in an unstoppable tide. Sakura’s arms wrapped around Ino’s trembling form, holding her close, pressing her forehead to Ino’s shoulder, letting the tears soak through them both. “You think you don’t deserve me? You… you think I wouldn’t stand here, right now, fighting for you? I love you, Ino! I’ve never stopped loving you, and I never will. You are my heart, my home… my everything! You are everything good in my world, and how dare you call yourself a monster when you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe, made me feel like I could be myself, made me… feel alive!”

 

Ino shook in Sakura’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, the weight of guilt, fear, and love colliding into something raw and nearly unbearable. “I… I can’t… I can’t stop it… the fear… the panic… the things I’ve done… the mistakes… I ruined—”

 

“You didn’t ruin anything!” Sakura cried, cutting her off, her hands clutching Ino’s hair and pulling her closer, as if trying to physically keep the pieces from scattering. “You didn’t ruin me! You didn’t ruin us! Stop thinking you’re nothing! Stop thinking you’re not enough! Do you hear me, Ino? You are more than enough! You are the one who keeps me grounded, the one I trust more than anyone else in this world, the one who makes me feel like I can survive anything. And you… you are the one person I will never let go of, no matter how scared or broken you think you are or how much you'll end up hurting me because of your fears."

 

Sakura’s body shook with the force of her own crying, and her voice softened slightly, trembling, almost a whisper beneath the sobs. “Please… please don’t say those things about yourself ever again. Not to me… not to anyone. You are not a monster. You are not worthless. You matter. You are my light, Ino. The only light I have in this world, and I… I will burn for you, fight for you, everything, just as you’ve done for me. So you… you can’t give up on yourself. You just… you can’t.”

 

Ino clung to her, burying her face against Sakura’s shoulder, letting the sobs rack her body as the tears poured out. The rawness of it, the absolution in Sakura’s words, burned into her, a scorching reminder that she was not alone, that she was not irredeemable, and that she did not have to carry the weight of fear and guilt alone.

 

For the first time in days, Ino allowed herself to fully break, to let the storm inside her crash against something unshakable, warm, and loving. Sakura held her tight, rocking them both gently on the carpeted floor, letting Ino release everything she had held inside.

 

After a long, shuddering moment, Ino slowly lifted her head, wet hair clinging to her tear-streaked face. Her blue eyes, raw and pleading, searched Sakura’s, catching the faintest tremor of hurt still lingering beneath the warmth of her embrace.

 

“I… I’m sorry,” Ino whispered, her voice hoarse, almost broken. “For everything I said… the things I let slip when I was scared and furious and… and so damn terrified of losing you. I… I called you a coward. I made you feel like you were always second, like you were never enough… like you weren’t strong enough to stand with me. I… I said those things because I was so scared, Sakura. Scared that if I didn’t control everything, if I didn’t lash out first… I’d lose you forever. But that doesn’t excuse it. It never will. I should never have spoken to you like that. I should have trusted you, trusted us, trusted the bond we’ve built since we were kids. But I failed. I hurt you instead… and I—”

 

Ino’s voice cracked entirely, tears spilling once more. She pressed her forehead to Sakura’s again, trembling violently as she clung to her, almost as if holding her close could somehow erase the sting of her own mistakes.

 

“You were never… never second, Sakura,” Ino breathed, shaking. “You were always… always first in my heart. The only part of me that matters. The only reason I keep going. And when I made you feel like you weren’t enough… I was wrong. You’ve always been more than enough. You’ve always been everything… and I—I was so blinded by fear that I forgot to show you. I forgot to love you the way you deserve. I… I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry for the words, for the doubt, for… all of it.”

 

Sakura’s hands trembled against Ino’s shoulders as she shook her head, tears streaming freely. “Ino… I… I just… hearing that… it hurts, but I understand. I understand why you felt that way… but you can’t keep hurting yourself like this, and you can’t keep hurting me either, even if it’s out of fear.”

 

Ino nodded rapidly, pressing her forehead harder into Sakura’s shoulder. “I know. I know, Sakura. And I promise… I will do everything I can to never make you feel that way again. I will never make you feel like you’re second, never like you’re not enough. I… I can’t take back the words I’ve said, but I will spend every day proving to you… proving that you are my world. That you are my everything. That nothing… nothing will ever take you from me. Not me, not fear, not anyone. You… you are my heart, Sakura. Always.”

 

Sakura wrapped her arms around Ino tighter, letting herself cry openly now, the warmth of their bodies pressed together on the carpeted floor anchoring them both. Her voice was muffled, choked with emotion, but it carried an intensity that could cut through stone.

 

“You’d better mean that, Ino. Because I… I won’t let you destroy yourself with this guilt. I won’t let you… and I won’t let you keep carrying it alone. We’ll face everything together, no matter what. You’re not alone, and you’re not broken. You’re mine. And I… I’m yours.”

 

Ino’s tears mingled with Sakura’s, hot and relentless, as she held her tightly, trembling from the force of emotion and the raw honesty now flowing freely between them. “Yes… yes, Sakura. I’m yours. Always yours. And I… I will be better for you. I’ll be stronger… for us. I swear it. I can’t lose you. I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

 

They stayed like that for long moments, hearts beating rapidly in unison, sobs slowly softening, the tension in their bodies easing just enough for the first sparks of hope and fragile trust to rekindle. For the first time since the storm of fear and guilt had consumed them both, they allowed themselves to feel the bond between them—broken, battered, but unyielding.

 

Sakura pulled back slightly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, her gaze fierce but tender. “Then… we start from here. From now. No more secrets. No more fear dictating our hearts. We face everything—Daigo, the Elders, whatever comes next—together. You and me. Always.”

 

Ino nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat, her hands still holding Sakura’s tightly. “No more lies. I promise.”

 

And in that embrace, amidst the tears and trembling bodies, they began to stitch together the pieces of trust, love, and hope that had been frayed, knowing that as long as they had each other, nothing—not fear, not past mistakes, not even monsters—could ever truly break them.

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

The sheets cradled them, soft and warm, as Ino’s arms remained wrapped around Sakura, her fingers gently grazing through the strands of her hair. Every movement was soothing—something that mirrored the beating of their hearts. Sakura pressed herself closer, her cheek tucked against Ino’s chest, listening to the steady pulse beneath her ear. It was grounding, a reminder that despite everything, they were here, together.

 

“You’re trembling,” Ino murmured, tilting her head slightly to brush a soft kiss against the crown of Sakura’s head. Her voice was tender, almost hypnotic. “Are you cold? Or… scared?”

 

Sakura shook her head slightly, letting out a shaky breath. “Neither, I think… just… still… overwhelmed,” she admitted, her fingers clutching at the fabric of Ino’s shirt, holding on as if the motion could tether her to the moment. “It’s… a lot, Ino. Everything that happened. Everything we said, we confessed. I just… I don’t want to lose this, lose us.”

 

Ino’s grip tightened gently, but without pressure, her thumb brushing across the curve of Sakura’s shoulder in slow, careful circles. “You won’t lose us,” she whispered, voice low, resonant with something deeper than words—promise, protection, devotion. “I’ve been reckless, scared, too afraid of my own feelings… but you—you anchor me. You’re the only reason I keep going, Sakura. You are the only part of me I want to survive for, the only reason I would fight through anything.”

 

Sakura’s hands traveled to Ino’s sides, clutching lightly as she tilted her head up to glance at her. Her eyes, still glistening with tears, were soft but searching. “I know you’ve been scared,” she said softly. “But I… I trust you, Ino, I'll keep trusting you. Even when you’re afraid, even when you push me away, I know… I know you never stop caring. I’ve always felt it. You’ve always been here for me.”

 

“I’ve failed you,” Ino whispered, her forehead resting gently against Sakura’s temple, breathing mingling between them. “I’ve let my fear—my panic—spill over. I said things I shouldn’t have, hurt you with words I didn’t mean. And I… I can’t take that back. I can only promise that I’ll try harder. Every day. I’ll spend every day proving to you that I’m… not the monster I thought I was.”

 

Sakura’s fingers threaded into Ino’s hair, tugging her gently so their faces aligned, her lips brushing along the curve of Ino’s jaw in a quiet, grounding kiss. “You’re not a monster, Ino,” she said softly, firmly, letting her voice carry all the weight of her conviction. “You’ve never been. You’ve saved more times than I can count. You fight for me, love me, even when you doubt yourself. That… that’s strength. That’s love, and it’s why I trust you completely. It’s why I can be in your arms right now without fear.”

 

Ino shivered slightly, a tear escaping down her cheek, and she pulled Sakura closer to her. “I… I want to be better,” she whispered. “I want to be someone who doesn’t panic, doesn’t lash out… someone who’s enough for you. I want to be worthy of your trust, of your love. You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had… the only part of me that isn’t… tainted by everything else. I want to hold onto that. I want to hold onto you.”

 

Sakura lifted her hands to cradle Ino’s face, thumbs brushing over her tear-streaked cheeks. “You are worthy, Ino. More than you know. You don’t need to prove anything except that you’re here, with me. That’s all I need.”

 

"And you are, too," Ino replied quickly. "Never forget that. You’ve always been enough for me." Ino let out a shaky breath. “I’m just scared… scared I’ll mess it up again,” she admitted, voice trembling, “but… I can’t stop loving you. And I don’t want to. Even if I fail… even if I hurt you… even when every preservation instincts told me to let you go, I’ll keep coming back, to you.”

 

“And I’ll keep you,” Sakura murmured, tightening her hold. “Always. I don’t care how scared you are, Ino. I don’t care about the mistakes. I care about you. I care about us. That’s what matters. That’s all that’s real.”

 

Ino closed her eyes, letting Sakura’s words sink into her like sunlight into dark water. “Promise me… you’ll never leave. Not for my fear, not for my past… not for anything,” she whispered, voice small, fragile, desperate.

 

“I promise,” Sakura said, pressing her lips softly to Ino’s forehead. “I’ll never leave you. You’re my home, Ino. My heart. My world. Nothing—no fear, no distance, no mistake—can change that.”

 

They lay together like that, holding each other in silence, sharing warmth and breath, letting the room disappear. The fear, the guilt, the weight of past mistakes—they couldn’t erase them completely, but for now, here in each other’s arms, they didn’t need to.

 

Ino continued running her fingers through Sakura’s hair, humming softly, a sound of reassurance, silent apologies. Sakura curled deeper, pressing little kisses along Ino’s collarbone, murmuring soft affirmations between them. Every touch, every whisper, every shiver of contact was a thread weaving them back together, stronger than before, tender and fragile and beautiful.

 

The quiet between them stretched—soft, fragile, not uncomfortable but heavy with all the unsaid things that lingered between touches, in the tremble of breath and the press of skin against skin.

 

Sakura tilted her face upward, her green eyes glistening in the dim light, catching Ino’s eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile and steady all at once:

 

“Ino… can you kiss me?”

 

The words landed in Ino’s chest like a lightning strike. Her heart lurched, her arms instinctively tightening around Sakura as though she might lose her in that single heartbeat. Her lips parted, but nothing came out at first. She stared at Sakura—at the soft curve of her cheek, the faint traces of tears drying along her lashes, the unyielding trust in her eyes.

 

Her throat tightened.

 

“I…” The word cracked, broken under the weight of everything she felt. “Sakura, I… don’t know if I should...”

 

Sakura blinked, confusion flickering briefly before understanding dawned. She could see it—in the way Ino’s breath trembled, the way her gaze faltered to her own lips but pulled back as though scorched.

 

“You think you don’t deserve it,” Sakura said softly, almost knowingly.

 

Ino flinched, her jaw tightening. “I hurt you,” she admitted, voice low, strained with shame. “I don’t get to just… take this, not after what I said. Not after I made you cry. If I touch you like that again, if I take something so—so precious from you, when I’ve already failed you—” She broke off, shaking her head, her hand trembling where it rested on Sakura’s back.

 

Sakura reached up, cradling her face between both hands, grounding her, forcing Ino’s blue eyes back to hers. “Ino,” she whispered firmly, almost commanding, “you didn’t take anything. A kiss isn’t something you steal—it’s something you share. Something I’m asking you for. Not because you need to prove yourself, not because you have to earn it. Because I want it. Because I want you.”

 

Ino’s breath caught. The words wrapped around her, pulling tight against the coil of guilt and fear that had kept her paralyzed.

 

Ino’s breath caught. The words wrapped around her, pulling tight against the coil of guilt and fear that had kept her paralyzed.

 

Her lips trembled. “But what if I hurt you again?” She whispered, voice breaking. “What if I mess this up, Sakura? I can’t—”

 

“You will,” Sakura interrupted gently, her thumbs brushing Ino’s cheeks, catching the tears before they could fall. “We’ll both make mistakes again. We’ll fight, we’ll stumble, we’ll get scared. We'll argue again. We'll hurt each other. But that doesn’t mean we stop. That doesn’t mean we give up on each other.” She leaned closer, her breath warm against Ino’s lips, her eyes unwavering. “I may not completely forget what you said, but if I can trust you with my heart, you can trust yourself to kiss me. Please.”

 

The plea unraveled the last of Ino’s restraint. Her whole body trembled as if something inside her had cracked open. She leaned forward slowly, hesitant, reverent, her lips brushing just barely against Sakura’s like a prayer she was afraid to finish.

 

Sakura exhaled a shaky, content sigh, her hands tightening around Ino’s face, pulling her closer, urging her not to run from it. Their lips pressed fully, softly, then deeper as Ino finally surrendered to the gravity between them.

 

The kiss was tender, trembling, but alive—an apology, a promise, a thousand unspoken words woven into the press of lips and the shared warmth of breath.

 

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ino didn’t feel unworthy. She just felt home.

 

Their lips lingered, soft at first, a brush of warmth that carried more fear than confidence. Ino almost pulled back—afraid she’d ruin it, afraid of overstepping—but Sakura wouldn’t let her. Her hands pressed more firmly to Ino’s cheeks, holding her there, grounding her, silently begging her not to retreat into guilt.

 

And so Ino stayed.

 

Her breath hitched as Sakura deepened the kiss, the trembling tenderness giving way to something fuller, steadier. Ino matched her, at first cautiously, then with more certainty as the seconds stretched. Her hands, which had been stiff at Sakura’s back, relaxed, then traced along her sides with reverence, memorizing every curve as though she needed proof that Sakura was real, here, hers.

 

Sakura shifted with sudden purpose, her movements fluid yet charged with something raw. Ino barely had time to register it before Sakura swung one leg over, straddling her stomach and pressing herself close. Her fingers slipped into blonde hair, tugging gently but firmly, as though anchoring Ino in place and refusing to let her drift away again. Then she leaned in, pouring herself into the kiss—not with desperation, but with conviction. Every press of her lips, every breath between them, spoke with clarity: I choose you. Even after everything, I choose you.

 

And Ino, trembling though she was, responded in kind.

 

Her kisses grew deeper, warmer, carrying the quiet ache of apology and the desperate need to reassure, to make Sakura feel everything words couldn’t quite capture. It wasn’t frantic, not rushed—it was slow and consuming, like two flames learning to dance together, careful not to burn but unwilling to let go of the heat.

 

Sakura’s lips curved faintly against Ino’s, a tiny, broken smile hidden in the kiss. Ino felt it, and her heart ached, her chest tightening. She pulled Sakura closer, nearly crushing her to her chest as though letting go for even a moment would undo everything they had rebuilt tonight.

 

When they finally parted for air, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the hush of the room. Sakura’s cheeks were flushed, her lips red and soft, her green eyes shimmering with a mixture of tears and joy.

 

“Ino…” she whispered, almost breathless, her hand trailing along Ino’s jaw. “See? You didn’t ruin anything. You could never ruin this.”

 

Ino let out a shaky laugh, choked by the swell of emotion in her throat. “You have no idea how much I needed that,” she admitted, her thumb brushing against Sakura’s lower lip as if committing the shape to memory. “How much I need you.”

 

Sakura kissed the pad of her thumb before leaning back in, capturing Ino’s lips again, this time with a firmer, surer pressure. And Ino met her halfway, letting herself sink into the warmth, into the trust, into the undeniable truth that whatever mistakes they made, whatever fights lay ahead, this—this—was unshakable.

 

The kiss grew heated for a heartbeat, passion rising like a wave, but it was always tethered by something softer, more fragile—like both of them knew this wasn’t about hunger. This was about mending what had cracked, about proving with lips and breath and touch that love still lived between them, stronger than the hurt.

 

When they broke apart again, Sakura let out a breathless laugh, eyes still closed, her forehead pressed to Ino’s. “I think… I could kiss you forever,” she murmured.

 

Ino smiled through her tears, her arms tightening protectively around Sakura. “Good,” she whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her temple, tender and unhurried. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

 

They lay there, wrapped in each other, kissing slowly, softly, until words were no longer needed. Every brush of lips, every sigh, every heartbeat spoke the same truth. That yes, they were broken, imperfect, flawed—but they were each other’s, and that was enough.

 

 

---

 

 

The morning sunlight filtered through the wide Senju Manor windows, casting golden streaks across polished floors and the long dining table already set with steaming teapots, fried rice, sausages, eggs, and neatly prepared side dishes. The quiet bustle of maids filling bowls and setting chopsticks was the only sound until Sakura and Ino entered together.

 

Sakura walked with her usual poise, her pink hair falling cleanly around her face, her expression calm—though only Ino knew how much warmth lingered beneath that serenity from the night they had shared. Ino, on the other hand, found herself unconsciously half a step behind, every sense sharp with nervousness as her eyes darted to the head of the table.

 

Tsunade was already there, one elbow propped against the armrest of her chair, golden eyes sharp and unreadable. Shizune sat beside her, posture gentle but tense, as though bracing for what was to come.

 

The moment they stepped into the room, Tsunade’s gaze locked onto them. More precisely—onto Ino.

 

Ino stiffened under the weight of it. She could face foreign lords, dangerous missing-nin, even hostile armies without flinching, but Tsunade Senju’s eyes on her made her want to shrink into the shadows. The same woman who once entrusted Sakura to her now looked at her with the full pressure of judgment, a mother measuring if the person standing beside her daughter was worthy of staying.

 

Ino swallowed hard and tried to muster some dignity, but when Tsunade’s lips pressed into the faintest, scrutinizing line, her instincts betrayed her. She shifted closer to Sakura, subtly ducking her head, her body angling as though to tuck herself behind her girlfriend’s shoulder.

 

Pathetic, she thought bitterly, a war hero reduced to hiding like a guilty child, and yet she couldn’t help it.

 

Sakura, sensing her nerves, reached back without hesitation and brushed her fingers against Ino’s hand, lacing them together firmly. It was a small gesture, but grounding—the kind that made Ino remember why she was here, why she endured Tsunade’s glare without bolting.

 

They sat together opposite Tsunade and Shizune. The maids finished their work swiftly and retreated with bows, leaving the four of them at the long table in a silence that seemed to stretch too long.

 

Finally, Tsunade leaned back in her chair, arms crossing as she rested her gaze squarely on Ino.

 

“Well,” she said, voice calm but edged with steel, “look who finally found her way out of hiding.”

 

Ino froze, the words cutting sharper than she’d like to admit. Her first instinct was to bow her head and apologize again, but Sakura gave her hand a subtle squeeze beneath the table, steadying her.

 

Shizune cleared her throat gently, perhaps to soften the moment. “It’s good to see you both up early,” she offered, her tone warm, though her eyes flicked nervously between Tsunade and Ino.

 

Ino forced herself to exhale slowly, to keep her hands from fidgeting under the table. She could feel Tsunade’s eyes still lingering, dissecting every movement, every tremor, as if she could strip her bare of all her excuses and lay her failures out on the table alongside the breakfast.

 

For all her titles, all her strength, all her command, Ino had never felt smaller. She was feared by nations, yes—but right now, she was just a girl, hoping desperately that the woman across from her would see her not as a failure, but as someone still worthy of her daughter.

 

And so, when she found her voice, it was small but steady. “Thank you… for having me here, Tsunade-sama,” she said, dipping her head respectfully. “I… know it’s more than I deserve.”

 

For a moment, silence lingered, heavy as stone. Then Tsunade let out a sharp exhale through her nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. Her gaze shifted briefly to Sakura before flicking back to Ino.

 

“Sit up straight, Ino,” she said coolly, “and eat. If you’re going to stand by my daughter, cowering won’t help you.”

 

Heat flushed up Ino’s neck, shame and relief crashing together in a single wave. She straightened immediately, murmuring a quiet, “Yes, ma’am,” before reaching for her chopsticks.

 

Sakura hid a small smile behind her cup of tea.

 

The clinking of porcelain and the faint scrape of chopsticks against bowls filled the dining hall of the Senju Manor. Morning light streamed in through tall windows framed by heavy wooden beams, catching in the golden threads embroidered into the table runner that stretched between them. It was meant to be a comfortable scene, home-like, but the air was taut, thick as if everyone was walking across thin glass.

 

Ino sat stiffly at Sakura’s side, her posture perfect in a way that was unnatural, too guarded for a simple breakfast. She had taken the chair directly beside Sakura without hesitation, but she hadn’t relaxed into it, hadn’t touched most of her food. Her pale hands rested on the table, one curled loosely around a bowl she’d barely eaten from, the other resting near Sakura’s sleeve as if she could keep herself steady by the nearness.

 

Across the table, Tsunade sat with her arms folded, back against the high chair like a queen on her throne. She didn’t speak at first, just watched Ino between bites of rice, her eyes sharp with an edge of disapproval she didn’t bother to hide. Shizune sat diagonally between them, clearly sensing the friction before it had even fully sparked, her expression tense but softening in that familiar way she always wore when trying to ease a storm.

 

“So,” Tsunade began finally, her voice carrying the weight of authority even though it was deceptively casual. She set her cup down with a quiet clink, eyes pinning Ino. “Forcing your way into the manor. Controlling my guards like puppets.” She leaned forward slightly, fingers drumming against the table. “Tell me, Yamanaka… was that you showing restraint?”

 

Ino’s shoulders stiffened, though her chin lifted in that proud way that always came when someone tried to put her down. She didn’t avert her eyes, though her voice was steady and cool when she answered. “I only did what was necessary. I wasn’t about to let myself be shut out. Not when Sakura was here.”

 

The way she said it—the deliberate weight she gave Sakura’s name—wasn’t lost on anyone at the table.

 

Tsunade’s brows arched, unimpressed. “Necessary,” she repeated, the word dripping with disbelief. “So threatening my household’s men and trespassing in my home is ‘necessary,’ is it?"

 

“Tsunade-sama…” Shizune tried gently, placing her hand on the table as though to steady the words in the air. Her tone was light, her eyes searching Tsunade’s face for even a crack of softness. 

 

“She bent my guards’ wills to get what she wanted,” Tsunade cut in sharply, golden eyes narrowing. “In my own territory."

 

The word hung heavy. It made Ino’s jaw tighten, though she didn’t let herself flinch. Her hands flexed subtly against the tablecloth, nails almost digging into the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping her from snapping back too hard.

 

But before she could reply, Sakura’s voice cut in—soft, quiet, yet carrying more weight in that room than any sharp retort.

 

“She didn’t hurt anyone, or at least, not enough for the guards to sustain injuries.”

 

The words made all eyes turn toward her. Sakura, who had been quiet since they’d sat down, fingers fidgeting with the rim of her bowl, finally raised her gaze. Her green eyes were steady, though there was a tremor of emotion in them.

 

“She came here because of me,” Sakura continued, her voice steadier the longer she spoke. “Because I didn’t go home. Because she thought she was being shut out.” She shifted slightly closer to Ino, her knee brushing against hers under the table. “If you’re going to be angry, be angry at me. Don’t take it out on her.”

 

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by Shizune’s soft sigh of relief as though Sakura’s words had nudged the storm clouds just enough to let light through.

 

Tsunade’s expression didn’t change at once. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes flickering between Sakura and Ino. There was a flash of something softer there—worry, maybe—but it was quickly buried beneath her usual severity.

 

“You really will go to war for her, won’t you?” Tsunade muttered finally, almost to herself. The annoyance was still there, but the sting of it had dulled.

 

Sakura didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

 

And beside her, Ino—tense and guarded since the moment she sat down—exhaled slowly, some of that tightness loosening at last. She didn’t say anything, but her hand drifted closer to Sakura’s under the table, their fingers brushing, then twining quietly where no one else could see.

 

But Tsunade didn’t stop. Even as Shizune attempted to ease the tension with light chatter about the weather and the hospital’s workload, the former Hokage’s sharp gaze never once left Ino. Her chopsticks clicked against the rim of her bowl, slow, deliberate, like the ticking of a clock counting down.

 

“Ino,” Tsunade finally said, voice low but cutting, “tell me—” her eyes narrowed, golden-brown, heavy as a hammer, “—what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

 

The words hit the air like a kunai buried into wood.

 

Shizune nearly dropped her teacup. “Tsunade-sama,” she said quickly, glancing between them, “surely this isn’t the time to—”

 

But Tsunade cut her off with a raised hand. Her eyes were still on Ino, drilling into her as if daring her to flinch. “Don’t soften this, Shizune. I want to hear it from her. From the girl who thinks she can walk into my house and act as though she didn't break my daughter's heart."

 

Ino didn’t look away. Her back straightened, shoulders tense, but her eyes burned with the same fire she carried onto battlefields. She could feel her Mokuton stir deep inside her chest, like roots tightening around her ribs—her instinct to lash out, to prove herself the only way she knew how. But she forced it down. Not here. Not in front of Sakura, and especially not in front of her family.

 

“My intentions?” She said slowly, her hands curled tightly on her thighs. “They’re simple, Tsunade-sama. I love her. I’ll protect her. I’ll stand by her no matter what.”

 

Tsunade leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “You think love is enough?” Her voice had that dangerous softness, the kind that came before a storm. “You think a vow to protect her means anything when you’re the one constantly hurting her?"

 

The silence pressed thick, heavy.

 

Sakura exhaled loudly. “Mother. Enough.”

 

Her voice was calm but firm, carrying that same tempered steel that had once stopped Naruto and Sasuke from tearing each other apart. She turned her gaze on Tsunade first, her lips pursed. “I know what Ino did. I know she stormed in here, I know she went too far. I know you're angry because she hurt me. But I choose to stand with her. I always will."

 

She shifted, squeezing Ino's hand tighter in reassurance. “And if you’re going to test her, then you’ll have to test me too. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Shizune pressed her lips together, relief flickering in her eyes at Sakura’s calm defiance, but Tsunade only leaned back in her chair. Her expression didn’t soften, though her gaze flicked briefly to their linked hands before returning to Ino with a look that was all sharp edges and warning.

 

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Tsunade muttered. “Both of you.” She reached for her sake cup, though it was far too early in the morning for it. Her fingers lingered on the rim before she pushed it aside and settled for her tea instead.

 

“So, now what? You’re going to take her away again? Back to that estate of yours?” Her gaze cut to Ino like a blade. “And then what? I’m supposed to sit here and wait for the day she comes running back through those doors crying again?”

 

The question landed with the weight of a hammer. Sakura stiffened beside Ino, breath catching as she opened her mouth to speak, to defend—

 

But Ino beat her to it.

 

Her pride screamed to snap back, to argue, to throw the venom right back at the woman staring her down. But she swallowed it, hard, the taste bitter in her throat. Her jaw tightened, and she met Tsunade’s glare with steady determination, her voice low but resolute.

 

“If that happens again…” She paused, every word she chose carefully, deliberately, “…then I’ll take responsibility for it. All of it.”

 

Her hand slid beneath the table, fingers brushing against Sakura’s knee, grounding herself as much as offering comfort. She didn’t waver, even as Tsunade’s eyes narrowed further.

 

“I’m not here to hurt her. Not this time. Not ever again.” Ino’s voice was steady now, steel behind it, even though her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. “If she walks away from me again, it’ll be because I wasn’t strong enough to hold her and if that day comes…” Her throat tightened, but she forced herself through it, her pride set aside, “…then I’ll carry that weight—not her.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted in shock, her hand slowly finding Ino’s beneath the table, squeezing tight.

 

Tsunade studied her, unblinking, like she was trying to peel back every layer Ino had, looking for weakness, for insincerity. The seconds stretched, long and suffocating.

 

Finally, Tsunade’s shoulders eased back into her chair. “Hmph.” She sipped from her tea, though her eyes never quite left Ino. “We’ll see.”

 

Shizune released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, murmuring a soft, “That’s enough for now, Tsunade-sama…” as though she was afraid the table itself might shatter from the tension.

 

But beneath the tensed atmosphere, Sakura’s hand still held Ino’s, warm and unrelenting, her gaze on her blonde with something shining in her eyes.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

The days that followed at the Estate slid back into a rhythm so familiar it was almost jarring, as if the confrontation at the Senju Manor had been a fever dream. Morning conversations in bed, quiet breakfasts together, evenings tangled on the veranda where the breeze carried the scent of pine—Ino and Sakura’s lives intertwined seamlessly once more.

 

But beneath the calm surface, there was something new. The tether between them—the chakra bond, the imprint of Mokuton with Ino's clan symbol on Sakura's chest—was no longer a faint thrum in the background. It pulsed, steady and undeniable, like a heartbeat that belonged to both of them. When Ino reached across the kitchen table for tea, Sakura could feel her presence brush against her chakra like a whisper. 

 

When Sakura adjusted her kit before heading out to work, after her suspension was lifted, Ino knew instantly if her hand trembled, no matter how slight. Missions also resumed—Sakura managing her rounds at the hospital, Ino working with her division—but even apart, they would brush against each other through the bond. A faint tug at the edge of Ino’s chest when Sakura pushed herself too hard; a ripple in Sakura’s body when Ino’s emotions flared dangerously high.

 

Their bond had always been palpable, a thread only they could sense. But now it felt different, heavier and more intricate. Sakura could sense Ino’s mood the way she would sense a shift in air pressure before a storm—the restless energy in her fingertips, the sting of doubt she tried to swallow, and the soft but fierce devotion that anchored all of it.

 

For Ino, it was like Sakura lived in the marrow of her bones. She could feel the steady weight of Sakura’s chakra whenever she was near—warm, familiar, calming like sunlight pooling on her skin. Even across distance, even in silence, Sakura was there. That tether reminded her constantly of what she had nearly lost, and what she had promised never to let slip again.

 

But their bond wasn’t just stronger now—it was alive.

 

And yet, the world beyond the walls of their Estate refused to be still.

 

The lanternlight in Ino’s study was low, casting long shadows over the paper-strewn desk where scrolls and maps had been unrolled. Shikamaru leaned forward, hands on the table, staring at the inked lines of Daigo Kurobane’s island as though willing them to give up their secrets. Sai stood with his hands crossed, perfectly composed, though his eyes flicked from detail to detail with the sharpness of a hawk.

 

Ino sat behind the table, the leather chair creaking as she leaned back, arms crossed, her expression carefully schooled into neutrality. But her fingers kept tapping the armrest, betraying the restless energy beneath her calm.

 

“So it’s settled,” Shikamaru muttered, dragging his pencil across the edge of the parchment. “We move tomorrow at dawn. Kakashi still thinks this is nothing more than a borderlands survey—another ‘routine’ patrol. I managed to convince him to let me on it. Not really suspicious since we were always working together anyway.” His tone carried that hint of annoyance he often had when forced to outmaneuver their own Hokage. “If he knew what we were dealing with, we’d never get clearance.”

 

Sai’s gaze cut to him. “You’ve ensured all reports align with the cover sublatory?”

 

Shikamaru gave a humorless smirk. “Please. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making paperwork look boring. No one looks too hard at missions stamped ‘routine.’”

 

Ino let out a slow breath, her gaze narrowing on the parchment lying at the far corner of her desk. The letter looked deceptively simple, yet the neat, elegant strokes of Daigo Kurobane’s seal carried the weight of permission that had taken weeks of maneuvering to secure. His “official clearance,” granting them passage into his private island estate, glared back at her like both a triumph and a threat.

 

Sakura had been the one to initiate the correspondence—framing her request with a careful, professional tone. In her letter, she had described the island as “full of promise” for a possible expansion of the Senju Medical Centers, weaving the idea as though she were scouting a future opportunity for public health rather than prying into dangerous secrets. 

 

Kurobane, ever eager to have his name linked with the prestigious Senju, latched onto the suggestion with predictable swiftness. His reply, which arrived just the day before, not only welcomed Konoha shinobi onto his soil but demanded a private audience—not with Tsunade, not with the Senju matriarch, but with Sakura herself soon. 

 

The detail still grated on Ino, even now. She didn’t like the thought of Sakura near somebody like him, of Kurobane’s interest veering away from simple politics into something more personal. But after their previous fallout—the bitter, cutting words that nearly drove a wedge between them—they had promised each other there would be no more lies, no more shadows. Trust was the only path forward. 

 

So when Sakura agreed to the meeting for the sake of their relic hunt, Ino swallowed her protest and let it stand, even though every fiber of her being wanted to tear the letter apart and burn the ashes.

 

The cover story, at least, was secure. The mission had been filed as nothing more than a routine perimeter inspection in the waters near Fire Country’s border. A dull, unremarkable task that wouldn’t raise alarms. 

 

Kakashi hadn’t questioned it, Ino usually go to fields herself for personal inspection—and Ino’s relationship with Sakura provided all the explanation needed for her being in the island. She was simply “checking” the island on Sakura’s behalf while her lover remained tied down with pressing hospital work. To the Hokage’s eyes, it was domestic, harmless even. He hadn’t probed deeper, and Shikamaru had made sure it stayed that way.

 

Shikamaru tapped the map with his pencil, the eraser smudging faintly against the parchment. “The problem isn’t getting on the island anymore. Thanks to Sakura, that door’s already open. The problem is moving through it without Kurobane realizing we’re not actually there to admire the coastline or count tree density for medical center logistics.”

 

Sai tilted his head, his gaze still lingering on the map. “If he joins us during the tour, he’ll expect our attention on the surface. He will notice if we’re distracted. He will also notice if we deviate from the expected route.”

 

“Exactly,” Shikamaru muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Which means we need layers. Ino—you’ll play the face of this. You’re the buyer, the Senju’s representative. You’ll keep him talking, keep him selling his dream of plastering his name across a medical expansion project. The more he talks, the less he notices what Sai and I are doing.”

 

Ino’s mouth curved faintly, though the edge of her fingers dug into the armrest. “So I play the smitten buyer, nodding along at whatever sales pitch he throws at me, while you two slink through the shadows like ghosts?”

 

Shikamaru gave a tired shrug. “That’s the gist. You’re the only one he expects to see, and the only one whose presence makes sense on paper. The rest of us—we’ll take detours when his back is turned. Catalog possible entry points underground, locked sections of the estate, anywhere the relic could be hidden. By the time you finish flattering his ego, we should have enough information to confirm its location.”

 

“And if it’s not on the surface,” Sai added calmly, “then it must be buried deeper. A relic of that scale is unlikely to be left in plain sight. If necessary, I can create diversions. A misstep from one of my ink constructs can occupy his guards without raising suspicion.”

 

Ino’s blue eyes flicked between the two of them. “You make it sound like I’m supposed to carry the entire performance on my shoulders.”

 

Shikamaru arched a brow. “You are. But you’re also the only one who can. Kurobane will fall over himself if he thinks the Senju are interested in his property. All you have to do is let him believe it. The more he believes, the safer we are to move.”

 

Ino let out another slow breath. She hated the thought of indulging a man like Daigo Kurobane, but she couldn’t deny Shikamaru’s logic. The relic came first. Everything else—her discomfort, Kurobane’s leering interest, even the cover story—was secondary.

 

“And if he insists on pressing for Sakura?” she asked finally, her voice low.

 

Shikamaru’s expression hardened. “You stall. You promise. You tell him she’s interested but too busy with the hospital for now. You make it sound like a matter of scheduling, not refusal. That way, we buy time. Once we have the relic, none of this will matter anyway.”

 

Sai’s lips curved faintly, the closest he came to a smile. “In other words: let him believe he’s winning, while we’re already taking what we came for.”

 

The room fell quiet for a beat, the weight of their deception heavy but necessary. Ino’s fingers finally stilled against the armrest, her decision made.

 

“Fine,” she said, leaning forward, her gaze locking on the seal of Kurobane’s letter once more. “We take the relic, and we leave him none the wiser. By the time he realizes the Senju aren’t buying his dream, it’ll already be too late.”

 

A soft rap at the study door cut through the silence, measured and familiar. None of them moved at first—each still wrapped in their own thoughts—until the door creaked open and Sakura slipped inside. She balanced a small lacquer tray in her hands, the delicate clink of porcelain cups carrying the faint, bitter fragrance of fresh coffee.

 

“I thought you’d still be awake,” she said quietly, her tone pitched low as though mindful not to disturb the weight in the room. Her gaze flicked to the desk, where maps and letters sprawled like a battlefield of ink and parchment. “And judging by the look of things, I was right.”

 

Shikamaru gave a tired grunt, though he sat up straighter, brushing pencil shavings from his sleeve. “You always are.”

 

Sakura stepped fully into the lanternlight, setting the tray on the corner of Ino’s desk. Her eyes lingered a moment on Ino’s face, softening slightly, before sweeping toward Sai and Shikamaru. “You’ve been at this for hours. Thought you might need something to keep you going.”

 

Sai inclined his head with his usual polite composure. “Much appreciated.”

 

Ino reached for one of the cups, her fingers brushing Sakura’s as she took it. 

 

Sakura leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms as she regarded them. “So,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly at the spread of notes and the map pinned under Shikamaru’s hand. “How bad is it?”

 

“Not bad,” Shikamaru replied, his voice dry as ever. “Just complicated. Kurobane’s the type who doesn’t know when to shut up, which plays in our favor. As long as Ino keeps him occupied, Sai and I can do our part.”

 

Sakura’s brow furrowed, reading the scribbled details of their plan. “And if the relic isn’t something you can take immediately? If it’s hidden in a way that requires more than a quick sweep?”

 

She straightened, her expression thoughtful in that way that often preceded a solution others wouldn’t dare voice. “Why not just buy the property outright? If Kurobane wants his name tied to the Senju that badly, it’s the fastest way to secure access. Once it’s ours, you’d have the freedom to search the island without restrictions or pretense.”

 

The words hung in the air like a thrown kunai.

 

Sai blinked, his head tilting slightly. “That would cost an immense amount of money. His estate is the size of a small tourist island. Even if he agreed, it’s not a trivial purchase.” His tone wasn’t dismissive, simply factual, as though weighing the logistics of buying an entire landmass the same way he might consider mission rations.

 

Shikamaru groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. “Troublesome… Sakura, do you realize what you’re suggesting? Negotiating that kind of deal takes time, paperwork, and more bureaucracy than even I can smother under routine stamps. Not to mention—it paints a big target on the entire thing. Suddenly everyone knows the Senju bought up some forgotten island in the middle of nowhere. The cover would blow wide open.”

 

Ino, who had been sipping her coffee quietly, lifted a brow. The corner of her lips curled into a smirk as she caught Sakura’s calm shrug.

 

“Mom has a lot of money to spare,” Sakura said simply, almost too casually—as though she were discussing buying a new garden plot rather than an entire private estate. “If it’s the difference between fumbling around in the dark and making sure no one interferes, she’d agree. Especially if I told her it’s for medical expansion.”

 

Shikamaru stared at her, pencil dangling loosely from his hand, as though waiting for the punchline. But Sakura’s face didn’t waver; her eyes were steady, matter-of-fact.

 

Sai shifted with a sigh. “If you succeed, then yes—we would have free rein. No guards to distract, no suspicion. But the moment Kurobane signs, he will expect the Senju’s investment to make him famous. The longer he waits for that recognition, the more he may pry into why we wanted it in the first place.”

 

“Then,” Sakura said, her tone calm but deliberate, “we make it believable. Announce a small survey for ‘construction viability.’ Let him see architects on-site with measuring tools, a few blueprint drafts scattered around. He’ll stay patient, convinced the project is moving forward.”

 

Shikamaru blinked at her. “So… you’re actually planning to build medical centers on the island?”

 

Sakura gave a wry little shrug. “Like I said—Mom has money to burn. She’s told me more than once I could buy whatever I wanted, no matter the price tag.”

 

For a moment, silence hung between them. Shikamaru tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. “Troublesome… I keep forgetting you’re not just the the Sannins' daughter. You’re the heiress to one of the wealthiest clans in the world. If you really wanted to, you could bankroll half the Land of Fire.”

 

Sai, ever blunt, added with a faint smile, “It’s interesting. You carry yourself like someone ordinary, but in reality… you’re the daughter of a billionaire clan, with the influence to shape nations.”

 

Sakura gave a small, amused snort, brushing a strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Ordinary suits me just fine. I’d rather people underestimate me than treat me like some pampered heiress. But…” her eyes narrowed just slightly, voice cooling, “if that image keeps Daigo distracted, then I’ll wear it like a crown.”

 

Sai tilted his head, unblinking as ever. “And what if Lady Tsunade refuses to bankroll this little performance?”

 

Sakura blinked at him, as though the question itself was absurd. “Then I’ll pay for the entire thing.”

 

Shikamaru raised a brow, half-amused and half-incredulous. “You’re loaded from missions, sure, but not island-buying loaded.”

 

Sakura sighed, her tone quiet but edged with something heavier. “My father transferred all of his wealth and property under my name the moment he learned I was his daughter.” She let that hang in the air for a moment, then added evenly, “He completed hundreds of S-class missions in his lifetime, and on top of that, he’s the author of a globally renowned romance series. The royalties alone could fund a nation. Add in the publishing houses, the media networks, the spy channels tied to his work… He left me more than enough.”

 

The room went still. Shikamaru’s lips parted slightly, his usually unreadable expression faltering into something closer to awe—or perhaps unease. Sai, for once, broke his practiced deadpan with a flicker of surprise, his gaze narrowing as if reassessing her entirely.

 

“Ino knows,” Sakura continued, catching their stares. Her voice softened, but her back remained straight. “She uses the same network. During the war, I gave it to her when information became scarce. Her Clan makes good use of it."

 

Sai was the first to break the silence, though his words carried no bite—just that calm, matter-of-fact bluntness of his.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head, “we tend to forget you’re wealthy yourself, Sakura. You’re always surrounded by Yamanaka luxury. The estate, the gardens, the antiques… and, well—” his eyes flicked to Ino, then back, unblinking—“you’re essentially the girlfriend of the S&C Division Chief and Yamanaka Clan leader. You wear her influence more often than you use your own Senju name.”

 

Ino’s lips immediately curved into a triumphant smirk, the kind she reserved for moments she wanted branded into memory. She didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction as she leaned an elbow on the armrest of her chair. “Finally, someone says it out loud.”

 

Sakura groaned, playfully rolling her eyes. “Don’t encourage him, Ino.”

 

But Ino only sipped her coffee delicately, eyes glittering.

 

Sakura let her hand fall and sighed. “He’s not wrong, though. You spoil me too much. I never have to touch my own money for anything. Food, furniture, travel—it’s all wrapped up in your ridiculous sense of generosity. Half the time I forget my accounts even exist.”

 

“That’s because you don’t need them,” Ino quipped. “Why would you, when I’m right here?”

 

Shikamaru let out a low snort, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You two sound like the Daimyō’s daughters arguing about which villa to stay at for the summer.”

 

Sakura shot him a look. “Don’t act so above it, Shikamaru. You’re not exactly living hand-to-mouth either. Your clan has been partners with Ino’s since the Warring States era—long before Konoha even existed. The Akimichi rake in wealth from restaurants all across the country, the Yamanaka have their flower shop empire and rare herb trade, and the Nara—” she lifted a brow at him pointedly—“own all the deer sanctuaries in Fire Country for rare resource trade. Not to mention your clan’s little side hustle with shogi parlors. Between the three of you, you’re practically cornering the market on food, flowers, resources, and entertainment.”

 

Shikamaru grimaced, muttering into his cup, “Troublesome woman.”

 

But Sakura only smirked, satisfied. “Exactly. You’re just as loaded as Ino. So don’t act like I’m the only one talking about buying land.” Then her gaze went to Sai. "And you're hardly poor, either. Years of ANBU missions tend to accumulate. Payment for eliminating enemies of the state is… substantial.”

 

Shikamaru shot him an amused sidelong glance. “So you’re sitting on a pile of blood money, basically."

 

Sai unruffled as always, nodded. “Yes.”

 

That earned a soft laugh from Sakura, her shoulders shaking as she fought it back. Even Ino’s smirk cracked into a grin.

 

“See?” Ino said, gesturing around the desk. “We’re all sitting here, comfortably rich in one way or another. Old money, clan money, ANBU money. But Sakura?” She glanced at her lover with mocked solemnity. “She could buy an island, build a string of medical centers on it, and still have change to spare. And that’s the difference.”

 

"Ino..." Sakura glared playfully.

 

Ino leaned back in her chair, regarding Sakura. “And the best part? You doesn't even need the Senju inheritance to do it. Between what your father left and your own savings from missions, you could write a check tomorrow, Sakura. That’s why you talk about buying an entire island like it’s a walk to the market. Because for you—it is.”

 

Shikamaru pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. “Kami help me. She’s right. You don’t even flinch when you throw things like this out loud.”

 

Ino’s smirk spread like wildfire. She tapped her chin, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know, come to think of it—Sakura could buy the Fire Daimyō’s summer house if she wanted. It’s practically just a garden villa with fancy wallpaper. Pocket change for her.”

 

Sakura looked at her. “Ino!”

 

“What? It’s true,” Ino said innocently, swirling her coffee. “Besides, it wouldn’t even be awkward, since he’s your uncle. He’d probably throw in the family discount.”

 

Sai tilted his head. “Do uncles usually offer discounts when selling palaces?”

 

Shikamaru made a low hum. “Depends on the family, I guess. Though knowing Sakura, she could just buy every deer in the Nara forest while she’s at it. One lump sum. Have them delivered to here like exotic pets.”

 

Sakura groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please stop—”

 

But Ino wasn’t about to. She leaned forward, grin positively wicked. “Oh! Or she could buy the entire Nara forest. Forget the deer—just buy the land underneath them. Then Shikamaru would have to rent it back from her every time he wanted to nap under a tree.”

 

Shikamaru shot Sakura a sideways look. “…That sounds like exactly the kind of troublesome thing you’d do out of spite.”

 

“I would never—” Sakura protested, her ears going pink.

 

Sai, unfazed, added calmly, “If she wished, she could also buy the rights to every shogi parlor in Fire Country. Then Shikamaru’s retirement plan would be void, unless she gave him a coupon.”

 

Shikamaru groaned louder. “Don’t give her ideas.”

 

“I don’t want ideas!” Sakura cut in, muffled behind her hands.

 

Ino ignored her. “Or how about this? She could buy every hot spring in the Land of Fire. Rebrand them into ‘Senju Healing Retreats.’ Imagine the marketing.”

 

Sai blinked thoughtfully. “That would generate passive income. Reasonable.”

 

“Ino!” Sakura yelped, her cheeks flushed as she grabbed for the pen Ino was twirling. “You’re making me sound ridiculous—”

 

“You are ridiculous,” Ino said sweetly, effortlessly plucking the pen back. “But don’t worry, babe. It’s part of your charm. I mean, come on—buying an island? For you, that’s like buying a new sofa.”

 

Sakura let out a strangled noise of protest, her hands balling into fists against her lap.

 

Shikamaru leaned back with a lazy grin, clearly enjoying himself now. “Maybe she should just buy the moon and be done with it. Save us all some trouble.”

 

Sakura shot him a withering glare. “Shut up, Shikamaru.”

 

Sai, ever the one to twist the knife with a straight face, added, “Actually, based alone on personal inheritance from her father, she could afford at least a half the stake in the Fire Daimyō’s navy fleet.”

 

Sakura turned scarlet. “Sai!”

 

Ino laughed, delighted. “See? Even Sai’s in on it. Face it, Sakura—you’re a walking blank check. You could buy the Daimyō’s crown jewels tomorrow and wear them to surgery just to keep your hair out of your face.”

 

“Don’t you dare—” Sakura tried to interject, but her voice cracked halfway through, betraying her mortification.

 

The laughter and smirks simmered between them, lightening the oppressive weight of their planning session. But beneath it, the undercurrent remained, that Sakura could bankroll the mission outright, and the fact that she treated it as casually as breathing only made her girlfriend and friends both exasperated but quietly reassured.

 

Shikamaru muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘you’re insane’, then stared at the ceiling as if searching for patience in the wood beams.

 

“Fine,” he said finally. “The island buying and the construction, we'll keep it as a backup plan. We try quiet first. If we determine that the relic can't be sweep away immediately, then we talk about… actual island shopping.”

 

Ino chuckled low in her throat, eyes glinting. “Island shopping. That has a nice ring to it.”

 

Sakura shot her a pointed look, but the warmth in her gaze betrayed her amusement.

 

 

 

Chapter 23

 

The estate had gone quiet. The attendants, after bowing low to both guests, had guided Sai and Shikamaru to the guest wing prepared for them.

 

By the time Sakura returned from the bath, steam still clinging to her skin, her hair damp and loose down her back, the room was dim save for the light spilling in from the terrace.

 

Ino stood there, framed by the glass doors, her silhouette limned by silver moonlight. Her long blond hair, unbound, moved like a living thing in the night air, pale strands catching faint glimmers of silver with each stirring breeze. She had already changed out of her day clothes—her tailored, sleeveless blouse now softened by the light, her posture relaxed yet still regal, as though she had been carved from moonlight itself and left there to guard the quiet.

 

Sakura froze in the bathroom doorway, her breath catching—not because this was new, but because it never stopped. Ino was always beautiful. Always. Whether adorned in silks or drenched in battlefield grit, her beauty seemed untouchable, something set apart from the ordinary flow of the world. And yet, standing there barefoot on the tiled wooden floor, backlit by the moon, she wasn’t untouchable at all—she was hers.

 

Sakura’s gaze traced the familiar lines: the proud shoulders she had leaned on so many times, the golden hair that caught her fingers like fine silk whenever she idly played with it, the sharp profile softened now by the silver glow, lips she knew better than her own. Even her shadow, stretching long across the floor, seemed commanding, as though the estate itself bowed to her presence.

 

A warmth spread through Sakura’s chest, mingling with the quiet embarrassment that always came when she realized just how much Ino still took her breath away. Years had passed, battles had scarred them both, and yet—her heart beat as though she were still that girl hiding behind Ino’s strength, still the one secretly watching her friend laugh in the sun, still the one quietly falling in love.

 

And here she was, older, stronger, yet just as helpless against the sight.

 

Sakura padded quietly across the carpet, her damp hair leaving faint trails of water against the silk nightgown tied loosely at her waist. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood from the bathhouse incense, mingling with the cool garden air drifting in through the open terrace doors.

 

She smiled faintly, shaking her head as if to herself. Gods… you’ll never stop being beautiful, will you?

 

Sakura moved closer, her bare feet silent against the carpeted floorboards. She stopped just a pace behind Ino, close enough to see the faint rise and fall of her shoulders, close enough that the night breeze carried strands of golden hair to brush against her skin.

 

“You’re staring,” Ino murmured without turning, her voice low and amused, almost lost in the sound of the wind rustling through the garden.

 

Sakura’s lips curved, caught. “You always know.”

 

“I always feel it.” Ino finally looked back over her shoulder, eyes catching the moonlight like polished glass, and smiled—soft, teasing, but with that knowing weight beneath it. The kind of smile that could unravel Sakura no matter how strong she thought she’d become.

 

Sakura let out a quiet breath and reached up, brushing back the hair sticking to her damp cheek. “I thought you’d be asleep. I did take my time in the tub.”

 

“Couldn’t,” Ino said simply, turning fully now. She leaned back against the railing, crossing her arms lightly over her chest, though the posture was more languid than guarded. “Too much on my mind.”

 

The answer should have been expected—there was always something on Ino’s mind: her clan, her division, the shadows of tomorrow that only she seemed to plan for before anyone else even recognized them. But here, in the silver-washed calm of the estate, Sakura saw the edges of that burden soften.

 

She closed the last of the distance, reaching out. Her fingers found Ino’s hair, still warm from her body, silk catching between fingertips. “Then let me make it quiet for you,” she whispered, thumb brushing lightly at Ino’s temple before tracing the shell of her ear, slightly massaging it.

 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was heavy with the weight of years and the gentleness of now. Ino’s lashes lowered, her arms uncrossing to find Sakura’s waist. The touch was easy, natural, like they had been built for this—fingers sliding against the silk tie at her gown, palm warm against her back.

 

Sakura leaned in, resting her forehead briefly against Ino’s cheek, breathing her in. The faint, clean scent of Ino's natural jasmine scent clung to her skin.

 

“Your hair is still a bit damp,” Ino said softly, though there was no reproach, only the faintest smile curving her lips.

 

“You’re warm,” Sakura countered, lifting her face enough to look at her, eyes gleaming in the dim.

 

Ino huffed the quietest laugh, low in her throat, before guiding her gently away from the terrace. “Come on. You’ll catch cold standing there dripping all over the floor.”

 

The two of them slipped back into the room, the terrace doors left ajar to let the night in. The air inside carried faint notes of sandalwood and the estate’s polished cedar wood, softened by the plush silk bedding that waited for them.

 

The bedroom lamps were dimmed low, their golden light layering over the silver moon glow spilling in from the terrace. Ino guided Sakura toward the bed with that casual certainty of hers, then reached for the vanity set just beside it. From the drawer, she retrieved the slim, high-powered blower the estate attendants had always left ready—an everyday indulgence of the Yamanaka household, its chrome gleaming in the faint light.

 

“Sit,” Ino said, patting the mattress, her tone not stern but warm, quietly insistent.

 

Sakura obeyed, sinking down onto the silk coverlet. Ino settled behind her on the bed, crossing her legs neatly as she gathered Sakura’s heavy damp hair into her hands, fingers combing through slowly, reverently. When the gentle hum of the blower started, the warm air swept over the back of Sakura’s neck, carrying the faint perfume of sandalwood still clinging from the bath.

 

Sakura closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth and Ino’s fingers melt the day’s weight from her shoulders. The pull of Ino’s touch, the steadiness of her presence—it was enough to anchor her in ways nothing else ever had.

 

But as the silence stretched between them, Sakura finally broke it, her voice soft, muffled slightly by the blower’s hum. “There really isn’t a way for me to come with you tomorrow?”

 

The blower paused. 

 

Ino set the dryer down in her lap, her fingers lingering in Sakura’s hair as though she needed the contact to keep herself steady. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, gentle, but unyielding. “Sakura…”

 

Sakura’s lips curved in a wry, sad smile, eyes still closed. “I know, I know. We already established I can’t. I’ll just… worry about you anyway.”

 

Ino exhaled softly, brushing her thumb against Sakura’s damp temple before resuming her careful combing, slow and tender. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

 

Sakura tilted her head back slightly, enough to glance up at her. “And you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t carry it all without letting me in.”

 

Ino’s expression softened at that, a flicker of guilt and love threading through her gaze. She leaned down, brushing the barest kiss against Sakura’s crown. “I let you in more than anyone else. Don’t ever doubt that.”

 

Sakura’s lips quirked, though her eyes stayed lowered. That ache in her chest—the stubborn need to protect Ino as fiercely as Ino always protected her—refused to dissolve completely. But Ino’s kiss at her crown lingered like a balm, steadying the restless thrum of her thoughts.

 

“I suppose,” Sakura murmured, voice carrying the faintest pout, “I’ll just have to trust you to come back in one piece.”

 

“You suppose?” Ino echoed, one brow arching as she set the blower aside on the vanity. Her fingers continued combing slowly through Sakura’s now-dry hair, but her tone sharpened playfully, laced with warmth. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

 

Sakura huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into her. “Because convincing myself is harder than convincing anyone else.”

 

Ino’s hand stilled for a moment. Then, with that casual authority only she carried, she hooked an arm gently around Sakura’s shoulders and pulled her back against her chest, so that Sakura was leaning fully into her. “Then let me make it easy for you,” she said, lips brushing the top of Sakura’s ear. “I’m coming back. Not because the mission demands it, not because the village expects it—but because you’re here waiting for me. I'll always come back home to you, Forehead.”

 

The old nickname, softened by years of love, coaxed a true smile out of Sakura. She turned slightly in Ino’s embrace, meeting her eyes at last. Moonlight from the terrace cut across the room, catching on Ino’s hair and making her look every bit as untouchable as she had seemed from the doorway. And yet she was right here, warm, solid, entirely hers.

 

Sakura’s fingers lifted almost on their own, brushing along Ino’s jaw before sliding into her hair, tugging her close. “Good,” she whispered, her lips so close Ino could feel the words. “Because if you didn’t, I’d drag you back myself.”

 

Ino’s laugh was low, husky, a ripple of warmth that pressed right into Sakura’s chest. “You’d try,” she teased, before closing the last of the distance.

 

Their mouths met softly at first—slow, the kind of kiss born not of urgency but of reassurance. Ino’s lips moved with an unhurried surety, coaxing, reminding, promising all in one. Sakura melted into it, the last of her worry unraveling thread by thread as she tilted her head, deepening the kiss.

 

The air between them warmed. Ino’s hand slid to Sakura’s waist, fingertips brushing along the silk tie of her nightgown. Sakura’s own hands tightened in Ino’s hair, pulling her closer still until there was no space left between them.

 

When they finally broke apart, breath mingling in the quiet, Sakura’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but still sharp enough to catch the mischief glinting faintly in Ino’s.

 

“Bed,” Ino murmured, her voice a velvet command softened by affection. “Not another word about tomorrow tonight.”

 

Sakura gave a faint nod, lips curving, and let Ino guide her down into the silk sheets. The night wind stirred the curtains, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine wrapping around them as they folded into each other, worries left—just for now—at the edge of the moonlit terrace.

 

 

---

 

 

The sky had only just begun to pale, the faintest wash of gray-blue brushing against the horizon, when the quiet stir of movement pulled Sakura awake.

 

By the time she slipped from bed and padded to the main hall, the estate was hushed in that stillness before dawn—lamps burning low, shadows long across polished floors, the faint scent of dew and pine drifting in from the gardens.

 

Sai and Shikamaru stood near the front steps, their gear already in place: scrolls neatly stowed, flak jackets fastened, the efficiency of men accustomed to early departures. They spoke little, their voices hushed and even, the kind of clipped conversation born from years of missions together.

 

And then there was Ino.

 

She was already dressed in her battle gear, fitted and elegant, the deep forest-green fabric hugging her form in a way that balanced function and grace. The faint glint of steel shone at her waist holster, a sheathed tanto resting against her hip. 

 

She stood by the door, checking over a rolled-up map in her hands, golden hair bound high but already catching loose wisps that glowed faintly in the torchlight. Even in this moment—practical, businesslike—she seemed almost otherworldly.

 

Sakura lingered just past the threshold, barefoot on the polished wood, arms folded lightly against her chest. She hadn’t spoken yet. She just watched—watched the quiet rhythm of preparation, the ritual that would soon take Ino away from her side again.

 

Her eyes lingered longest on Ino, of course. On the confident way she adjusted her gloves, on the calm strength in her posture, on the glimmer of sharp intelligence in her gaze. A shinobi through and through. But also hers. Always hers.

 

Ino, sensing her, glanced up. Their eyes met across the room—blue meeting green in the half-light. And just like that, Sakura felt her throat tighten.

 

“You’re up early,” Ino said softly, lowering the map, her voice carrying easily in the stillness.

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sakura admitted, stepping a little closer, her gaze flicking over the three of them. “Too quiet without you.”

 

Shikamaru gave a small huff that passed for a laugh. “You two really don’t make this easy for anyone else in the room.”

 

Sai only tilted his head, studying Sakura with his usual blunt curiosity, but said nothing.

 

Ino smirked faintly, her eyes never leaving Sakura. “Don’t mind them,” she said, brushing a strand of hair back as she shifted her pack over her shoulder. “It’s just a short mission. We’ll be back before you know it.”

 

But Sakura’s hands curled slightly at her sides. “I know,” she whispered, voice low, raw. “I just… hate watching you leave.”

 

Ino crossed the space between them then, boots soft against the floor, until she stood before Sakura. Her gloved hand rose, fingertips brushing lightly against Sakura’s jaw, tilting her face up. In the dim light, with dawn just beginning to break beyond the gates, Ino’s smile was small but certain.

 

“You’ll see me again soon,” she promised, voice steady, intimate in a way that felt meant only for Sakura despite their audience. “You know I always come back.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted as if to answer, but instead she leaned forward, pressing her forehead briefly to Ino’s chest, breathing her in, holding onto the warmth that would soon be carried far away.

 

“Just don’t make me wait too long,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric of Ino’s uniform.

 

“Never,” Ino said, her tone so certain it left no room for doubt.

 

Behind them, Shikamaru cleared his throat, shifting the weight of his pack. “If we’re done here, the road isn’t getting shorter.”

 

Ino’s thumb brushed over Sakura’s cheek one last time before she stepped back, reclaiming her composure. She adjusted the strap of her pouch and turned, joining the others at the door.

 

The first rays of light were just cresting the horizon, painting the sky in muted pinks and golds, when the three of them stepped out into the chill of early morning.

 

And Sakura stood framed in the doorway, watching them go, her figure a quiet silhouette against the warm glow of the hall.

 

She didn’t call out. Didn’t ask them to wait. She just watched, heart heavy and full all at once, until the three figures were swallowed up by the path leading out of the estate and into the waking world.

 

 

---

 

 

The road unfurled before them in the hush of dawn, pale mist curling low across the earth like a living veil. The trees lining the outskirts of Konoha stood tall and solemn, their leaves whispering faintly in the early morning breeze. Beyond them, the land opened to rolling fields washed in the first pale light of the sun, the horizon stretching endlessly into shades of silver and rose.

 

Their footsteps were steady against the dirt path—three shadows moving in sync, the sound of seasoned shinobi who no longer needed words to keep pace with one another.

 

Sai walked on the left, his expression unreadable as always, though his eyes missed nothing: the shifting of the mist, the tremor of a sparrow in the branches, the subtle play of light over the road ahead. His pack was balanced perfectly, scrolls tucked tight, weapons ready. He looked as though he could vanish into silence at any moment.

 

On the right, Shikamaru trudged with his usual slouch, hands buried in his pockets, the faint puff of his breath visible in the chill air. His brow was furrowed, gaze half-focused on the horizon, half turned inward as if the mission’s possible outcomes were already playing themselves out in his mind. To anyone else, he might have looked lazy. To those who knew him, it was the posture of a mind sharpening itself.

 

And between them, Ino walked with an ease that belied the weight of the morning. Her stride was confident, each step unhurried yet purposeful, her golden hair bound high but gleaming in the low light, catching the mist like strands of fire against gray. The sheath of her tanto brushed lightly against her thigh with each step, its presence both reassuring and quietly threatening. She kept her gaze forward, scanning the road, but there was a calmness about her—an almost regal composure—that made her seem less like a shinobi on mission and more like a figure carved into the dawn itself.

 

For a long while, none of them spoke. The silence was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of preparation, of thoughts aligned with the path ahead.

 

But eventually, Shikamaru broke it with a sigh, his voice low and even. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

 

Ino’s lips quirked faintly, the barest hint of amusement tugging at her mouth. “Neither did you.”

 

He gave a noncommittal grunt, not denying it. “Troublesome.”

 

Sai glanced at her briefly, his tone flat but not unkind. “You’re unsettled.”

 

“Not unsettled,” Ino corrected, her voice quiet but steady. “Focused.”

 

Sai accepted this with a small nod, as though filing it away. Shikamaru, however, gave her a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite the weight in his eyes. “Focused, huh? Funny. You looked more like someone being stared at half the night.”

 

Ino smirked faintly, her gaze forward still, but her voice softened, warmer than before. “And you looked like someone pretending to sleep so you wouldn’t have to hear it.”

 

Shikamaru clicked his tongue but didn’t argue.

 

The silence returned after that, deeper somehow, layered with unspoken things. The sound of their footsteps pressed into the road, the mist curling around them like an old secret, the first cries of waking birds echoing faintly overhead.

 

And as the village faded behind them, swallowed by the trees, each of them carried something unspoken in their chest.

 

For Ino, it was the memory of soft hair between her fingers, a whispered promise against her lips, and the weight of emerald eyes watching her walk away.

 

For Shikamaru, it was the shape of strategy already forming, threads of possibilities winding together into the inevitable web he’d need to guide them through.

 

And for Sai, it was the recognition of bonds he’d once thought impossible, now undeniable, and how those bonds would shape what was to come.

 

The road stretched on, pale and endless beneath the newborn sky, and the three of them moved into it without hesitation.

 

 

 

Chapter 24

 

Hours passed in silence punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird. The trio moved through hidden paths and shortcuts, trails known only to those with the clearance to traverse them—a network of secret routes that wove between hills and streams, circumventing the patrols visible to ordinary travelers. The mist had lifted, leaving the morning sun to filter weakly through the foliage, painting the dirt path in golden streaks.

 

Finally, a cluster of low tents came into view, the flag of Konoha flapping lazily from a wooden post. The checkpoint was modest, a small camp of shinobi stationed to monitor the outer perimeter of the northern site. The moment the trio’s approach was detected, the camp stirred: a soldier straightened, another ducked behind a canvas wall to ready a scroll, while a few exchanged quick, alert glances.

 

Ino, leading the way, raised a hand in greeting before they were even within earshot. “Reporting in,” she called, her voice carrying easily over the open clearing. Despite the crispness of her tone, there was an ease to it that belied authority. Even in movement, she exuded the command expected of the Chief of the Sensory and Communications Division.

 

The shinobi on duty saluted sharply, snapping to attention. “Chief Yamanaka,” the taller of the two said, voice steady but tinged with relief. “All is secure this side. We’ve monitored the usual border signals—no unusual chakra signatures or breaches. Patrols report nothing out of the ordinary. A few wild animals, but nothing threatening. All checkpoints along this stretch have reported nominal activity.”

 

Ino’s eyes swept the perimeter with practiced efficiency, scanning the forested edges, the line of the distant hills, even the subtle flicker of shadow beneath the trees. “Good. Any intercepted communications or anomalies in local chatter?” she asked, her tone even but incisive.

 

“None to report,” the shinobi answered. “All transmissions are normal. The new signals we picked up last week were confirmed as routine training exercises by the younger genin teams.”

 

Shikamaru, trailing slightly behind Ino, offered a quiet murmur. “Looks like they’re on top of things. Efficient.”

 

Sai’s gaze swept the treeline beyond the checkpoint, expression unreadable. “And they know we’re coming,” he said. “That changes nothing, but it confirms coordination.”

 

Ino nodded slightly, the smallest twitch of a smile touching her lips. “Coordination is good. But vigilance isn’t negotiable.” She lowered her voice, speaking almost to herself as she continued her internal scan of the area. 

 

The subtle pulse of chakra, the ebb and flow of wind through leaves, the faintest variations in shadow—they all fed into the picture she was building. Every report, every update she collected from her field agents was part of a web she wove constantly, the threads of Konoha’s sensory network stretching farther than most realized.

 

The shinobi exchanged another salute as Ino stepped closer to the checkpoint commander. “Continue your patrols. Keep the network updated on anything out of pattern, no matter how minor it seems,” she instructed, voice firm but steady. “Your vigilance is the shield that keeps the perimeter secure.”

 

“Yes, Chief,” they chorused, a mix of pride and relief in their tones.

 

Shikamaru finally spoke again, his voice low and dry. “Even when it’s routine, you make it feel like life or death.”

 

Ino tilted her head slightly, catching his eye. “Because, Shikamaru… sometimes it is. Routine is what makes emergencies visible. Miss the routine, and chaos follows.”

 

Sai simply observed, noting the subtle interplay of authority and reassurance that Ino carried naturally. To outsiders, she might seem merely confident. To those who knew her—and those under her command—she was the calm in the storm, the central point that held the threads of information, lives, and strategy in alignment.

 

After a final sweep of the camp, Ino straightened, signaling that their brief inspection was complete. 

 

“We move on,” she said, her hand brushing briefly against the tanto at her hip. “The perimeter doesn’t patrol itself, and neither do we.”

 

The checkpoint shinobi offered another salute as the trio stepped back onto the hidden path, the dirt beneath their feet soft and worn from countless journeys. The sun had climbed higher now, burning away the last traces of morning mist, leaving the fields and forests bathed in light. Ino led them forward once more, every step measured, purposeful, as the subtle weight of command lingered in her presence.

 

Behind them, the checkpoint returned to its routine, secure in the knowledge that the Chief had passed through and that the perimeter remained, for now, unbroken.

 

The next hours were spent stepping between shadowed forest trails and narrow dirt paths that twisted around hills and streams, avoiding the main roads. At each checkpoint, the greetings were the same—formal, efficient, perfunctory. Yet even in routine, Ino’s presence transformed the simple exchanges into something far more significant.

 

Some of the smaller camps were antiquated, their instruments and communications equipment clearly overdue for updating. Scrolls worn from weather, signaling mirrors dulled, a few chakra sensors misaligned. Ino noted each discrepancy with a glance, her mind cataloging what needed repair or replacement, committing locations to memory for later reports. 

 

A quick mental sweep allowed her to triage priorities: the signal post near the western ridge was slightly off, the northern tent’s sensor chakra signature detection lagged behind the expected pulse, and one young trainee genin at the stream outpost seemed tense, unsure of her instructions.

 

Ino didn’t speak of it aloud. Words were unnecessary. Her perception reached far beyond the visual and auditory. She felt the subtle vibrations of chakra in the ground, tracing their currents across the perimeter like threads in a vast, invisible terrain. Even unregistered presences—travelers, wild animals, or potential intruders—were noted instantly. She could distinguish the difference between the nervous flutter of a rabbit and the deliberate footstep of someone trying to conceal their chakra.

 

Sai moved slightly to her side, sensing the intensity in her focus. “You’ve already noted the glitches,” he said quietly, voice low, almost a murmur of acknowledgment.

 

“In passing,” Ino replied, eyes forward. “Correcting them isn’t the point right now though.” Her fingers brushed the strap of her pack as if adjusting it sharpened her own perception further.

 

At the next checkpoint, she paused briefly to acknowledge the soldiers. “All reports submitted accurately,” she said. Her voice was calm, but the subtone carried weight: scrutiny. The commander of the outpost nodded, cheeks flushing with a mix of pride and anxiety, aware that the Chief could sense the minutest inconsistencies even without seeing them.

 

As they moved on, Ino’s mind subtly linked with the patrols she passed. Not overtly, but a delicate weaving of thought and perception, establishing a silent, instantaneous mind-link across the network of shinobi. Through it, she could feel the emotional states of her allies, detect hesitation, fear, or fatigue, and gauge the strength of their chakra reserves. The link extended far, well beyond the confines of the immediate checkpoint, touching sentries and scouts who might be kilometers away.

 

Shikamaru, walking just behind her, glanced at her side profile. “You make it seem effortless,” he said, voice quiet. “Coordinating all of them, reading everyone’s state without even talking…”

 

Ino didn’t slow her pace. “It’s not effortless,” she replied, tone soft but precise. “It’s constant. I sense before they act, detect before they realize. That’s what keeps the perimeter secure—and keeps people alive.”

 

Sai’s eyes flicked to the horizon, then back to her. “You could probably do it across the island if needed. Even hundreds of kilometers.”

 

A small smile ghosted across Shikamaru's lips. “More than that,” he added quietly. “Ino can link minds across great distances—coordinating entire teams silently, sensing threats and allies simultaneously. She can recognize individuals by their chakra, identify emotional states, and gauge their strength almost instinctively. It’s how she ensures nothing slips through the cracks.”

 

Ino gave a playful eye roll. “No need to detail my skillset."

 

“It’s actually why the Council hates it when you leave the village,” Shikamaru muttered, hands in his pockets, eyes on the path ahead. “Not because you can handle yourself—everyone knows that—but because you’re the kind of person who keeps the whole place steady without anyone noticing. When you’re gone, it’s like… the Village feels off, weaker somehow. That’s why you barely get sent out on missions yourself. Your presence alone is enough to make everything run smoothly, and without it… well, people notice.”

 

Ino’s eyes softened slightly as she glanced at Shikamaru. “They’re just making sure Konoha stays protected after everything,” she said, her voice calm but carrying the weight of experience. “With Naruto out there traveling, following Jiraiya’s footsteps, and Sasuke sealing threats in other dimensions… if something goes wrong, they can’t just swoop in and fix everything immediately. That leaves them no choice but to rely on me, no matter how much they find my power… unsettling.”

 

She tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But in a way, it works. It keeps them from having much pull over Sakura. She’s a Sage, yes—but thanks to her position as a Senju and her political influence as its heir, she’s mostly untouched by the responsibilities that could weigh her down. That’s exactly how it should be.”

 

Shikamaru’s steps were slow, deliberate, as he fell into step beside Ino. His hands remained buried in his pockets, gaze fixed on the path ahead, voice low and careful. “If Sakura weren’t a Senju… if she were just an ordinary civilian with that kind of power, the Council would’ve placed her straight into ANBU by now,” he said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Her abilities as a Sage alone… they’d be perfect for handling state-level threats. Rogue ninja, political assassinations, covert operations that never get reported—she’d be sent on anything the Hokage deemed too delicate or dangerous for regular shinobi. Missions where failure isn’t just frowned upon; it disappears quietly, along with whoever failed.”

 

Ino’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She tilted her head, golden eyes flashing faintly with irritation. “And that’s exactly why I’ve never been grateful she’s a Senju,” she muttered, voice low and laced with frustration. “Because everyone knows what that would mean. ANBU doesn’t make heroes—they make tools. Glorified weapons for the Village’s convenience. Lives expendable, choices stripped away. Sakura would never have a chance to be herself, to live her life outside the mission grid.”

 

Shikamaru glanced at her, expression calm but serious. “Clan heirs are lucky, usually. They’ve got family influence to fall back on if they don’t want certain positions shoved on them. But Sakura… no one’s pulling her into ANBU because of her political standing and her status as a Senju. Without that, the Elders have been trying, quietly, to convince Kakashi ever since the war ended. They’ve suggested it’s time to make use of her abilities, to place her in ANBU. Every time, they’ve argued it’s… for the good of the Village.”

 

Sai, walking slightly behind, spoke up in his usual impassive tone. “I’ve intervened several times on her behalf. It helps that I handle ANBU. It isn’t about making the strongest shinobi—especially someone like Sakura—an assassin. Her abilities aren’t compatible with subtle eliminations of targets. She’s far too visible, far too… principled. Sending her into ANBU would guarantee she risks state-level missions without ever being able to follow her own judgment. That’s why I’ve argued against it, and for now, the Elders have backed off.”

 

Ino’s hands flexed lightly at her sides, annoyance flaring just under the surface. “And none of this was communicated to me,” she muttered, voice tight. “I’m the one responsible for keeping the Village and everyone they care about safe, and I don’t get a word about them trying to push her into this?"

 

Sai’s expression remained calm, but there was a faint acknowledgment in his eyes of her frustration. “It’s… politically sensitive. But it’s not like she’d be forced without recourse. The problem is perception. ANBU is meant for those who can be… molded to the Village’s needs, often without question. You were in ANBU under Kakashi once, you would know this. And while she’s strong, capable, and exceptionally talented, her mindset and ethics make her unsuitable for that kind of role.”

 

Shikamaru gave a dry little sigh. “It’s a complicated balance. The Village wants to leverage her potential, but the Elders don’t realize that certain positions can strip away a person’s life entirely. That’s why clan heirs are lucky—they’ve got backup if they refuse. Sakura… she’s lucky in a different way. She’s shielded by everything her bloodline and political influence provide." 

 

Shikamaru hummed in realization, eyes tracking the path ahead. “Now that I think about it… it’s probably a good thing Lady Tsunade pushed her into medicine. Being a top-tier medic on top of being a Senju? That alone makes it nearly impossible for the Council to shove her into ANBU. She’s too valuable to the Village in that role—they’d lose more than they gain if they tried to force her into assassination or covert ops.”

 

He glanced at Ino, expression faintly amused. “It’s like they have to play a careful game around her now. Sage abilities, clan status, and medical skill… the Elders can’t just treat her like a disposable tool. Makes sense why they back off—at least for now.”

 

Ino’s eyes softened, but her voice carried the resolve that defined her. “I don’t care about options, or politics, or the Elders. I’ll shoulder whatever responsibility it takes. Because no one—no one—will use her as a tool, not while I can stop it. I’ll protect her freedom, her life, and her choices. Sage or not, Senju or not… she stays untouched."

 

Shikamaru glanced at her, expression almost impressed despite himself. “You really do take everything on yourself,” he murmured, almost to himself.

 

Ino gave a faint, grim smile. “I would do anything if it keeps everyone safe, Shika," she said simply, unwavering. “Especially Sakura.”

 

The trio passed through a few more checkpoints. Ino’s mind constantly scanned, assessing, noting, cataloging, and weaving each observation into her sensory network. The sun climbed steadily, filtering gold through the leaves and illuminating the dirt paths. Each camp they passed now seemed almost transparent to her perception: the soldiers’ focus, the patterns of patrols, the condition of instruments—all available at a glance.

 

And though outwardly she appeared calm, almost casual, her senses were anything but. Every heartbeat, every subtle variation of chakra, every fleeting thought or doubt in the minds of her allies or those around her was known. It was a power she carried lightly, but one that shaped every move, every decision, every step of their travel toward the waters beyond—toward Fuyunomi Island.

 

By mid-afternoon, the final checkpoint before the coastal trail appeared in the distance. The guards here were newer, less polished, their equipment outdated. Ino’s eyes flicked to the sensors, noting misalignments and gaps in coverage. 

 

With a subtle gesture, her mind linked with them briefly, correcting their coordination imperceptibly. There was no need to admonish them out loud where everybody could hear. The young sentries stiffened, caught in the sudden clarity of their own actions and positioning, aware that the Chief’s influence had already passed through them.

 

“Ready to move on?” Shikamaru asked, voice low. Sai and Ino looked at him, nodding immediately.

 

Soon, the forest thinned gradually, the dense canopy giving way to the tang of salt in the air and the faint cry of gulls circling overhead. The dirt path sloped downward, revealing glimpses of the coastline through gaps in the trees. Waves crashed softly against jagged rocks, steady and almost hypnotic, as the sunlight danced across the rippling water.

 

Ahead, a larger checkpoint came into view, stationed where the forest met the coastal road. Unlike the inland posts, this one had more infrastructure: a series of low stone walls, a small dock jutting into the bay, and several boats tethered and ready. Flags bearing the insignia of Konoha fluttered along the perimeter.

 

Daigo Kurobane’s men were seen stationed at the checkpoint, a group of civilians assigned to escort visitors to the island under his purview. They were crisp, professional, and clearly aware of the prestige and scrutiny attached to the Senju family’s potential acquisitions. As the trio approached, one of the men stepped forward, bowing slightly.

 

“Welcome, you must be the representatives detailed in Sir Kurobane's letter,” he said, voice polite. “We’ve been expecting you. The vessel to Fuyunomi Island is ready, and our crew is prepared to ensure a smooth passage. Follow me, please.”

 

Ino exchanged a brief glance with Shikamaru and Sai. She noted immediately the subtle indicators of their alertness—the way their eyes flicked to her, measuring, calculating, assessing—but her own sensing confirmed nothing hostile. The men’s chakra signatures told they were not shinobi, nothing hinted at a hidden threat.

 

As they moved closer, Ino’s aura of calm authority was palpable even here. She stepped forward, nodding lightly to the lead escort. “We appreciate your preparation. I expect a smooth passage and full coordination.” Her tone was an implicit warning: this was not a negotiation, and missteps would be noticed immediately.

 

The escort inclined his head. “Of course, Chief Yamanaka. Safety and discretion are assured.”

 

Shikamaru walked beside Ino, hands in pockets, voice low. “They’re following the script, but stay alert. Even if this is routine for them, we don’t know how much this all could go south."

 

Sai’s eyes scanned the coastline, noting currents and subtle changes in the water. “Nothing appears amiss. The channel is clear, and no unexpected chakra disturbances. The passage is secure.”

 

Ino’s eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the area, mentally noting every detail of the dock, the boats, the guards, even the ripple of the water against the hulls. 

 

Finally, the group reached the dock. A sleek, well-maintained vessel waited, tied securely but ready to cast off. Kurobane’s men gestured for the Senju contingent to board first.

 

“After you,” the lead escort said, glancing at Ino with measured respect. “We’ll guide you across to the island. The captain is briefed on the route, and all necessary precautions have been taken to ensure privacy and safety.”

 

Ino stepped onto the deck, her hand brushing lightly against the railing as she surveyed the horizon. The island lay across the water, hazy and distant, its shape partially obscured by morning mist lingering over the bay. She could sense its topography faintly—the ridges, the tree lines, the hidden coves—but her attention remained on the men around her. Their positions, their attention, their intentions—all were cataloged instantly.

 

Shikamaru and Sai followed, settling into the boat with quiet efficiency. “Let’s hope this is as straightforward as it seems,” Shikamaru muttered, eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of Fuyunomi.

 

Ino allowed herself a small, tight-lipped smile. “It will be,” she said softly, her voice carrying both confidence and an unspoken warning. “As long as we keep our eyes—and senses—open.”

 

The boat cast off, slicing through the calm waters. The checkpoints behind them shrank in the distance, the flag of Konoha fluttering against the sky. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25

 

The vessel cut smoothly through the morning waters, mist parting as the island loomed larger. What had been a vague silhouette now sharpened into detail: steep cliffs jutting like watchful sentinels, dense forest canopies shrouding the interior, and a scattering of golden beaches that looked deceptively inviting.

 

The lead escort, hands clasped neatly behind his back, began his practiced speech.

 

“Fuyunomi Island is a jewel of the southern waters. Its climate is temperate year-round, the soil fertile, and the fresh springs naturally mineral-rich. Imagine, if you will, a recovery retreat unlike any other—patients restored by the land itself. Konoha’s medical division would find endless opportunity here.”

 

His companion, holding a bound portfolio, flipped it open to sketches and survey notes. “We’ve even mapped prospective building zones. The northern ridge offers elevation and security, while the southern cove has calmer tides, perfect for shipping routes and supply vessels. Sir Kurobane envisions state-of-the-art wards and convalescent halls, all in harmony with nature.”

 

Ino nodded politely, but her gaze was elsewhere. Her mind brushed against the forest that stretched across the island’s spine. Buried beneath layers of green, she felt it again—an undertone, a faint thrum almost like distant chakra. Subtle, but persistent, like a relic's call.

 

Shikamaru leaned against the railing, feigning disinterest, though his eyes flicked to every rise of terrain and every unnatural break in the treeline. “Sounds like a lot of potential,” he drawled, “if the land cooperates.”

 

“Ah,” the escort said quickly, smiling. “It does. Our surveys confirm no significant seismic activity, no hostile fauna of concern, and no prior development. A clean slate. Perfect for… expansion.”

 

Sai, seated with his sketchbook open, put charcoal to paper. To the escorts, it looked like idle artistry—sketching the shoreline. But his lines captured entry points, shaded pockets of cliff shadow, and one particularly narrow inlet that could serve as a hidden landing point. He spoke without looking up. “No prior development? Yet there are old stone markers on the western cliffs. I noticed them on approach.”

 

The escorts faltered only briefly before recovering. “Ah—ruins, yes. Old, inconsequential. Fishermen and travelers left remnants long ago. Nothing of value, I assure you that they won't get in the way of possible constructions."

 

Ino’s eyes sharpened. She didn’t need to look at Shikamaru to know he'd already catalogued the information for later survey.

 

The boat slid closer to a dock jutting from the southern cove. Workers bustled quietly, securing lines, bowing respectfully as the they prepared to disembark.

 

“Welcome to Fuyunomi,” the escort said with pride, sweeping a hand toward the forested rise beyond. “Sir Kurobane’s island of promise. If you’ll allow us, we’ll begin the tour at the southern clearings. From there, you’ll see the scale of what this place offers.”

 

Ino inhaled slowly, her senses reaching again into the trees. Something stirred deep within the island, far from the well-worn sales pitches and polished paths. Something that was waiting for them.

 

She smiled faintly, masking it as polite acknowledgment to the escorts. “Lead the way.”

 

The path from the dock wound upward through carefully cleared trails, the forest pressing close on either side. The escorts, eager to impress, gestured broadly as they walked, their voices carrying the polished rhythm of men who had rehearsed this speech many times before.

 

“Our first stop,” the lead escort announced, pointing ahead, “is the southern clearing. The soil here is enriched by constant salt breezes and mineral runoff. Crops grow strong, herbs grow potent. Imagine entire fields of medicinal plants cultivated under Konoha’s supervision. An apothecary’s paradise.”

 

He knelt briefly, plucking a small leaf from a shrub and crushing it between his fingers. “Even the wild flora here are unusually robust. This one, for instance, has shown properties that could ease fever. And deeper inland, we’ve catalogued species yet unseen in Fire Country.”

 

Ino’s fingers brushed the leaf he held out, though her attention was elsewhere. Medicinal, yes, she thought, but her chakra-sense trailed downward—beneath the soil. There, faint but undeniable, was that same thrumming undertone, almost resonant. Like the land itself had been shaped long ago for purposes greater than mere agriculture. She met Shikamaru’s glance; his faintly raised brow told her he’d felt it too.

 

The group pressed on, and soon the air grew cooler, tinged with the faint scent of minerals. A stream cut across the path, its water clear and cold. The escorts beamed.

 

“Here you see one of several natural springs,” the second man said, voice brimming with enthusiasm. “The minerals have restorative properties—local fishermen claim even old injuries ease when they soak here. Sir Kurobane imagines recovery baths, hot spring annexes for patients, perhaps even an entire convalescent resort.”

 

He spread his hands as though unveiling a jewel. “The perfect union of nature and medicine.”

 

Sai crouched by the water’s edge, dipping his brush absentmindedly. “The sediment here is unusual,” he murmured, sketching ripples. “There’s depth beneath the spring. Cavern pockets, perhaps.” His words were mild, his tone neutral, but Ino caught the subtle emphasis. Caverns beneath water… storage, concealment… or perhaps the beginnings of the relic’s resting place.

 

The escorts took no notice, continuing their cheerful litany.

 

Farther along, the path rose steeply, the forest giving way to a rocky ridge. From here, the ocean spread out in both directions, glittering under the midday sun. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp against the wind.

 

“This,” the lead escort declared, “is the northern ridge. Elevated, secure, and blessed with constant winds. Ideal for watchtowers, research outposts, or even high-sanctuary wards for sensitive patients. No outsider could approach unnoticed. Strategically, it is unmatched.”

 

Shikamaru stretched, feigning disinterest, though his eyes swept the ridge line. “Strategically,” he repeated, his tone lazy. But Ino could feel his thoughts turning, calculating: ridges like this were perfect for concealment, yes—but also for sealing grounds. Ancient cultures always sought vantage points. If the relic was tied to both the earth and the sky, this ridge could very well mark part of its design.

 

The tour wound downward again, deeper into shadowed groves where thick-rooted trees pressed close. The air here was different—still, heavy, almost waiting.

 

“And here,” the escort said, gesturing proudly, “we have perhaps our greatest treasure. The Heartwood Groves. The trees grow fast and straight, their bark resistant to rot. A sustainable source of building material for all expansions. Entire wards could be constructed from resources on the island alone. Imagine—self-sufficient, prosperous.”

 

Ino paused, her breath caught for just a second. The chakra here was thicker, coiling around the roots of the forest itself. Old. Deep. It was no ordinary grove—it was a locus. She touched the nearest trunk lightly, her expression unreadable, though the faintest tension ran through her shoulders. This is no heartwood grove. This is a threshold.

 

“Impressive,” she said aloud, her voice cool but polite, masking her realization beneath diplomacy.

 

The escorts grinned, mistaking her words for genuine approval.

 

The trio exchanged no further words, but the truth was clear between them: every “opportunity” presented—springs, flora, ridges, groves—was a fragment of a puzzle. The relic was not hidden in one place. It was woven into the very landscape, its echoes scattered like seeds.

 

And as the escorts continued their polished performance, none of them realized that the three shinobi were not simply evaluating investments. They were mapping a hunt.

 

After a few hours winding through ridges, groves, and mineral-rich springs, the group finally emerged into a wide, sunlit clearing near the center of the island. A small, organized camp had been set up where several tents arranged neatly around a central path, smoke curling lazily from a cooking fire, and a handful of Mist shinobi moving along the perimeter. 

 

The lead escort gestured toward a larger, more fortified tent at the far end of the clearing. “Here we are,” he announced, bowing slightly. “Sir Daigo Kurobane has arrived a short time ago. From this point, we will leave further discussion in his hands."

 

Shikamaru’s eyes swept over the perimeter, noting the spacing of the Mist shinobi. “Finally,” he muttered, “someone whose presence actually matters.”

 

Ino’s gaze lingered on the guards for a moment longer, cataloging their positions, movements, and alertness. “Even civilian authority,” she murmured softly, “can conceal more than it shows.”

 

The escorts led the trio along the cleared path, the soft crunch of earth underfoot mingling with the distant cries of gulls from the coastline. The larger tent loomed ahead, its flaps lifted to reveal a modest interior: a low table at the center with refreshments laid out neatly, functional chairs, and some files. Around the edges, Mist shinobi maintained their vigilance, scanning the surroundings while remaining unobtrusive.

 

Seated at the table was Daigo Kurobane himself. His posture was relaxed yet deliberate, the kind of presence that commanded attention without force. He was a civilian, yes, but the way he carried himself suggested a man accustomed to authority and diplomacy. Beside him stood another man, who seemed to be his secretary.

 

Daigo rose slightly, offering a courteous, composed smile. “Welcome to Fuyunomi,” he said evenly. “I trust your journey across the bay was comfortable. Please, make yourselves at home. I understand the escorts have provided an overview of the island’s opportunities. I will now present more specific details regarding policies, oversight, and long-term plans.”

 

The escorts bowed politely before stepping back, leaving the trio standing in the tent for a brief moment. Ino’s eyes swept the space, eyeing the layout, the position of the councillor, and the subtle signals in their posture and placement. Shikamaru’s lazy demeanor masked a careful survey of angles and spacing, while Sai lingered slightly apart, sketchbook in hand, quietly noting minor details others might overlook.

 

Daigo gestured toward the seats at the table. “We’ve prepared this space for comfortable discussion,” he continued. “Fuyunomi may be under my name, but is is a unique asset for the Land of Waves, and I am eager to ensure that any collaboration—particularly regarding Konoha’s medical interests—aligns with both the island’s potential and our governance standards.”

 

The secretary spoke directly, summarizing administrative oversight and reporting structures. “All surveys, maps, and resource assessments have been prepared should you wish to review them. Sir Kurobane will address governance, strategic direction, and any queries regarding the island’s infrastructure and regulations.”

 

Ino inclined her head subtly, her expression calm and composed. “We appreciate your time, Councillor Kurobane,” she said, her voice steady. “Our goal is to understand the full scope of Fuyunomi and the ways its potential can be responsibly realized under your guidance.”

 

Daigo’s gaze held theirs evenly, calm but assertive. “Excellent. Then let us proceed. There is much to cover, and I welcome your perspectives on the island’s potential, both from the standpoint of medical development and broader strategic considerations for the Land of Waves.”

 

Daigo settled into his chair, gesturing for the trio to take theirs around the low table. Maps were unrolled and documents laid out—carefully annotated schematics of Fuyunomi, highlighting potential building zones, water sources, and resource-rich areas.

 

“First,” Daigo began, his tone measured and professional, “let me outline the island’s designated zones. The southern cove and adjacent plains are best suited for medical and convalescent facilities. Natural springs are plentiful, the soil is fertile, and local flora can supplement herbal treatments. Konoha’s medical division could establish primary treatment wards, research laboratories, and patient recovery halls with minimal disruption to the land.”

 

He tapped a section of the map, pointing out gently rolling clearings and shaded groves. “These areas are already mapped for controlled cultivation. We aim to blend construction with sustainability, so that any new developments remain in harmony with the environment.”

 

Ino’s gaze lingered on the northern ridge while listening, her mind already threading through the chakra she’d felt along the tour. Southern cove for healing, northern ridge for oversight… Heartwood groves… the springs… She closed her eyes subtly, sending a silent, telepathic ping to Shikamaru and Sai.

 

"Do you feel it?" She projected. "The land… it hums."

 

Shikamaru’s response came almost immediately in her mind, calm but attentive. "Yes. It’s subtle, but constant. Like an energy field layered under everything."

 

Sai’s voice joined them. "The flora, the water, even the rock formations… all of it resonates. Whoever—or whatever—established this island designed it to sustain life at a high level. The relic theory checks out."

 

Ino’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, masking the satisfaction behind her polite attention to Daigo’s speech. "It’s everywhere," she confirmed. "It’s the source of the vitality we’ve witnessed. The springs, the groves… even the soil itself."

 

Daigo continued, moving on to infrastructure. “To the west, you’ll notice the elevated ridges. Ideal for watch stations or research facilities requiring both seclusion and oversight. These locations also provide natural protection from potential storms or external threats. Paths and trails have been laid to minimize ecological impact while providing access.”

 

He shifted to another section of the map. “The interior forest contains groves of highly resilient trees. Heartwood, as we call it, is abundant. We intend to utilize it as construction material for sustainable structures. Even in areas untouched by development, the trees themselves are indicators of the land’s health and stability.”

 

Ino’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, hidden under her folded hands. She transmitted a thought to Shikamaru and Sai again, mental clarity sharpening. "The relic is not hidden. It is woven through the land. The entire ecosystem is powered by it—healing the soil, energizing the water, maintaining the groves."

 

Shikamaru’s mental reply was analytical, as always. "So our earlier notes on ruins, water caverns, and ridge placements are not just interesting—they’re likely key nodes in the energy distribution. If we disrupt or seal these improperly, it could destabilize the flow."

 

Sai’s tone added another layer. "Which means we need to map carefully. Every spring, every grove, every subtle break in the forest could mark the relic’s conduits or anchors."

 

Daigo, unaware of the trio’s private telepathy, leaned back slightly. “Finally, for long-term governance, the island will remain under direct council oversight, with annual evaluations and reports. Any foreign collaboration, especially with Konoha’s medical teams, will follow strict protocols to ensure the preservation of Fuyunomi’s natural resources and ecological balance.”

 

The tent fell into a brief silence as Daigo’s words settled over the group. The maps, the zones, the springs, the Heartwood groves—all of it pointed to a reality the trio had already begun to understand. The relic was not a single artifact waiting to be plucked from a hidden chamber. It was woven into the land itself.

 

Ino’s mind worked rapidly, linking their earlier reconnaissance to the new information. She leaned slightly forward, her voice smooth, calm, but carrying an unmistakable weight.

 

“Councillor Kurobane,” she began, “given the strategic importance of the island, as well as its unique energy, we would like to propose an alternative approach. Rather than only collaborating on development, we are prepared to purchase the entire island outright. This would allow Konoha’s Medical Division to fully manage, develop, and, if necessary, safeguard the land for both ecological and medical purposes.”

 

Daigo’s brow creased slightly, but his calm composure did not falter. “I see,” he replied evenly. “I appreciate your offer, Lady Yamanaka, but Fuyunomi is not merely a private asset—it is a vital resource for the Land of Waves. Its natural vitality, strategic placement, and the existing infrastructure are under my council’s oversight precisely because we intend to preserve and manage it for the public benefit. I cannot authorize an outright sale. Collaboration is acceptable, but full transfer of ownership is out of the question.”

 

Ino’s expression did not change, though her mind quickly pivoted. The relic’s presence meant they would need flexibility—freedom to map, to survey, and, if necessary, seal or relocate parts of it. Shared ownership could complicate every step. She glanced at Shikamaru, who had been quiet until now, observing the interplay of words and maps with his usual lazily sharp attention.

 

"This could prove… troublesome," Shikamaru muttered in his mind. She inclined her head slightly, prompting him to continue.

 

"If we only have shared management," he said thoughtfully, “we won’t be able to move freely across the island. Every time we try to examine or, God forbid, secure a site of interest, we’ll have to coordinate with the council. Permissions, approvals… it’ll slow everything down and considering what we’re dealing with, any delay could be risky.”

 

Ino’s gaze sharpened subtly, her tone smooth but edged with determination. “Councillor Kurobane, I must stress that the Senju clan has a vested interest in Fuyunomi—not merely as a medical site, but as a strategic, ecological, and energy-sensitive location. The Senju would prefer, for clarity and security, to acquire the island outright. It is not simply a matter of collaboration—it is a matter of ensuring its long-term stewardship.”

 

Daigo’s hands folded neatly over the table. He regarded her carefully, weighing her words. “Lady Yamanaka, I understand the weight the Senju name carries, but outright sale of Fuyunomi is not something I can authorize. Shared management is the only fair arrangement. Moreover,” he added, a hint of pragmatic caution entering his voice, “the price for such an asset is substantial. Even the Senju would find it difficult to procure the necessary funds immediately.”

 

Ino’s expression remained composed, though a faint glimmer of resolve flickered in her eyes. “Councillor,” she said, leaning forward slightly, “do not concern yourself with funding. That will not be an issue. The Sakura Senju herself is prepared to make full payment directly. The money required is of no obstacle to us.”

 

Daigo blinked once, a subtle sign of surprise, though he quickly masked it with his usual composed expression. “The… Senju heiress,” he repeated carefully, as if weighing the implications.

 

Daigo’s composure tightened, the faint flicker of surprise replaced by a careful, unreadable mask. “Lady Yamanaka,” he said slowly, his voice measured but carrying the slightest edge, “while I appreciate your confidence in the Senju, the island’s status is not a matter of funds alone. Fuyunomi is a public asset. Collaboration ensures both governance and protection.”

 

Ino’s calm smile didn’t waver, though the subtle intensity in her eyes made the air between them taut. She leaned slightly closer, voice low but deliberate. “Councillor, I would remind you that true stewardship also requires transparency. Our reconnaissance of the island—and your prior dealings—suggests that your management may not have always adhered to… ethical standards.”

 

Daigo’s brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise controlled features. “I’m not sure I follow, Lady Yamanaka.”

 

Ino let her words settle, measured but sharp. “We are aware of the contracts with certain mercenary groups… the shipments that have circumvented council oversight… the individuals trafficked under the guise of labor for your projects. It’s clear you’ve used Fuyunomi’s isolation to your advantage, Councillor. The records, the movements, the arrangements—they leave traces.”

 

The secretary stiffened beside Daigo, eyes widening slightly. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

 

Daigo’s face tightened, jaw clenching as his eyes darkened with a mix of disbelief and fury. “You… dare threaten me, Lady Yamanaka?” His voice dropped, controlled but cold, like ice pressed against steel. “Do you realize what you are implying?”

 

Ino’s smile remained polite, but her tone cut sharper than any blade. “Not implying, Councillor. Presenting. You may have influence, wealth, and a name, but the Senju clan sees the facts. Fuyunomi’s potential cannot be jeopardized by misconduct. Either we find an arrangement where the island’s care is guaranteed… or the consequences for your choices will follow.”

 

The tension in the tent surged, the Mist shinobi outside stiffening slightly at the change in tone, though they remained silent. The secretary’s face drained of color, glancing at Daigo with a silent, pleading expression.

 

Daigo’s hands slammed briefly against the table, rattling the low map charts. His voice rose, sharp and controlled fury now breaking through his earlier composure. “You have no right to challenge me in such a manner! This is my property, my decision! I will not—will not—be coerced by threats or insinuations!”

 

Ino leaned back just enough to let the weight of her presence register. Calm, unwavering. “Then perhaps the matter will need to be settled through the proper channels, Councillor. But know this—we are not bluffing. Konoha’s Medical Division, the Senju, and our allies are capable of obtaining Fuyunomi with or without your cooperation.”

 

The room fell silent, the low hum of the island outside contrasting with the stormy tension inside the tent. Daigo’s expression was unreadable now, rage barely restrained, while the secretary shifted uneasily.

 

Shikamaru’s mind drifted to Ino. "Well… that escalated quickly. We just made a powerful enemy, but now we see exactly where his leverage ends."

 

Sai, quiet as ever, tilted his head slightly, fingers tracing abstract lines across his sketchbook, mentally noting the subtle change in Daigo’s posture, the tightening of his shoulders—the markers of a man whose authority had just been threatened.

 

Ino allowed a moment, her eyes steady, her thoughts quietly connecting with Shikamaru and Sai. "We have leverage. He knows we know."

 

Daigo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This… will not be forgotten, Lady Yamanaka,” he muttered, almost under his breath, though the weight in his tone carried beyond the words.

 

The air in the tent thickened, charged with tension. Daigo’s eyes narrowed, the fury simmering in his jaw settling into a colder, sharper calculation. He folded his hands deliberately on the table, exhaling slowly. “Very well,” he said, his tone measured, “you leave me little choice. The island… Fuyunomi… may be transferred entirely to the Senju. Full ownership, under your stewardship, can be arranged.”

 

Ino’s lips curved into the faintest, controlled smile, her posture still perfectly composed despite the storm of thoughts racing through her mind. “So the matter is settled?” She asked lightly, her voice smooth, though her gaze remained sharp. 

 

She threw a quick glance at Shikamaru, already noting the subtleties in Daigo’s expression, and then at Sai, whose pencil traced idle lines over his sketchbook but whose eyes remained alert.

 

Daigo’s gaze flicked up, a faint, calculating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not so fast,” he said, leaning slightly forward, his voice low and deliberate. “Before any transfer is final, I must meet the Senju heiress in person. Direct confirmation. Assurance that she consents… that is necessary.”

 

Ino tilted her head, her expression cool but questioning. “The Senju heiress is occupied with pressing matters in Konoha. I am here as her representative—why is her personal presence required for a matter of land ownership?”

 

Daigo’s eyes darkened with sharp precision, his voice dropping to a near whisper that carried an unsettling weight. “Because I know what Fuyunomi means to you. How far you and your people are willing to go to secure it. One does not threaten someone in my position without serious resolve. I could grant the island freely, overlook previous… indiscretions, even forgive the threats directed at me—but there is one condition.”

 

Ino’s brow knit slightly, the faintest edge of impatience threading through her calm. “And that is?”

 

Daigo’s smirk deepened, almost imperceptibly, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. “The Senju Clan, with their heiress, must consent to a betrothal with my son. That is my assurance—a bond to cement trust between our houses.”

 

 

 

Chapter 26

 

The tent fell silent, the weight of the proposition pressing down like the still air before a storm. Ino’s hands flexed once under the table, her fingers curling tightly, the anger clawing at her composure. Her chest rose with measured breaths, but beneath the surface, her Mokuton stirred, subtle tendrils of chakra brushing at the edges of her control, craving release.

 

Her eyes narrowed, burning with restrained fury. Every nerve in her body screamed to tear into Daigo, to make him regret the words he had just spoken. Suddenly, she didn’t care about the relic, the island, or the negotiations—they were trivial compared to the audacity of his demand. All she wanted was to obliterate him, to make him pay for daring to speak of binding her girlfriend, Sakura, to his son as if she were a commodity.

 

A low hum of energy began to ripple around her, barely perceptible but enough that the air in the tent thickened, causing Daigo and even his secretary to shift slightly, tension coiling in their muscles like a drawn bow. The faint whisper of Mokuton seemed to whisper beneath the floorboards, echoing the silent threat that hung in the room.

 

Shikamaru, reading the sudden shift, rose slowly, his hand coming to rest firmly on Ino’s shoulder. “Ino,” he said softly but firmly, his voice grounding her. 

 

Ino froze, her eyes widening slightly as the realization hit her. She had been unconsciously letting out a suffocating aura of chakra, her Mokuton pressing at the edges of the tent, every tendril lashing for release. The very air around Daigo and the secretary felt tense, taut with unspoken threat, as if the trees themselves were bracing for a storm that might erupt.

 

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to reel in the tide of emotion, her fingers unclenching slowly, the invisible pulse of chakra receding under her will. Her shoulders stiffened, posture regaining composure, her lips tightening into a thin line of controlled restraint. Shikamaru gave her a subtle nod, reassuring her that the immediate danger of losing control had passed—but the tension in the room remained, thick, almost oppressive, a reminder of how close the situation had come to spiraling.

 

Daigo’s eyes flicked to her hands, where roots seemingly grew out of, then to her face, suspicion and unease mingling with the faint trace of controlled fury he could sense but could not fully gauge. 

 

Daigo’s gaze sharpened, the faint trace of unease lingering in his eyes. He leaned back slightly, his tone measured but tinged with a begrudging acknowledgment. “I see now,” he said slowly, almost as if tasting the weight of the words before committing them to speech. “You are… not merely a representative of the Senju. You are the Mokuton Prodigy, the war hero whose prowess is spoken of even beyond the Land of Fire. The woman whose skill, they say, rivals even that of the God of Shinobi himself… the second coming of Madara, as the stories whisper, the woman who split open an entire ocean and flattened a whole nation.”

 

His voice carried a mixture of caution, respect, and the faintest edge of fear, acknowledging the silent threat Ino had radiated. 

 

Ino’s eyes hardened, her voice steady despite the tight coil of anger threatening to snap. “I will not accept that condition, Kurobane,” she said, forcing her tone to calm down. “Haruno Sakura, regardless of her status as a Senju heiress, will not marry anybody else—especially not your son."

 

Daigo leaned back slightly, a frown darkening his otherwise composed features. His hands folded over one another on the table as he regarded her coolly. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice measured but tinged with genuine curiosity. “You are, after all, only the representative of the Senju heiress. Why do you insist on inserting yourself into a matter that is not yours to decide? Surely your role is to negotiate the island, not dictate personal choices of a Senju of Konoha.”

 

Ino gritted her teeth, a subtle flare of Mokuton brushing at the edges of her control beneath the table, yet she kept her composure. Her voice was low, firm, and edged with possessiveness. “Because she is not just a Senju heiress. Haruno Sakura is my fiancé, and I will not allow anyone—especially you—to treat her as a bargaining chip."

 

Shikamaru blinked, caught off guard. Sai, on the other hand, lowered his pencil, pausing mid-sketch. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, the faintest restraint of a smirk he didn’t allow to form fully, as he noted the possessive intensity radiating from Ino.

 

Daigo’s eyes narrowed, the faintest shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips, though it did little to mask the calculating gleam in his gaze. 

 

“Fiancée…” he repeated, letting the word linger in the air, as if testing its weight against his own sense of leverage. “It matters little what your… personal attachments may be, Lady Yamanaka.” 

 

His voice was cool, deliberate, carrying the faintest edge of authority that spoke of experience in bending people to his will. “I will speak directly to the Senju heiress myself. Her decision, her consent, will determine the outcome. Surely, a clan of her standing, her influence, and her strategic position would recognize the value—both political and economic—of a union with my son. You may call her your fiancée, but matters of bloodlines and alliances… are not swayed by emotion alone.”

 

Shikamaru’s hand pressed a little firmer on Ino’s shoulder, grounding her just as the pulse of Mokuton threatened to spike again. He rose slowly from his seat, letting his presence fill the space between the two forces.

 

“Lady Yamanaka,” he said evenly, tone formal, reminding her to be professional. “We’ll handle this through proper channels. There’s no need to escalate further right now. We’ll contact Sakura ourselves and settle the matter directly with her. That will be sufficient for confirmation.”

 

Ino exhaled slowly, letting her Mokuton recede fully under her control, though her hands remained slightly clenched under the table. Her jaw relaxed just a fraction, and she gave Shikamaru a small, grateful nod.

 

Daigo regarded him for a long moment, the faintest edge of impatience flickering in his eyes. Then, after a deliberate pause, he straightened, standing from his chair with the ease of a man who had made countless calculations in his life. “Very well,” he said, voice calm but carrying that underlying, measured authority. “If you insist on handling it personally… I will wait for the Senju heiress’s confirmation. Fuyunomi’s transfer will remain on hold until then. For the meantime, we will work through with the collaboration."

 

His secretary rose as well, bowing slightly, as he followed his employer out.

 

The silence that remained was thick, almost tangible. Only Ino, Shikamaru, and Sai remained inside, the residual tension settling like dust in the air. Ino ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly, finally letting herself relax slightly, though the possessive fire for Sakura still burned quietly beneath her calm exterior.

 

Shikamaru sank back into his seat, letting out a low, weary sigh. “Well… that could’ve gone worse,” he muttered.

 

Sai merely tilted his head, eyes following the shadows left by Daigo’s departure, fingers idly sketching absent lines in the air.

 

Ino clenched her fists beneath the table, the motion subtle but tense enough to make the muscles in her forearms tighten. Her eyes, still fixed on the fading shadows of Daigo and his secretary, burned with quiet fury.

 

“The bastard had the audacity to imply that we were unified through clan politics?” she muttered under her breath, her voice low but sharp, laced with contempt. “As if Sakura and I… as if we are some bargaining chip to be traded for alliances or wealth. He doesn’t even know what real loyalty is.”

 

Shikamaru, watching her closely, exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ino… I know how it feels. But you’ve got to keep it together. Let him wait. Let Sakura decide. That’s all that matters right now.”

 

Ino’s eyes flashed, the tension in her posture tightening further. She leaned forward slightly, voice low and sharp, brimming with barely restrained anger. “Sakura decide? Are you seriously suggesting she should even consider marrying that bastard’s son?!”

 

Shikamaru’s hand stayed lightly on her shoulder, his tone calm but firm. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean she gets the final word about our next course of action here while we figure out a way around this. That's the only way to make sure he doesn’t have leverage over us.”

 

Ino’s chest rose with a harsh breath, jaw clenching as her eyes darted to the shadows where Daigo had stood moments before. “There is no way I’m letting him even attempt it. Sakura isn’t some pawn. She’s—she’s mine, and if he thinks he can use the island to force her…” Her voice dropped to a low growl, almost a whisper of threat.

 

Sai, ever quiet, tilted his head, noticing the possessive intensity radiating from her. The faintest tension in the air lingered like a storm waiting to break. “He underestimated you,” he said softly. 

 

Ino let out a slow, controlled breath, forcing herself to reel in the surge of Mokuton that had threatened to lash out. “He’ll regret the day he thought he could even suggest such a thing,” she muttered, voice tight with promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

Shikamaru simply nodded, recognizing how much she was trying to restrain herself from just burying Kurobane six feet under. 

 

 

---

 

 

The sun dipped low, staining the horizon in hues of amber and crimson, the sea breeze carrying a cooler bite as dusk settled over Fuyunomi. Lanterns along the settlement flickered to life, their glow casting long shadows that swayed with the canvas walls of the camp. A guide escorted them across the cleared grounds, away from the central camp and toward the guest quarters prepared for the Leaf delegation.

 

Their path was silent, save for the crunch of gravel beneath their sandals and the occasional muted rustle of waves. Ino walked with her hands folded behind her back, her posture deceptively relaxed, though the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed the storm still simmering inside her. Shikamaru kept his hands in his pockets, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings, already cataloguing exit points and weak spots in the encampment. Sai followed in his usual silence, sketchbook tucked away for once, his gaze lingering briefly on the silhouettes of the distant cliffs before settling back on their guide.

 

When they reached their assigned tent, the guide gestured politely. “This will be your quarters for the duration of your stay. Please call if you require anything further.” With a bow, he left them.

 

Ino pulled back the flap first, stepping into the space with a cautious eye. It was larger than she expected—spacious enough for three. Futons had already been neatly laid out along one side, with a low table positioned in the middle and cushions scattered neatly around it. There were also food and beverages on the other table across the tent. 

 

“We’re staying together,” Shikamaru said matter-of-factly as he stepped in after her, glancing around to take stock. “No sense in splitting up when we don’t know what Daigo’s planning next.”

 

Ino hummed in agreement, tugging her cloak loose and folding it by her futon. “Good. If they thought they could separate us, they’re mistaken.” Her tone carried a faint edge, still heavy from earlier, though she kept her movements controlled.

 

Sai entered last, closing the flap behind him before he set his pack down neatly in the corner. “Efficient,” he remarked simply, as if approving the choice of the tent size itself. Then, without further word, he lowered himself onto a cushion beside the table, already producing his pencil again.

 

Shikamaru sat cross-legged across from him, reaching for the small teapot and cups left for them. He poured silently, passing one toward Ino. “We’ll use this time to plan. And to keep you calm,” he added dryly, eyes flicking toward her as steam rose between them.

 

Ino rolled her eyes but accepted the cup, though her grip on it was firm, her knuckles pale. “Calm,” she repeated with a sharp exhale. “He’s lucky I didn’t turn this entire island into a forest and bury him alive on the spot.”

 

Sai, without looking up from his sketchbook, added in a tone as neutral as ever, “That would have been visually striking. Though perhaps strategically inconvenient.”

 

Shikamaru sighed, already rubbing his temple. “This is going to be a long night.”

 

The tent settled into silence for a short while, the soft sound of waves faint in the distance. 

 

Sai’s hand moved in a subtle gesture, his fingers flicking once as faint ink seals shimmered briefly around the tent’s canvas walls before vanishing.

 

“No one will overhear us now,” he said quietly.

 

Shikamaru leaned back on the wood pillar behind him, the weight of the situation already pressing down on his shoulders. His brow furrowed, and he tapped two fingers against the low table in thought. “As it stands… Kurobane won’t budge. He’s dangling this island as bait, and he knows it. The only way he’ll allow us access is if Sakura marries into his family. Which is…” He dragged his palm down his face. “...messed up.”

 

Ino’s jaw tightened, her nails biting into her palm beneath the table. “That’s not even an option.”

 

Sai spoke evenly, his expression unreadable. “We do have the material we collected. His bribes, his backdoor dealings, his siphoned funds. If we reveal them, we could push him into a corner.”

 

But Shikamaru shook his head immediately. “No. Did you see him back there? He wasn’t nervous—not really. That’s not the look of a man with his back against the wall. If anything, he already accounted for that possibility. He has a contingency. And if he’s arrested, all his properties—including this island—will be seized by the Land of Waves government. Which means we’d lose access anyway.”

 

Sai’s eyes narrowed, but he gave the faintest nod. “So he’s gambling on us not pulling that trigger. Clever.”

 

Ino let out a harsh breath, sitting on the futon. Her gaze flicked between them, frustration knotting her chest. “So we’re trapped. He knows we can’t expose him, but he’s not giving us the island unless Sakura—” she cut herself short, her throat tightening around the words. “…unless Sakura’s dragged into this farce.”

 

Silence pressed in for a moment.

 

Finally, Shikamaru said, “Then we bring Sakura in. No more trying to not ger her involved, Ino. Call her."

 

Reluctantly, Ino reached into her pouch and pulled out a compact, ink-silver device etched with communication seals. She pressed her palm over it, chakra flowing into the channels until the air above shimmered and curved into the shape of a glowing screen. Lines of static flickered once, twice—then steadied, forming Sakura’s face in pale holographic light.

 

Her green eyes widened slightly as she leaned closer to the image. “Ino? Shikamaru? Sai? What’s going on? Why are you contacting me now?”

 

Sakura’s face flickered faintly in the light of the seal, her green eyes sharp and searching. The sound of distant clattering metal and muffled voices suggested she had been in the hospital wing of Konoha moments before answering, her white coat still hanging loosely over her shoulders.

 

“Ino?” She pressed again, brows furrowed now. “What happened? You wouldn’t call me mid-mission unless it was important.”

 

Shikamaru exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping as if preparing himself to carry the weight of the conversation. “We met with Kurobane Daigo today. The negotiations… took a turn.”

 

Sakura’s gaze shifted immediately to him, then flicked to Sai, finally settling back on Ino, whose expression was tight, almost trembling beneath the effort of restraint. “A turn how?”

 

Ino’s throat worked before she could force the words out, her fingers curling at her sides. “He’s refusing to sell the island outright. He says he’ll only hand over Fuyunomi… if you marry his son.”

 

For a moment, the holographic feed glitched faintly, static hissing across Sakura’s image as she blinked in stunned silence. Then her lips parted, slow, incredulous. “...Excuse me?”

 

Sai, blunt as ever, added without hesitation, “He treats you as a political bargaining chip. His condition is absolute. Unless you accept, the property transfer won’t happen, we'll be stuck at collaboration between two political families and we won't have much freedom with the relic.”

 

Shikamaru cut in, his voice calm but firm. “We’re not agreeing to it. Don’t misunderstand—none of us are entertaining this demand. But you needed to know, Sakura. He’s made his move, and it changes how we proceed.”

 

Sakura leaned back slightly, her expression hardening, though a faint muscle twitched in her jaw. She pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand, muttering under her breath, “Unbelievable…” before lifting her gaze again. “And what did you three do?”

 

Shikamaru glanced toward Ino.

 

Ino’s eyes snapped shut for a second, her words spilling out rougher than she intended. “I told him you’re my fia—mine. That I’d never let anyone—especially that bastard—decide your future for you.” Her voice quivered with anger, but beneath it was a raw possessiveness, burning.

 

Sakura’s expression softened despite herself, the faintest pink brushing her cheeks. She sighed through her nose, shaking her head. “Ino-pig… even in the middle of negotiations you’re this stubborn.”

 

Ino huffed, crossing her arms, though her ears warmed at the sound of Sakura’s voice. “Damn right I am.”

 

Sai observed the exchange with a flicker of quiet amusement before refocusing. “We considered using the blackmail materials we’ve gathered, but Shikamaru believes Kurobane already accounted for that possibility. His confidence suggests he has contingencies.”

 

“Exactly,” Shikamaru added, rubbing the back of his neck. “If we move to expose him, the Land of Waves seizes everything—including the island. We lose access permanently. He’s daring us to try it.”

 

Sakura fell silent, absorbing every detail, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Her presence—even through a hologram—seemed to fill the tent. “So… he’s confident enough to think I’d agree, or desperate enough to make such a reckless demand. Either way, he’s underestimating us.”

 

Ino leaned forward toward the projection, her eyes fierce. “Sakura. Just say the word and I’ll tear his whole damn island down tonight. No more relic threat. No more negotiations."

 

Sakura blinked at her, lips curving faintly though her voice stayed steady. “As tempting as that sounds… we can’t lose sight of the objective, which is to find out more about this relic."

 

Shikamaru nodded slowly. “Then the question is… do we keep playing along until we find another opening? Or do we cut the line before he drags this further?”

 

Sakura crossed her arms. “We find another way. Because I’m not marrying anyone for politics. That much is final.”

 

At those words, Ino’s clenched fists finally eased, a quiet rush of relief flooding her chest, not that she would ever doubt Dakura marrying anybody but her—though her eyes still burned with the promise of retribution.

 

Sakura’s hologram straightened, the glow of the seals catching the sharp lines of her face. Her voice cut cleanly through the tent. “I have an idea. We don’t need to wait for Daigo to dictate the terms. We push back. Politically.”

 

Shikamaru blinked, caught off guard by the sudden firmness in her tone. “Politically? How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

 

Sakura shrugged casually. “I’ll use some family connections. Pressure him until he gives up the island without conditions. Somebody I know owes me enough for that."

 

Ino frowned, tilting her head. “Family connections? Sakura, when did the Land of Waves ever owe you anything?”

 

Before Sakura could answer, Sai paused mid-sketch, blinking once as if a thought had clicked into place. He looked up. “Was it during the war? When Team Yamato were dispatched to Waves? The mission where you saved the Waves Daimyō’s mother?”

 

Shikamaru’s brow furrowed, his interest piqued. “...The Daimyō’s mother?”

 

Sai nodded slightly, his voice steady, filling in the gaps. “The woman they thought was incurably ill. But Sakura developed the treatment herself after being annoyed at those doctors for underestimating her and pulled the woman back from the brink. At the time, Waves wasn’t stable—still shaking off Gato’s old corruption and Goda Yuri… he wasn’t the Daimyō yet. Just a low-ranking civil servant.”

 

Sakura’s expression softened with the memory. She gave a short nod. “Exactly. Yuri only became Daimyō about a year ago. But his mother is still alive and well because of me. He never forgot that, and considering I'm the Fire Daimyō’s niece, my uncle’s been pestering me about how his friend, Yuri keeps asking to repay me for saving his family.”

 

Ino stared, slack-jawed for a moment, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Wait—so all this time, you’ve had a Daimyō who literally owes you his mother’s life, and you didn’t think that might come in handy?”

 

Sakura shrugged, lips twitching. “It never came up. Until now.”

 

Shikamaru dragged his palm slowly down his face, muttering under his breath, “Troublesome…” before letting out a resigned sigh. “But it’s smart. If Yuri applies political pressure, Daigo won’t have much room to maneuver. He can’t stand against the Daimyō of his own land—not without risking everything.”

 

Sai tilted his head thoughtfully. “And if Daigo resists, we can still use the blackmail material as leverage. His position will collapse from both sides.”

 

Ino’s eyes flicked between them before settling back on Sakura’s image, still skeptical but undeniably relieved that Sakura was steering the fight. “So your plan is to call in a favor from the Daimyō himself… and make him force Kurobane’s hand?”

 

Sakura’s gaze sharpened, her voice unwavering. “Exactly. He owes me. And this time, I’m collecting.”

 

The tent fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her declaration settling over them.

 

For the first time that day, Shikamaru leaned back, a faint, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Heh. Guess Daigo really did underestimate us.”

 

Ino, still bristling but calmer, allowed herself a small smirk as well. “Good. Because I was two seconds away from breaking every bone in his smug body.”

 

Sakura’s hologram flickered faintly, but her voice came clear, filled with resolve. “Then leave the politics to me. You three focus on staying close to Daigo and the island. The relic is still our mission. I’ll make sure his conditions won’t stand in our way.”

 

A muffled voice came from somewhere off-screen, and Sakura turned her head, the faint flicker of urgency crossing her features. She sighed quietly before looking back at them, the firmness in her eyes giving way to something softer.

 

“They’re calling me for a surgery,” she said, her tone gentler now, as if deliberately softening the edges of the earlier tension. “I’ll reach out to Yuri as soon as I’m done. Don’t let Daigo bait you into anything rash.”

 

Her gaze lingered on Ino, the holographic glow softening into warmth. “And you—be careful. I love you.”

 

Ino’s throat tightened, but she managed a small, steady smile. “I love you too. Don’t overwork yourself, forehead.”

 

Sakura’s lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but the look in her eyes was tender. Then the screen dimmed, her form dissolving into fading light until only the faint hum of the communication seal remained.

 

For a long moment, the tent was quiet, the earlier weight of politics and tension replaced with something more personal, fragile.

 

Shikamaru exhaled, leaning back with a low, almost amused sigh. “You know,” he said, voice wry, “I really sometimes forget that your girlfriend isn’t just a top-tier medic or the Sage. She’s basically a political force of her own.”

 

Sai tapped the edge of his sketchbook thoughtfully, eyes still following the last traces of Sakura’s hologram. “Mm. She knows exactly how to use her position and connections. To be honest, it’s almost like she’s already leading a clan.” His gaze shifted to Ino, lips twitching faintly. “Which is funny, because it looks more like you’ll be the one marrying into the Senju rather than her into the Yamanaka.”

 

Ino blinked, caught off guard. “H-Huh?”

 

Shikamaru chuckled under his breath, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “He’s got a point. With her status, power, and backing… it’d make more sense.”

 

Sai, however, sketched a quick doodle of a chibi Ino with a “Senju” tag tied around her arm, the corner of his lips twitching with amusement.

 

Ino caught sight of it and groaned. “You’re both insufferable.”

 

But the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

 

Heat rushed to Ino’s cheeks despite herself, and she scowled lightly, crossing her arms. “Don’t make it sound like I’m some accessory tagging along behind her, damn it. I lead a politically influential clan too, you know. The Yamanaka aren’t some nobody family. We’ve held Konoha together for generations.”

 

Her chin lifted slightly, pride mixing with the blush still coloring her cheeks. “If we’re talking about names… then I’d want her to take mine. Not because hers doesn’t matter—Sakura’s a Senju, and that’s something I’d never try to take from her. But the Yamanaka have always stood at the core of Konoha, binding minds and guarding its people. If she became part of my clan, it wouldn’t erase who she is—it would mean she’s the center of both legacies. Ours, together.”

 

Shikamaru arched a brow, smirking faintly. “Huh. That’s a bold statement."

 

Sai, who had been scratching pencil over paper, rotated his sketchbook around for them to see. A neat little chibi Sakura stood there with her hands on her hips, a tiny but proud Yamanaka clan crest emblazoned on the back of her robe. A faint flush had been added to her cheeks, her lips curved in a smug little smile.

 

Ino’s face went even redder. “Sai! Seriously?!”

 

Sai blinked, expression calm, unbothered. “I’m visualizing your claim. She looks natural with the crest. Very fitting. Perhaps too fitting.”

 

Shikamaru snorted, covering his mouth with the back of his hand to stifle a laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

 

Ino buried her face in her hands for a moment, muffling a groan. “You two are impossible.”

 

But even as she tried to glare at them, her heart thudded a little faster, the thought of Sakura carrying her clan’s name sinking in deeper than she expected.

 

Ino’s words hung in the air, the kind of claim that dared anyone to argue. But before Shikamaru or Sai could comment, she exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through her hair, grounding herself.

 

“Enough,” she muttered, eyes narrowing as she folded her arms. “This isn’t about names. Not right now.”

 

Sai gave a faint nod, glancing at the seals he had drawn along the canvas. “The sound-blocking array is holding up just fine."

 

“Good,” Shikamaru said, pulling them back to the issue at hand. “Then let’s focus on recap. If we push Kurobane too hard on selling the island, he’ll dig in deeper into our objective. He knows we can’t access it without him, and the moment he’s removed, everything gets tied up with the government. He’s betting on that.”

 

“Which makes the blackmail weaker,” Sai reminded flatly. “If exposure doesn’t scare him, then he’s already prepared for the fallout.”

 

Ino clicked her tongue. “Bastard’s too smug for his own good.”

 

“Which is why we play along,” Shikamaru continued. His tone was calm, but the slight crease in his brow betrayed his irritation. “For now, we agree to the collaboration—without touching the marriage condition. That buys us time. Sakura’s preparing things politically on her end, and if she can line up enough pressure from Waves' side, we’ll have leverage that doesn’t depend on Kurobane’s terms.”

 

Sai inclined his head. “A stalemate, until Sakura moves her piece.”

 

“Exactly.” Shikamaru’s gaze flicked between them. “We let him think he’s holding the cards while we find another angle. The relic’s the priority at the moment. We will settle for the collaboration until further progress."

 

Ino let out a slow breath through her nose, her anger cooling into something sharper, more focused. “Fine. We play along. But if he so much as does something suspicious…” Her eyes hardened, glacial with intent. 

 

Neither Sai nor Shikamaru said anything more. The silence that followed was enough for them to understand.

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

The following morning, the canvas walls of the dining tent glowed with the soft light of the rising sun. Platters of vegetables, meats, fresh fruit, and steaming rice sat between the delegates, though the meal itself felt secondary to the conversation. Daigo Kurobane sat with his usual poise, a faintly smug smile playing on his lips, while his secretary hovered behind him with a slate of documents tucked against his chest.

 

Shikamaru, having taken the head of negotiations for today, spoke. “The Senju proposal is straightforward. The medical centers will be established under the Sakura Senju's name. Construction, staffing, and long-term maintenance will be handled entirely by our side. Ownership of the land, however, remains in your hands, Councillor Kurobane. The centers will function as cooperative establishments as detailed in our initial term agreement, benefiting both your people and ours, without any shift in land rights.”

 

Daigo’s chopsticks paused midair, his expression tightening just briefly before the politician’s mask returned. “So, no marriage contract,” he said, almost idly, though the weight of disappointment was clear. His secretary shifted subtly, but Shikamaru pressed on without flinching.

 

“No marriage contract,” he confirmed. “What’s on the table is a partnership as what we have originally talked. If your real concern is the growth of this island, then this agreement strengthens your hand without compromising sovereignty. You’ll still have your name on the land deeds, and the prosperity that follows will reflect back on you.”

 

Daigo sipped his tea slowly, considering, probably thinking another way, before gesturing slightly with the cup. “And you expect me to believe that you won’t try to dig roots deeper into our soil over time? Medical centers can become leverage. Influence spreads.”

 

It was Ino who leaned forward then, her tone sharp but controlled. “That influence would be healing your people. Expanding facilities means easier access to medicine, supplies, and specialized shinobi healers trained under latest state-of-the-art methods pioneered by the world's greatest medic herself. We’re offering stability and progress, Councillor, something, surely—that would have an impact on your name politically. You’d be a fool to pretend that’s not useful.”

 

Daigo’s eyes flickered toward her, studying her intensity, but it was Shikamaru who smoothly pulled the conversation back. “Let’s address logistics. The island's terrain, even though full of promise, is uneven—too many cliffs and swampy lowlands. Construction needs to account for that. We’ll fund and bring in contractors with experience in building on rough terrain, using chakra-enhanced methods to stabilize foundations. No costs fall to you.”

 

At this, Daigo lowered his teacup, curiosity softening the edge of his expression. “And who are these contractors?”

 

“Primarily from the Land of Fire,” Shikamaru replied. “But we’ll also employ local labor. Not just to speed up work but to make sure people from Waves feel invested. The centers will not be foreign impositions—but a collaboration between our countries."

 

Sai, who had been quietly stirring his tea, added, “Security seals and chakra barriers will also be part of the foundation, designed discreetly so they don’t draw attention. That ensures patient privacy, protection of medical supplies, and defense in case of emergencies. All of it at no expense to your council.”

 

Daigo’s secretary scribbled furiously, trying to keep up, while the Councillor himself narrowed his eyes, his expression thoughtful but edged with skepticism. “And staffing?” He pressed, voice firm. “I don’t intend for your shinobi medics to waltz in and take over. This island may be small, but it is still under the Land of Waves’ sovereignty. If your people dominate the centers, resentment will fester.”

 

"You misunderstand. This isn’t about dominance—it’s about equilibrium," Ino replied. "The Senju centers will be co-staffed. We’ll bring in a rotation of Konoha medics, but their numbers will never exceed those of your own practitioners considering we're in your country's territory. Balance will be maintained.”

 

Shikamaru picked up where she left off. “For every Konoha medic assigned here, there will be one local practitioner beside them. Equal pairs, working shoulder to shoulder. The Land of Waves contributes its talent and familiarity with the population. Our side provides the advanced techniques and systems already tested in our own hospitals. Neither side outweighs the other.”

 

Daigo’s fingers drummed lightly on the table, but he didn’t interrupt. His secretary, however, finally looked up at them, curiosity breaking through his otherwise neutral face.

 

Ino continued smoothly, “For fairness, we’ll alternate leadership roles. One month, a senior Fire medic will oversee the rotation. The next, a senior Waves physician will. Decisions will be made by consensus, and disputes settled by a mixed council of both parties. No unilateral authority.”

 

Shikamaru added, “We’ll also tie recruitment into the plan. Each training batch for new medics will be split evenly—half local citizens, half selected trainees from Fire's Medical Division. That way, within a few years, you’ll have a generation of medical staff who can operate without needing constant reinforcement from outside. It prevents dependency.”

 

At that, Daigo’s eyes flicked to Ino, studying her. His tone carried a hint of challenge, though tempered by intrigue. “And what if conflict arises? Different methods, different loyalties… these things can divide more than unite.”

 

Ino didn’t blink. “That’s why the numbers matter. No one feels replaced, and no one feels outnumbered. Harmony in headcount, harmony in influence. Both sides remain accountable because both are present in equal measure. The patients won’t see Fire medics and Waves medics. They’ll see a united staff under a shared medical emblem.”

 

Shikamaru leaned back, steepling his fingers. “It’s the only way for this to work long-term. Mutual trust built on clear, visible balance. Anything less, and we’d agree with you—it would only invite resentment.”

 

Daigo hummed, thinking. “And do you have any initial ideas on where to place these centers? As much as we are proud of this island, Fuyunomi is not endless space, gentlemen and lady. I suppose you already have an image in mind?"

 

Sai pulled a scroll from his sleeve and unfurled it across the low table. It displayed a map of the island, annotated with careful marks. “We’ve already surveyed. Here, here, and here,” he pointed to the northern ridge, the western village outskirts, and a plateau near the center. “Three initial sites. The ridge allows us to oversee coastal access. The western edge connects directly to the settlements for the medics. The plateau—while more difficult terrain—offers long-term potential for a central hub.”

 

Ino leaned closer, tapping one mark. “We’ll also establish hidden supply depots near the swamps. They’ll be discreet, camouflaged with sealing arrays, to ensure medicine is always available even in case of political… interruptions.”

 

Daigo’s gaze sharpened at that, but he said nothing.

 

Shikamaru sat back, tone light but firm. “This is an opportunity, Councillor. You keep your land, your titles, your face as the man who brought foreign investment here. We build the future and share its strength. All without the… complications of a marriage alliance.”

 

The tent went quiet for a long stretch. Daigo’s secretary bent down slightly, whispering something close to his ear, but Daigo only lifted a hand to silence him. Finally, the Councillor exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate.

 

“…Very well,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “I will not push the marriage matter...for now. But I will insist on an appointment with Sakura-sama herself. These terms are weighty. I will not finalize anything without hearing it from her mouth.”

 

Shikamaru inclined his head before Ino could speak. “That can be arranged.”

 

Daigo smiled faintly then, setting his teacup down. “Then let us see if this partnership is as fruitful as you claim.”

 

Ino wasn't happy to know he wasn't going to drop the marriage proposal, but forced her expression into one of professional composure. Beside her, Sai quietly observed the whole exchange, his dark eyes sharp, unreadable as always.

 

 

---

 

 

The afternoon sun slanted low through the tall windows of the hospital office, gilding the stacks of paperwork on Sakura’s desk in a weary light. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still air, made visible by the sun’s glow, though she had no mind to notice them. 

 

She had been at this desk since yesterday morning—ever since Ino and the delegation left before dawn—and had barely moved except to fetch more files or pour herself another cup of bitter tea gone cold before she could drink it. Her bed at home hadn’t felt her weight since then; instead, she had dozed once or twice here at her desk, head pillowed on her arm, before the scratching of her pen or the sliding of papers jarred her awake again.

 

Her office bore the mark of her long hours. Two plates of untouched food, brought in by a concerned assistant earlier, sat forgotten near the corner, their steam long vanished. Scrolls, reports, and architectural sketches covered every inch of her table from the map Sai had emailed last night after their initial survey.  

 

One large parchment, spread wide across the center, held her most recent revisions for the medical centers she was planning to establish in the Land of Waves—under her name, not merely the Senju’s, though the Senju name was a shield of influence she couldn’t afford not to wield.

 

The mission had seemed straightforward enough at the time—investigate the relic rumored to be hidden in the Land of Waves, secure it for Konoha. But their discussion last night had changed everything. It turned out that the relic wasn’t merely an artifact. It was sustaining the island itself, the life-source feeding its ecosystem. Removing it wasn’t an option.

 

So Sakura had pivoted. What was once only supposed to be a cover—a fabricated expansion of Senju's medical network—was now becoming real. She bent over the paperwork, pen moving in brisk strokes as she drafted funding allocations, construction requests, and procurement plans.

 

All the money however, every ryo, was hers. Not the Senju’s treasury, not Konoha’s coffers. Just her. She wouldn’t risk the Senju name over this—not for a scheme that had begun as a cover story. The name was useful for influence, nothing more. She may have assured Ino and the boys that she had everything covered, and while she did, taking out a huge sum of money from the inheritance she got from her late father requires a ton of paperwork and official authentications.

 

Her wrist ached as she flipped to another document, a rough proposal outlining phased construction. First, satellite centers near key areas; later, a larger research and training hub near the island’s capital. She could already see the main issue though, so she drafted a decree of how each medical center was to be staffed with a balanced mix of half from the Land of Fire, half from the Land of Waves, maintaining number quo so no one could accuse Konoha of strong-arming its way into another nation’s health system. 

 

She noted training schedules, apprenticeship programs, and oversight protocols—layers of detail she would never have written if this were still just a cover. Not that she wasn't happy to help Ino at all—she would willingly do things like this if it could make Ino's missions and objectives easier.

 

Her hand then moved steadily over the page, drafting a proposal for material procurement. She paused now and then to check her calculations, murmuring numbers under her breath. 

 

"If we begin with three centers first, construction phased in waves, then materials can be bought in bulk—cheaper than ordering for one project at a time. But I stll have to make sure the materials aren't light..." She paused, tapping her fingers, bedore containing. "Then there's the timber shipments routed through Nami no Kuni’s existing trade harbors. Stone and foundation material sourced locally, to give employment to their own laborers. Roof tiling… perhaps imported from Lightning Country to guarantee durability against coastal storms…"

 

She flipped to another stack of reports—medical assessments sent from outlying villages within the Land of Waves. Illness patterns, malnutrition statistics, childbirth complications that far exceeded Konoha’s averages. These, too, she had read through the night before, eyes burning, annotating each with her precise handwriting. She highlighted urgent trends, mostly the shortages of trained midwives, frequent outbreaks of untreated infections, the alarming number of children undernourished due to seasonal trade slumps.

 

Sakura pressed her thumb against the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Exhaustion gnawed at her temples, but she couldn’t really stop—not when she this was all becoming too real now, especially not when every number translated into lives. Also not when she had already chosen to give her name, her fortune, her whole strength to this plan. 

 

This wasn’t her first project though. She had already developed vaccines that were now used in clinics across the Fire Country, crafted medicines that made their way into supply packs for missions, and established treatment methods that younger medics were being trained to follow. She had written papers that were referenced in medical schools, procedures that had gradually shaped how entire hospitals operated. 

 

But this was different. This wasn’t a matter of formulas on a desk or trials within lab walls—it was larger, more complicated. An island’s future was tied up in her decisions, and the work went beyond medicine into politics, land, and long-term infrastructure. It wasn’t the kind of challenge she could approach through trial and error, and she knew that if she stumbled here, it wouldn’t just be her reputation at risk. This was the biggest undertaking she had set her hands on, and she had no intention of letting it slip.

 

Politics, on the other hand, were a storm in themselves, and though she held the Senju name, she had no guarantee that the Wave council—or Daigo Kurobane himself—would accept her vision without bending it to their own advantage. She wanted to buy the entire island outright without the need for collaboration between two parties, only then Ino could completely do whatever she wanted with their investigations with the relic. But Sakura found that Kurobane wasn’t going to give up the island without strings attached. The marriage proposal he’d floated was an indication of that, and she had no interest in indulging it. But she also wasn’t without leverage.

 

During her draft making last night, she had already sent a sealed request to the Fire Daimyō. She hadn’t written much—just enough to remind him that the Land of Waves still owed her a favor, one that dated back to the Fourth Shinobi War, and she needed her uncle to contact his fellow Daimyō as she did not have direct contact herself.

 

It had been during those two years, when Team Seven had been restructured under Captain Yamato, that they were assigned to the Waves. The mission itself hadn’t involved medical work, but while they were there, Yuri’s mother had collapsed from a neurological illness the local doctors had deemed incurable. Sakura had been the only one who could intervene. She’d stabilized her on-site, then used a combination of advanced chakra scalpel procedures and Tsunade’s newly developed nerve-regeneration protocols. Within weeks, the woman was walking again.

 

Yuri hadn’t forgotten. In politics, especially for a nation like the Waves, debts like that mattered. If her uncle brought it up to him now, Goda Yuri would contact her and only then Kurobane would have no room to maneuver. Daigo couldn’t risk being seen obstructing an ally’s obligation—especially when the request was for something as innocuous on paper as granting land for medical expansion, that their country would benefit most of all.

 

Sakura hadn’t involved the Senju other than use its name to give weight to her growing influence, nor would she ever. The medical centers were the stated reason, but she would never risk her clan’s reputation for what was—in truth, only a cover to acquire the island. This had to remain hers alone—managed under her name, justified through her own networks, and secured by debts she had personally earned.

 

For now, all she could do was wait for her uncle’s response.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28

 

Sakura exhaled slowly, setting her pen down. It was nearing late afternoon; outside her window, the shadows of Konoha’s rooftops stretched long across the street. 

 

She rubbed her stiff wrist, glancing at the untouched food again, then at the small photograph propped against her inkstand—one of her and Ino years ago, when things still felt a little calmer. Ino’s smile in it was mischievous and bright, her arm slung around Sakura’s shoulder.

 

A lump rose in her throat. They had barely spoken last night. Sakura hadn’t been able to follow up a call, hadn’t even told her about the final funding approvals or the proposals she was diving into. With them away—probably negotiating even now with the Kurobane—she could only guess what storms they faced.

 

Her thoughts drifted, just for a moment, to Ino’s voice before she left—firm but soft, promising she’d return quickly. It had been a day and a half now. Probably more days yet.

 

She sighed once more, bent again over the paper. Her pen resumed its march. If she could not be there, then she would make sure that when the time came, they would have in their hands every plan, every foundation stone, every proof that her vision for this project could not be ignored.

 

And she would make sure when Ino came back, everything would be ready.

 

The scratch of her pen paused as the air in the room shifted. It wasn’t loud—barely the faintest ripple of movement—but her senses picked it up all the same. In the span of a blink, an ANBU was kneeling at the center of her office, head bowed, porcelain mask gleaming faintly in the angled afternoon light.

 

“Haruno Sakura-sama,” the voice filtered through the mask, steady and low. “A message from Lady Tsunade. You are requested to return to the Senju Manor tonight. She asks for your presence without delay.”

 

The words were crisp, memorized, and formal. No embellishments, no explanation.

 

Sakura leaned back in her chair, spine stiffening slightly. She hadn’t been summoned like this in some time—not through a letter, not through Shizune, but through ANBU. The Council had that authority; every member was assigned an ANBU unit as shadow guards, able to dispatch them at will. Still, the fact that her mother had chosen this route meant the matter wasn’t trivial.

 

She studied the figure for a moment longer, but the mask betrayed nothing. Even the sound of breath was muted.

 

“…I understand,” Sakura said quietly, sliding the cap back on her pen.

 

The ANBU dipped his head once more in acknowledgment. And then, as suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone—vanishing back into the shadows with barely a whisper, leaving behind only the faint stir of displaced air.

 

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room. Sakura exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to the mess of papers sprawled across her desk. The ink she had left on the page was still wet, smudging slightly at the corner of her hand.

 

Back to the Senju Manor, tonight.

 

Her mind began to move, already trying to calculate what this might be about. Political maneuvering? News from the Land of Waves? Or perhaps something entirely different, something Tsunade hadn’t trusted to put in writing..

 

Sakura rubbed at her temple, her eyes dragging to the photograph propped against her inkstand again. 

 

Either way, there would be no rest tonight.

 

She began to stack her papers into neater piles, setting aside the drafts she would need to carry with her.

 

By the time Sakura reached the Senju Manor, the sun had already dipped low, the lanterns along the long stone path burning steady in the early night. The household attendants met her at the gate, bowing briefly before guiding her in. Their voices were low, respectful, but one of them leaned in slightly, as if to soften the news.

 

“Lady Tsunade is in her office. She has been waiting.”

 

Sakura nodded once, keeping her expression unreadable even as her stomach tightened. Straight to the home office. No evening tea, no waiting in the main hall—this wasn’t a casual summons.

 

The corridors of the manor were familiar, every single detail and faint scent of cedar ingrained in her memory. She stopped outside the broad sliding doors of her mother’s study, letting out a controlled breath before she rapped her knuckles lightly against the frame.

 

“Come in,” Tsunade’s voice answered, curt, the tone of the Senju matriarch more than the voice of a mother.

 

Sakura slid the door open, stepping inside with forced composure. The room smelled faintly of ink and old wood. Stacks of scrolls lined the shelves, reports and documents laid out across Tsunade’s desk. Her mother was seated there, golden hair pulled back, sharp eyes lifting to meet Sakura’s the moment she entered.

 

“You came quickly,” Tsunade said, setting aside the report she had been reading. Her gaze flicked briefly over Sakura’s face, then down to the leather-bound folders tucked under her daughter’s arm. “Good. Sit.”

 

Sakura did, lowering herself to the chair across from the desk. She kept her back straight, her hands resting lightly on her knees.

 

Tsunade studied her for a moment longer, as though weighing what she saw. “I called you here because certain matters have reached my attention,” she began, her voice even. “And before I hear it secondhand, I want to hear it from you. What exactly are you planning in the Land of Waves?”

 

Sakura’s pulse quickened, but outwardly she remained calm. She had been so deep in the logistics, in the calculations and drafting, that she had forgotten one simple fact: she hadn’t told her mother a word. Not about the expansion, not about the financial channels she had opened, and certainly not about how quickly the plans had been moving forward.

 

And Tsunade wasn’t wrong—on paper, this wasn’t just a medical initiative. It was an international project involving another nation’s leadership. A clan heiress like her moving unilaterally on something like this without consultation or prior talks could easily be seen as reckless… or suspicious.

 

Sakura lowered her eyes briefly to the edge of the desk, gathering her thoughts. She couldn’t mention the relic—at least not until Ino’s team had secured it or if Ino herself shared the information. If they wanted for Tsunade to know, they would have had informed her already. That much was clear, but she also couldn’t lie, her mother would find out immediately if she even tried.

 

“I’ve begun drafting plans for a series of medical centers in the Land of Waves,” she said carefully. “It was something I've been thinking about for a while. The assessments conducted from our previous data showed medical shortage, and healthcare doesn't seem to be the focus of the Land of Waves. It wasn’t something I could ignore so when Ino's mission this time drove her to the parameters near the island I've been eyeing, I asked if she could take care of the negotiations on my behalf."

 

Tsunade listened without interrupting, though the slight furrow of her brow didn’t ease. When Sakura paused, her mother leaned back against her chair, fingers steepled loosely.

 

“And yet,” Tsunade said at last, her tone cool, “a letter arrived here this afternoon. From my cousin. Addressed to you. Care to explain why the Fire Daimyō is writing to my house instead of his own niece’s estate?”

 

Sakura blinked, caught for a second—not at the fact of the letter, because she had been waiting for it—but at the address. Then, with a small exhale, she pieced it together.

 

“…He must not have realized I’m living with the Yamanakas now,” she admitted. “For him, the most logical destination was here. I doubt anyone in his household keeps track of where I lay my head, so the Senju Manor would have been the default.”

 

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone stayed measured. "What I want to hear is why you’re the one reaching out to him. He didn’t approach you—I know this was your move.”

 

Sakura inclined her head, hands folding neatly atop her knee. “It was. I needed his reach. The Daimyō of the Land of Waves owes me a favor. A significant one, and Uncle is the only conduit I have to invoke it without drawing unnecessary attention.”

 

The faintest twitch crossed Tsunade’s expression, something between irritation and reluctant interest. “You mean Yuri,” she said flatly.

 

“Yes.” Sakura met her mother’s eyes evenly. “During the war. His mother’s illness. I stepped in where their own physicians couldn’t and he hasn’t forgotten.”

 

“And you’re calling it in now,” Tsunade pressed.

 

“I am.” Sakura nodded. “Because Kurobane won’t yield the island easily. The medical expansion is viable, but it won’t move forward if he keeps holding it hostage. With Yuri pressing him from the Daimyō’s seat, there’s no room left for him to maneuver. If the request is framed as an obligation to his Daimyō, he’ll either concede or risk political fracture of his position."

 

Tsunade’s expression shifted at the mention of Kurobane, a low sound leaving her throat that was more growl than sigh. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing.

 

“Daigo Kurobane,” she muttered, the name weighted with disdain. “That old weasel. He’s been trying to book audiences with me for years. Annoying man, always circling around trade concessions and maritime rights, hoping I’ll blink. I make it a point never to give him the satisfaction.”

 

Sakura’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then it won’t surprise you what he’s been circling around now.”

 

Tsunade gave her a sharp look. “Don’t drag this out. Say it.”

 

“He wants me to marry his son,” Sakura said evenly, though her voice carried just the faintest bite of steel.

 

For a heartbeat, silence. Then came the crack—sharp and sudden—as Tsunade’s hand clenched around the edge of her desk. A splintered line tore through the wood, fragments scattering onto the floor.

 

“He what?!” The word cracked like a whip, Tsunade’s golden eyes narrowing to hard slits.

 

Sakura didn’t flinch, though her shoulders stiffened—she had expected this reaction.

 

“He’s made it clear,” she said. “If I marry his son, the island passes to me. If not, the land stays under his control, and at best, I can push for a collaborative arrangement. The medical centers would still bear my name, the Senju name, but the island itself would remain in his hands.”

 

Tsunade’s jaw worked, anger simmering in the taut line of her shoulders. “So that’s his game. He doesn’t want collaboration, he wants leverage. He thinks dangling a marriage contract in front of you makes him clever.”

 

Sakura let out a slow breath. “That’s why I’ve been precise in my language. What I want isn’t partnership, Mom. Not in the sense he’s offering. I want the island itself. Ownership. So that every stone, every tree, every foundation we build is under my authority alone. No room for Kurobane to interfere, no political strings tying me to his family. Just clean transfer, in my name.”

 

Tsunade’s eyes snapped back to her, searching, assessing. “And until then?”

 

Sakura tapped her fingers on her lap. “Until then, we work within the framework of collaboration. The centers will be designed and registered under me. His title keeps the land under Waves jurisdiction, but the actual medical network will be untouchable—shielded by the Senju name, and by the fact that no one in the Daimyō’s court will move against a humanitarian initiative on paper.”

 

The room fell into a thick silence, Tsunade’s gaze heavy on her daughter. The splintered edge of the desk between them stood as proof of her temper, but her mind was already whirring behind her eyes.

 

“You’ve planned this,” she said finally, voice low, more observation than question.

 

“Yes.” Sakura met her gaze without wavering. “And I won’t let him dictate terms through marriage. If that means leaning on Yuri to push the sale… so be it.”

 

Tsunade’s mouth pressed into a smirk, her fingers drumming once against the ruined desk.

 

“Stubborn girl,” she muttered. But the sharp edge in her tone was tinged with something else now—pride. “Then tell me, Sakura. How much are we talking? What’s the figure you’re throwing into this plan?”

 

The bluntness of the question cut like a blade.

 

Sakura blinked once, her composure almost faltering. She hadn’t expected her mother to get straight to the core—money. Land values. Investments. Not the abstract idealism of healing the sick, but the hard, immovable force of ryō.

 

Sakura drew a quiet breath, steadying herself. “Fuyunomi Island isn’t cheap land, and I know that. It’s not some coastal strip or abandoned farmland—it’s a vital holding under Councillor Kurobane’s name. The Land of Waves considers it a long-term asset. To pry it from his hands…” she paused just briefly, “I estimate no less than six hundred million ryo for the outright purchase.”

 

Tsunade’s gaze sharpened, the number landing like a hammer against stone.

 

“Six. Hundred. Million.” She enunciated each word, leaning forward. “That’s not an investment, Sakura—that’s a nation’s ransom. Do you understand what that figure represents? It’s the kind of money entire countries negotiate over.”

 

“I know.” Sakura didn’t flinch, though her throat tightened. “But it isn’t dead weight. Fuyunomi is undeveloped, yes, but it’s also untouched—no industry, no urban sprawl, no war-time contamination. Its freshwater reserves are intact, its soil is viable, its coast is navigable for trade. Once developed, it can sustain not just a medical facility but an entire network—training grounds, research annexes, auxiliary commerce. I’m not buying a barren rock. I’m securing the foundation for a long-term system that will pay back its worth.”

 

Tsunade leaned back in her chair, her eyes boring into Sakura's. Her jaw tightened, not at Sakura’s composure, but at the sheer audacity of the sum. Six hundred million. For the Senju Clan, with its generational wealth, landholdings, and deep reserves, it wasn’t an impossible figure. The Senju could pay it ten times over if pressed. But that wasn’t the point.

 

“I may have told you that you're free to use our money however you like, but this is different. Don’t misunderstand me, Sakura,” Tsunade said, voice low but edged. “The Senju could afford it. We’ve outlived wars, famines, and the collapse of daimyo treasuries. We have funded this nation in times of needs. Our accounts could swallow six hundred million and still stand. But that’s not what concerns me.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, the sharpness of a stateswoman now outweighing the warmth of a mother.

 

“It’s the precedent,” she continued. “The moment you pay Kurobane that figure, the Land of Waves will smell blood in the water. You think this is just about buying one island? No. It’s about signaling to every councillor, every minor lord, every landholding bureaucrat from here to the Frost borders, that the Senju are willing to throw national-scale money on personal projects just like that. Once that happens, every plot of land we touch will triple in price." 

 

Tsunade paused, shaking her head. "Every negotiation, every trade, every research partnership will come with a hidden tax—because they know we can pay it. We have branch families all over the country, Sakura, some international. They, too, will end up facing this kind of consequence and they won't be too happy with it."

 

Sakura looked away. She had anticipated resistance, but Tsunade was cutting deeper than she’d expected. She couldn't admit however, that she didn't think the consequences her possible actions could cause her clan.

 

Tsunade leaned forward, her tone sharper now. “And let’s talk politics. The Land of Waves isn’t Konoha. Their Council is... functioning, but not there yet, their daimyo barely maintains cohesion since he's new, and Kurobane’s seat is one of the stabilizers holding it together. You may pressure him, strip him of Fuyunomi for cash—even at a ransom price—but suddenly you’ve created instability in their parliament. You’re not just buying an island, Sakura. You’re altering the balance of their domestic power.”

 

Sakura inhaled slowly. “…Which means not just, Konoha, but the Fire Country gets dragged into their affairs if they collapse.”

 

“Exactly,” Tsunade said, almost snapping. “And Fire doesn’t need another dependency. We’ve spent decades pulling minor nations out of their messes, and every time it costs us more than it should. If you walk into this blind, the entire Senju wealth will turn from a shield into bait for political leeches.”

 

Sakura looked down, her mind swirling with a rebuttal, but her mother didn't stop there.

 

“You think like a medic, Sakura. You see the body—the potential, the healing, the function that could be restored. But land and money aren’t patients. They’re weapons, and the moment you buy Fuyunomi, you’re stepping into the battlefield of economics and politics. You’d better be damn sure you’re ready to fight there too.”

 

Sakura didn’t immediately reply. She moved her hands lightly on the desk, keeping her posture disciplined.

 

“I’ve considered that,” Sakura said. “That’s why I’m not asking for loans or subsidies. I’m not tying Konoha’s treasury to this project. I’ll finance it myself.”

 

Tsunade’s brow twitched, skepticism written all over her face. “Yourself? You’re a shinobi, Sakura, not a banking house. Do you even understand what six hundred million represents in liquid assets? The Fire Daimyō’s annual military budget hovers around eight hundred million. You’re talking about nearly that scale. Where, exactly, do you plan to pull that from without raising every eyebrow from here to Lightning?”

 

Sakura met her mother’s sharp gaze without flinching. “From my inheritance. From Papa.”

 

The silence stretched for a moment. 

 

“Jiraiya,” she finally said, and there was softness in her tone at the mention of his name.

 

“Yes,” Sakura confirmed. “You know as well as I do that his estate isn’t just royalties from some travel journals. Papa didn’t just write Icha Icha—he controlled the publishing rights. He co-owned distribution channels across the Five Nations. Half the shinobi academies in Fire Country alone use supplemental textbooks ghostwritten under his networks. That’s recurring revenue. He invested in paper mills, printing presses, and even small courier firms. He left a sprawling portfolio—not just manuscripts.”

 

Tsunade’s frown deepened, already knowing where Sakura was going with her point.

 

“Conservative estimates place his estate at three to four billion ryo, I've calculated and checked. That’s before factoring in the intellectual property—Icha Icha alone generates, at minimum, fifty million annually across all five nations. Father diversified. He held stakes in several publishing houses, not just one. Even his lesser-known works—regional guides, folklore anthologies—sell steadily, and he wasn’t careless with investments. He funded paper mills in Rice Country, subsidized merchant fleets in Wave, and held minority shares in Fire’s trade guilds. It’s a portfolio designed to generate steady, long-term returns.”

 

Sakura didn't mention how she gave up her father's huge spy network to Ino, it wasn't that she had use of it anyway and it would be a waste to just let it sit around. She still gets the money, but Ino has complete access to every information source not just in the Fire Country, but internationally.

 

Her tone softened slightly, though her eyes stayed resolute. “I’ve already been consolidating it. Through proxies. Through quiet channels. I can liquidate enough to cover the purchase without even denting the capital base. Six hundred million is a large figure, yes, but it isn’t unmanageable. Not for me anyway."

 

Tsunade exhaled through her nose, slow and sharp, her gaze never leaving her daughter.

 

“You make it sound clean on paper,” she grumbled. “But money of that scale is never clean, Sakura. You move that much through Wave, every merchant lord will want to know who you are. Rival daimyōs will assume Fire is extending its reach. They’ll question whether this is private or state-backed, and once they realize you’re not just the war hero Slug Sage but the actual Senju heiress, granddaughter of Hashirama, daughter of Jiraiya… do you understand the storm you’re inviting?”

 

Sakura kept her face still, though her heart pressed tight against her ribs.

 

Tsunade pressed on, sharper now, though not cruel. Her tone was edged with the kind of worry only a mother could wield.

 

“Think. Nations went to war over land worth less than half of what you’re offering. If you buy Fuyunomi, you shift the balance of the entire region. Wave isn’t strong enough to refuse six hundred million, but they’ll be accused of selling out sovereignty. Whirlpool remnants may contest it. Iron may eye its ports. Lightning may see it as an extension of Fire’s hand and who do you think they’ll blame? You. Not me, not Konoha, not the country—you. Because it’s your name on the papers, your signature on the died, and you can’t heal away politics with chakra.”

 

The words sank heavy between them.

 

Sakura drew in a breath, steady, though her fingers curled subtly against her palms. “I understand the risk. But Fuyunomi isn’t just about land—it’s infrastructure, stability, long-term healthcare systems for regions still recovering from the war. If I let politics scare me away, then it never gets built, and the people who need it most continue to suffer.”

 

Tsunade studied her for a long moment, the weight of decades of experience in her gaze. She wasn’t trying to crush Sakura’s resolve—only force her to see the full horizon of what she was walking into, because she obviously hadn't.

 

“You sound just like him,” Tsunade murmured at last, though whether it was criticism or reluctant admiration was hard to tell.

 

Tsunade let the silence stretch for a beat, studying her daughter across the table. Sakura’s words still hung in the air like the residue of strong liquor—numbers, projections, promises. She was steady, composed, even persuasive. Too persuasive.

 

Finally, Tsunade's arms folded across her chest. Her eyes narrowed, not with anger but with a kind of careful calculation that Sakura knew all too well.

 

“Enough with the farce. I want to know,” Tsunade said slowly, “what this is really about.”

 

Sakura tilted her head slightly, caught off guard.

 

“You come in here,” Tsunade continued, voice level but hinted with suspicion, “with plans that weren’t even on the table months ago. At the Medical Summit, you spoke about cross-border cooperation, joint training protocols, maybe even a unified registry for medic-nin. Not a word about land acquisitions or expansion, and now suddenly—” she gestured sharply with her hand, “you’re talking islands, six hundred million ryo, full-scale development. Why the rush, Sakura? Why this sudden desperation?”

 

“I’m not desperate,” Sakura said carefully, but her throat felt tight around the word.

 

Tsunade arched a brow. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re moving faster than any bureaucrat, faster than the Daimyō himself would dare. You’ve already thought through funding, staffing, land values, international optics. That’s not the Sakura I raised—my Sakura never gambled this hard without a reason.”

 

Her voice softened then, but the words lost none of their weight. “So tell me. What’s driving this?”

 

Sakura’s pulse ticked in her ears. She had expected resistance on the numbers, on the politics, even on the optics of the Senju bankrolling such a move. But this—her mother peeling back the surface, cutting past the practical and pressing on the motive—this was harder to deflect.

 

She forced her shoulders not to stiffen, her breathing to remain steady. “I’m doing what I’ve always done. Expanding medical access, strengthening our infrastructure, looking ahead. If we don’t build now, we’ll always be reacting instead of preparing.”

 

Tsunade didn’t blink. “And yet, none of that explains why you’ve accelerated like this. Things of this scale takes months to plan, possibly years—and yet here you are, already prepared to give out half a billion and probably already drafting the necessary documents for the construction. You don’t just wake up one morning and decide to secure half a billion ryō worth of real estate. Even your father doesn’t throw around numbers like that for fun, and gods know he likes his risks.”

 

Sakura hesitated, and Tsunade leaned forward, her gaze sharp but not unkind.

 

“I’m not trying to make this harder on you,” Tsunade said, quieter now, as if she could see the effort it took for Sakura to keep her composure. “I’m trying to understand. Because if I don’t, if the Daimyō asks me tomorrow why my daughter is suddenly mobilizing enough resources to rival an entire province, what am I supposed to say? That she got inspired overnight? That won’t fly, Sakura. Not in politics, not in economics. People will assume there’s a reason, and if they don’t know the reason, they’ll invent one—and that can be dangerous.”

 

Her tone wasn’t accusing. It was weary, almost pleading.

 

“Tell me what this really is about. Why now? Why here? Why at this scale?”

 

Sakura met her gaze, her mouth dry, her mind running through excuses she couldn’t use, truths she couldn’t share. The relic. Ino. The unspoken urgency that had nothing to do with politics or money but with something older, heavier, and infinitely more personal.

 

But none of that could be said.

 

So she steadied herself again, letting the silence buy her just a little more time.

 

 

 

Chapter 29

 

Sakura opened her mouth, searching for the words that would anchor her resolve. “It isn’t desperation, Mama—it’s simply urgency. We’ve been talking about expanding for years, but the system never moves unless someone forces it to. I’m not just thinking about Konoha, I’m thinking about—”

 

“Does this,” Tsunade cut in, her voice suddenly dipping low, sharp enough to halt Sakura mid-sentence, “have something to do with Ino?”

 

The air left Sakura’s lungs in a stuttered exhale. The question hit like a thrown kunai on dead center. Her lips parted but no sound came, her throat closing around the truth she hadn’t prepared to face aloud, and in the brief, fleeting hesitation—the flicker of her eyes downward, the faint tremor in her fingers—Tsunade saw it.

 

The silence stretched too long.

 

Tsunade exhaled, gaze narrowing as if she had just pried open a locked chest. “So that’s it.”

 

Sakura’s heart sank. Her pulse hammered traitorously in her ears. She hadn’t even realized she’d faltered until it was too late. The mask she always wore in the hospital, in Councils, in the battlefield—it slipped for a single second, and her mother, of course, noticed.

 

Tsunade’s voice softened, but it carried more weight because of it. “You wouldn’t gamble with numbers this obscene just for professional pride. You wouldn’t bypass official consultations from the Council and not even arrange a financial committee on the hope of one island unless something—or someone—was pushing you.”

 

Sakura tried to regain her footing, forcing her voice steady. “This isn’t about one person. It’s bigger than—”

 

“Don’t lie to me.” Tsunade’s hand struck the table—not with anger, but with the flat, final sound of truth being nailed in place. “You’re my daughter. You think I don’t see the shift in your eyes when her name comes up? The way your entire damn mood changes if she walks into the room? You think I haven’t noticed how quickly you move when it’s Ino’s safety, Ino’s Division, Ino’s sake on the line? I’ve seen it, Sakura, and now you’re here, throwing half a billion ryo at an island that wasn’t even in your portfolio last season.”

 

Sakura’s breath caught. Her nails dug crescent marks into her palms beneath the table.

 

Tsunade leaned forward again, her amber eyes unflinching. “I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Tell me I’m wrong. Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t about her.”

 

Sakura swallowed hard, her throat dry, her carefully rehearsed logic scattering like sand in a gale. She could feel her mother's scrutiny pushing her down, every instinct telling her to deflect—but her hesitation had already betrayed her.

 

And Tsunade knew.

 

Tsunade’s teeth gritted, her knuckles whitening as she pressed her hands flat against the desk. “So tell me, Sakura—what is this really? Is this another one of Ino’s political schemes? Another one of her little games to keep her enemies guessing, to keep herself one step ahead? Is that it?” Her voice cut like a scalpel, each word edged with fury. “Because I’ll tell you right now—I will not allow a Yamanaka to manipulate my daughter into throwing herself into something that could paint a target the size of Fire Country on her back.”

 

Sakura’s eyes snapped up, heat flashing through her chest. “That’s not what this is. Ino isn’t using me. She—”

 

“She what?” Tsunade barked, cutting her off before she could gather momentum. “You think I don’t know how she operates? I’ve sat on meetings with her clan for years, Sakura. I know how they do things—Ino, especially. Her actions are never without purpose."

 

“It’s not like that!” Sakura’s voice rose despite herself, her fists tightening, willing herself to calm down. “This isn’t some ploy or a power grab. I’m doing this because I believe in it, because it’s necessary, because—”

 

“Does Ino even know?” Tsunade thundered, leaning across the desk, amber eyes blazing. “Does she have the faintest idea what you’re tying yourself to? What you’re about to face if you insist on buying that island?”

 

The words hit harder than Sakura expected. Her mouth opened, but no reply came. The silence betrayed her again.

 

Her mother saw it even more quickly this time—the falter, the hesitation.

 

Tsunade’s anger flared, her palm slamming down against the desk once more. “So she doesn’t. Kami, Sakura—you’re not even telling her, and yet you’re ready to risk your name, your wealth, your standing, your peace, for her sake. Do you have any idea how absurd that is? You might think this is just about hospitals and land, but to everyone else? This is politics. This is economics. This is power. You are not slipping this under the radar, no matter how much you wish you could.”

 

Sakura’s chest burned. She wanted to argue, to explain, but the truth lodged in her throat. She didn’t think of it as a danger—she thought of it as a responsibility, a way to clear obstacles so Ino wouldn’t have to carry them alone. Sure, she cared about healing and all the people that would benefit from her vision, but her main motive wasn't their wellbeing. But saying that aloud, here, now, would only harden Tsunade’s fury. She knew her mother isn't very fond of Ino after what happened the last time.

 

Tsunade’s voice dropped again, colder now, more dangerous. “Don’t you dare minimize this. Don’t you sit there and tell me this isn’t a big deal when I know damn well it is. Six hundred million ryō, political favors from daimyō, the attention of a foreign council—that isn’t a medical project, Sakura. That’s a declaration of war if you make one wrong move and why? Because you're a Senju, we're a family that has so much influence enough that everything you do is reflected back on your name and your heritage."

 

Tsunade's eyes raked over her, scrutinizing every bit of her decision. "If this island deal is just another one of Ino's moves, then you’re nothing more than her shield—and I will not let that happen.”

 

“Stop it!” The word ripped out of her, louder than she intended.

 

Sakura’s nails bit deeper into her palms, the sting of skin breaking grounding her against the fury coiling in her chest. Her throat burned with all the words she had been holding back, the words she had been swallowing, until suddenly—she couldn’t.

 

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed, but Sakura didn’t back down. She surged forward in her seat, standing, her voice trembling but fierce. “Stop talking about her like she’s some manipulator pulling my strings. Ino isn’t using me like that, Mama. She has never used me. If you think this is about her playing some game, then you don’t know her at all.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Tsunade shot back, amber eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what kind of danger the Yamanaka bring down on themselves—and on those too close to them. I’ve seen it, Sakura. I’ve seen what happens when they move too fast, when they get too clever with their own influence, and now you’re telling me you’ll throw yourself headlong into it, because what—because you’re in love?”

 

“Yes!” The confession cracked the air like a whip. Sakura’s chest heaved, the words trembling out of her, raw and unpolished. “Yes, I love her, and I would do it again, every damn time. Because this isn’t about power or politics, it’s about her. It’s about making sure she doesn’t have to shoulder every risk, every burden, every enemy circling around her. If I can clear the way—even just a little—why shouldn’t I?”

 

Tsunade’s fists clenched against the desk, her voice thundering. “Because it isn’t your place to protect her from everything! She is not helpless, Sakura. She is not some fragile girl you have to shield with your life and your fortune.”

 

Sakura slammed her palms onto the table, standing up now, meeting her mother’s fury head-on. “And I’m not helpless either! This is my choice. My risk. My project. If you think I’m just a pawn, then you’re wrong. I’ve thought through every angle, every calculation, every consequence. You think I don’t know the cost? I do! And I’m still willing to pay it because she’s worth it.”

 

The room vibrated with the echo of her words. Tsunade’s jaw tightened, her gaze unrelenting, but Sakura didn’t flinch anymore. Her voice dropped, quieter but sharper, cutting through the storm.

 

“You can scream about politics and numbers and targets on my back all you want but none of that changes the truth. I’m not being manipulated. I’m not being played. I’m doing this because I believe in her. Because I choose her, and you’ll have to accept that—whether you like it or not.”

 

For the first time in years, Tsunade was the one left silent as she stared at the daughter who had just declared war on her judgment. 

 

Tsunade didn’t shout this time though. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but hinted with something that made Sakura’s stomach twist. 

 

“You think this is about whether or not you love her?” Tsunade said, her eyes locked on Sakura with unnerving steadiness. “You think I care if you wear your heart on your sleeve? Sakura—you’re my daughter. Of course I know what she means to you. That’s not what I’m fighting you on.”

 

Tsunade pushed back from the desk and walked around the table, standing in front of her now, every inch of the power of the Hokage she once was radiating off her even though her tone remained controlled. “What I can’t ignore is that you are risking everything—and I mean everything—for something you won’t even explain. That’s what terrifies me.”

 

Sakura stiffened, her pulse thudding in her ears.

 

Tsunade exhaled when Sakura didn't reply, her voice carrying exasperation.

 

“You told me you weren’t ready,” she said. “Not ready to shoulder the responsibility that comes with being my heir. You told me you loved the hospital, the patients, the research—that for now, that was enough. So I shielded you. I kept the family at bay when they demanded you begin your heiress training. I made excuses when the elders pressed for you to assume a visible role in the clan. I let you stay in your world, because I believed that was what you truly wanted.”

 

“But this project of yours?” She crossed her arms. “You want to buy an entire island property. You want to throw out six hundred million ryo like it’s nothing—your own money, yes, but you don't see how this all looks from the outside perspective. If you launch a massive project overnight without consulting anyone, do you think politics won’t notice? They will. They’ll see this as the Senju heiress finally moving her pieces into play. Not as a doctor. Not as a humanitarian. But as a Clan Head.”

 

Sakura opened her mouth to argue, but Tsunade raised a hand, pressing on before she could get a word in.

 

“You don’t understand the implications. The moment you sign those papers, you’re no longer just the head medic of Konoha’s hospital. You’ll be marked—by our clan, by the Daimyō, by every village and their spies—as a Senju taking initiative, expanding influence, moving resources, and tying Konoha deeper into the affairs of the Land of Waves. It’s not just the purchase, it’s what it represents. Once that happens, you won’t get to say, ‘I’m not ready’ anymore. You’ll be in the thick of it whether you like it or not.”

 

Her tone softened slightly, but it was still heavy with warning. “Sakura, I’ve held the Clan’s weight for decades. I know what it costs. Once you take a step like this, you can’t just go back to being ‘the doctor who saves people.’ You’ll be dragged into the role of heiress, like it or not—and sooner than later, they’ll start demanding you take over as Clan Head.”

 

Tsunade let that hang between them, studying Sakura’s expression carefully.

 

Sakura’s throat burned, her tongue heavy with something as if her mother’s words had sucked all voice from her. She wanted to argue—to insist that she wasn’t stepping into the arena as the Senju heiress, that this wasn’t about politics or legacy or power—but every retort crumbled before it could form, scattered by Tsunade's hard gaze.

 

Her jaw tightened until it ached, her eyes boring into the floor as it would break beneath her. She’s wrong, Sakura told herself, desperate, clinging to the thought like a drowning woman clutches driftwood. 

 

She has to be wrong.

 

But the hollowness in her stomach whispered otherwise.

 

Because deep down, she knew. She had always known.

 

The truth had always been apparent: heirs didn’t get to choose. From the moment of their first breath, they were molded, hammered into weapons and figureheads, burdened with training and responsibilities before they even understood their purpose. She had seen it all her life, watching her friends bend and sometimes break under the weight of their clans’ expectations. 

 

Hinata, bowed by the suffocating pressure of the Hyūga name. Shikamaru, dragged into the Nara web of strategies and obligations. Choji, expected to carry the legacy of the Akimichi while struggling with his own sense of self. Kiba, molded into the perfect protector of the Inuzuka line. Shino, stoic and disciplined, every thought measured to uphold the honor and secrecy of the Aburame. Ino, sharp and bright and unyielding, every move calculated for the Yamanaka’s survival.

 

But her?

 

She hadn’t grown up inside those walls. She hadn’t been taught from the cradle to carry a clan on her back. For twelve years she had been just Sakura Haruno, a girl from a poor orphanage, a nobody and somebody ordinary enough to have gone unnoticed. She hadn’t been given the shield of a clan name, nor the protection of legacy. She had only herself, her hands, and her stubbornness.

 

And by the time Tsunade had discovered their connection, by the time the truth of her blood had been dragged into the light, she had already carved a path of her own—medicine, chakra control, and the battlefield. She had been called a prodigy, a genius, a miracle—and Tsunade, proud and wary, didn't change her to become a Senju just like that. Her mother had taught her, honed her, let her become something else other than a heir.

 

When the elders whispered about heir training, when they demanded she be shaped into the Senju successor they had long been denied, Sakura had recoiled. But the day did come eventually, when Tsunade first asked, cautiously, if she wanted to begin heiress training—Sakura finally found the courage to refuse.

 

Not angrily, nor carelessly. Just with the absolute certainty of someone who knew what she wanted and what she didn’t.

 

“I want to heal people,” she had said back then. “I don’t want to sit in councils. I don’t want to play politics. That’s not me.”

 

And Tsunade, after a long, suffocating silence, had let her be. Shielded her from the Clan Elders’ demands. Protected her right to choose.

 

Freedom.

 

It was the one gift Sakura had clung to more than any other.

 

But now—now the walls were closing in.

 

This project, this island—it wasn’t small. It wasn’t even quiet. Six hundred million ryō, international property, an expansion too large for anyone to ignore. No matter what she said, no matter what she intended, it wouldn’t be seen as the act of a medic. The world would not look at her and see Sakura Haruno, healer. They would see Sakura Senju, heiress—the Clan Head’s daughter finally moving her pieces into play.

 

The thought made her stomach twist violently.

 

Her breath stuttered,the panic still slithering beneath her ribs. If she signed those papers, if she committed to this—then everything she had fought to avoid would collapse in around her. She’d lose her freedom. The Clan Elders would come, the branch families would move. Even the Fire Council would take note. The clan would demand her obedience.

 

She would no longer be allowed to just be a doctor.

 

Her chest tightened as though invisible hands had wrapped around her lungs.

 

I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. The words screamed in her head, though she didn’t dare give them voice. Because once she admitted that, it would sound too much like surrender.

 

The hospital, the research, her daily routine—that was her safe haven. For years, she had told herself that her work as a medic, even as a diplomat, was enough. She had no hunger for politics no matter how much people say she was born into it, no desire for a throne she never asked for. She had never craved the suffocating responsibilities that came with being the "Senju heir.” She wanted to heal, not govern. She wanted the freedom to choose her days, not live them under a microscope, her every step weighed and dissected by Clan Elders and political sharks.

 

And yet…

 

Sakura’s hands curled into trembling fists at her sides. “I’m not—” her voice cracked, so she swallowed hard and tried again, quieter, shakier. “I’m not ready for that, Mama. I never was."

 

Tsunade said nothing, only watched, her silence cutting deeper than words.

 

Her lips parted, trembling with the weight of all she couldn’t say. “Mama… I never asked to be your heir. You know that. I never wanted the Clan’s weight on me. I just—” her throat closed, and she forced herself to steady, to keep her voice from splintering. “I just wanted to heal. To do the work I was good at, and you let me. You gave me that freedom, and I—” Her voice broke anyway. “I don’t want to give that up.”

 

The words left her in a rush, heavy, frantic, desperate.

 

Her eyes burned. Her chest heaved. She wanted to believe her own words, to believe this was purely about saving lives, about doing her duty as a doctor. But even as she spoke them, the lie scraped against her throat.

 

Because she wasn’t risking all this for strangers. She wasn’t gambling six hundred million ryō for the faceless masses who would benefit.

 

And yet.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears she refused to let fall. She didn’t want the cry now, not in front of the mother she was trying to seek approval from. But the thought of being chained, bound to an obligation she never wanted, suffocated her. Every time she thought of the Clan’s internal council whispering in her ear, weighing her choices, twisting them into “Senju strategy”—her chest tightened with panic.

 

And yet.

 

Her mother’s suspicion had cut too close to the truth.

 

It was Ino. Always Ino.

 

Her eyes opened again, glassy but burning with the stubborn fire she inherited from Tsunade herself.

 

For Ino, she would bear it. For Ino, she would risk it. For Ino, she would chain herself to a legacy she had never wanted.

 

Sakura held her mother’s gaze, though every instinct screamed to look away. And at that moment, it wasn’t anger she felt radiating from her—it was something worse. Something heavier.

 

Because Tsunade wasn’t looking at her like a Councillor, or like the Clan Head, or even like a scolding mentor. She was looking at her like a mother who had just realized her daughter was ready to throw herself into the fire.

 

Sakura saw the fury drain from her mother’s face, leaving behind something rawer, jagged at the edges. Her back slowly leaned against the table behind her and Sakura’s stomach dropped at her mother's gaze. She had seen her mother fight Sannin, gods, monsters—and never once falter. But here, in front of her, she was wavering.

 

“Sakura… don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?”

 

The words snagged in Sakura’s chest, stealing the breath from her. The retorts she had prepared—her sharp defenses, her reasoning, her certainty—all of them withered. She blinked at her mother.

 

Her mother drew in a slow, grounding breath, and when she spoke again, her voice wasn’t loud, just steady. "You are ready to chain yourself to obligations you never wanted. To give up your peace, your freedom, the life you fought for—all for her. Do you understand how terrifying that is for me to hear from you? That you’d throw yourself into a fire willingly, when I spent my entire life trying to keep you out of it?”

 

Sakura flinched, her heart lurching violently against her ribs. She opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she wasn’t throwing her life away, that she was making a choice—her choice—but Tsunade’s raised hand silenced her.

 

Her mother’s voice dropped even lower, thick with something that made Sakura’s chest ache. “Don’t tell me again that it’s necessary, that it’s worth it, that you’ve thought it through. Because you might believe that with every beat of your heart, but tell me this, Sakura: do you think Ino would want this?”

 

The question speared her, left her motionless.

 

“She loves you, doesn’t she?” Tsunade pressed on. “Do you think she’d want to see you sacrifice yourself like this? To watch you trade away the only freedom you’ve ever had, just to spare her from carrying her own burdens? You think she wants to wake up one day and realize that your entire life was twisted around hers—that everything you are, everything you had, you gave away for her sake? You think that won’t crush her?”

 

Sakura’s lips trembled. Her hands curled into fists so tight her nails bit her palms once again. The words rang too true. They slotted against thoughts she had already had herself, in the silence of her own mind, when she let herself wonder what Ino would say if she knew.

 

Of course Ino would never ask this of her. Of course Ino would never forgive her if she knew Sakura had risked everything for her sake. 

 

But still.

 

The silence between them stretched, unbearable, suffocating. Sakura could hear her own pulse hammering in her ears, her lungs burning as if she hadn’t breathed in minutes. Her mother’s eyes never wavered, though Sakura could see the storm raging behind them.

 

At last, Tsunade exhaled. A long, shaky breath that seemed to bleed some of her fight away, though her conviction stayed iron-clad. Her shoulders sagged, but her eyes still cut like steel.

 

“You’re as stubborn as I am,” she muttered, almost bitterly, almost tenderly. “Once you’ve decided, there’s no pulling you back.”

 

Sakura swallowed, her throat painfully tight. “Mama, I—”

 

“No.”

 

The word sliced through her. Tsunade’s voice hardened, not with fury this time, but with resolve. 

 

“If you’re going to do this—if you’re really going to buy this island, throw six hundred million ryō into the sea, and paint the Senju name across the Land of Waves—then you are not walking into it blind."

 

Sakura blinked, startled by the shift, by the fact that this wasn’t rejection anymore. Her chest tightened, both in fear and in relief. “Mama…”

 

“You will take clan advisors,” Tsunade continued firmly, her tone allowing no room for resistance. “Not those useless old bats on the council—I’ll handpick them myself. Don’t look at me like that—this isn’t about babysitting you. This is about making sure that when the vultures circle, you’ve got teeth at your back.”

 

Sakura parted her lips to argue, but her mother’s voice struck like a hammer, silencing her.

 

“You’ll also put protections in place for the hospital and its finances. If this project collapses, it will not drag everything else down with it. Shizune will help you draft the legal scaffolding. You’ll need it.”

 

Tsunade's jaw was set, her eyes burning with that same iron that had carried her through decades of war and loss. “And you will prepare for the fallout. Because there will be fallout. The Daimyō will demand answers. The Fire Council will circle like wolves. The Clan will pull you into the role you’ve been avoiding your whole life. And enemies—seen and unseen—will test you the moment they scent weakness. You cannot afford to walk into this thinking it’s just another medical expansion. It isn’t. It never was.”

 

Sakura’s breath caught, panic fluttering in her chest again. The pressure of it weighed down on her, the inevitability of everything she had tried to outrun crashing back into her chest. But beneath the panic, beneath the fear, something steadier flickered.

 

Relief.

 

Because this wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t dismissal.

 

Tsunade’s hand landed on her shoulder, large and calloused, grounding her like it always had. The touch was warm, strong, achingly familiar.

 

“If you’re really going to throw yourself into this for her,” Tsunade said, her voice softening, almost sadly so. "Then I’ll stand behind you. But Kami help you, Sakura… you better be ready for the day when love isn’t enough to shield you from the cost.”

 

Her chest ached, she could feel as though there was something her mother wasn't saying—but she forced herself to nod, knowing she, too, wasn't entirely being truthful.

 

“I’ll be ready,” she whispered, even if a part of her still quaked in trepidation.

 

And for the first time for so long, she actually believed it.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30

 

The garden was quiet, but Tsunade could not find peace in it. The night air was cool, heavy with the scent of damp earth and blossoms, yet it only deepened the heaviness that clung to her chest. She sat on the stone steps, the mouth of her sake bottle pressed loosely to her lips. The liquid burned down her throat, but it was not enough to numb her mind. Not enough to soften the guilt that gnawed at her insides.

 

Sakura had gone to bed hours ago, worn out after their long dinner meeting, after the endless back-and-forth of drafting proposals and countering possible objections from the other villages. Tsunade had insisted she sleep early, that she deserved the rest. But the truth was, Tsunade had known even then that she herself wouldn’t be able to sleep—not with everything that weighed on her.

 

Her hand tightened around the bottle. She could have spared Sakura all of this. She could have taken the role herself—the purchase, the gamble, the exposure. She was Tsunade, the Princess of the Senju, the last heir of Hashirama’s bloodline, the retired Hokage who had carried a nation on her back during war. If she made the move, no one would question it. People would nod, whisper, and accept it. “That’s just Tsunade.” She was expected to do reckless, impossible things. The expansion would not draw suspicion, nor would it put her daughter under the kind of scrutiny Sakura would inevitably face.

 

But she hadn’t done it. She had let Sakura take the role. No—if she was honest with herself, she had pushed her daughter into it. She knew the more she argued against her daughter, the more Sakura would be willing and determined to go through something—and indedd, her daughter did prove how well Tsunade knew her. 

 

She took another slow, bitter sip.

 

Because a part of her had wanted this.

 

She saw it so clearly, even if Sakura refused to. The way Sakura commanded attention when she spoke—whether in a medical ward or a council chamber. The way her presence filled a space, calm yet unyielding, sharp but tempered by compassion. The way people looked to her instinctively, the way silence fell when she lifted her voice. She carried the same authority Hashirama once had, the same silent but undeniable command. She was a Senju through and through, even if she only saw herself as a healer.

 

And yet… Sakura had always resisted that truth. Always clung to medicine, to healing, as if that was all she wanted to be. A doctor. A medic. A healer. Nothing else.

 

Tsunade let out a humorless chuckle, shaking her head. Sakura had no idea how much of her life had been engineered by her. How much Tsunade had forced into her path. All those “missions” and "assignments" when she was Hokage, where she had pushed Sakura into diplomacy under the guise of delegating. 

 

All those official documents she had pretended to be “too drunk to draft,” when in truth she wanted Sakura to practice writing like a leader, not a physician. All the times she had put Sakura forward to represent Konoha, even when she could have sent Shizune or someone else. Even the chairmanship of the hospital—it had been more than just recognition. It had been her training, leadership through medicine, something she loved that wasn't connected to the Clan.

 

All because Tsunade had always wanted her daughter to inherit the Senju legacy. To take her place openly, not just in name.

 

The sake was warm in her stomach now, but it didn’t ease her. It never did, not when her mind refused to quiet.

 

Her thoughts drifted—unbidden, inevitable—back to the first time she’d seen it. That spark of command that made her blood run cold with recognition.

 

Sakura had been twelve. Twelve—barely out of childhood, still too small for the what she carried even then. At the time, Tsunade had thought of her as only a student, an apprentice who had been under her care for only six months after she got called back to become Hokage—an unusually bright apprentice with stubborn hands and too much determination in her jawline. She hadn’t known the truth yet, hadn’t recognized her blood in the girl’s face.

 

But she remembered the night as if it were carved into her bones.

 

The hospital had been overrun. A skirmish at the Fire–River border had sent a flood of wounded into Konoha — shinobi bleeding, burned, half-conscious, dragged in on stretchers with medics shouting over one another. The tiled corridors reeked of blood and smoke; the air itself seemed to pulse with the sound of cries and panicked orders. It wasn’t war, not officially, but it might as well have been.

 

Tsunade had been in three places at once — barking instructions in the emergency ward, elbow-deep in surgery, then dragging herself to triage to keep the entire system from collapsing. She remembered thinking even she couldn’t hold the place together, not with so many people screaming, not with so many half-trained chūnin running in circles without direction.

 

And then, cutting through the chaos — a child’s voice.

 

“Stop running! We don’t have time for this!”

 

Sharp. Commanding.

 

Tsunade had turned, scalpel still in her gloved hand, expecting to see one of her senior medics snapping at the panicked genin. But it wasn’t. It was Sakura.

 

Her apprentice. Just turned twelve years old. Ribbon tied back sloppily, hands stained red to the elbows, her face pale but her eyes steady — too steady for a child in the middle of carnage.

 

She stood in the middle of the hall, her small frame surrounded by chaos, and yet somehow still. The way a tree stands in the middle of a storm.

 

“You—” she pointed at a chunin medic frozen with bandages slipping from his hands, “—pressure on that wound, now!”

 

Her voice cracked on the last word, too high, still a child’s, but no one ignored her. They moved.

 

Her voice cracked on the last word, too high, still a child’s, but no one ignored her. They moved.

 

“You two!” She spun on a pair of terrified genin. “Clear the hallway, get the civilians out of here! If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re in the way!”

 

And gods help her, they listened.

 

Tsunade had watched, momentarily stunned, as the knot of chaos around Sakura bent to her words. Like iron filings snapping into place around a magnet. No hesitation. No doubt.

 

It wasn’t skill — not yet. She was still green, still clumsy with chakra, her hand seals sometimes shaking when she tried to heal. But what radiated from her wasn’t technique. It was authority.

 

Sakura didn’t ask. She didn’t plead. She ordered, and people followed.

 

Tsunade had caught herself staring in that moment, her breath caught in her chest, a chill running down her spine. She had seen it before — in her grandfather, in her brother, in herself on the battlefield when men three times her age had stopped to listen because her voice carried that weight.

 

And there it was again. In a twelve-year-old who should have been crying, cowering, running.

 

Instead, Sakura had planted herself like a Senju oak and split the storm apart with nothing but her voice.

 

The night had blurred into exhaustion and blood after that. Tsunade had taken over, of course, steered the entire hospital back into rhythm, barked orders with her usual iron command. But in the corner of her mind — always — she remembered that single moment. That spark.

 

The way Sakura’s eyes hadn’t wavered, not even when blood pooled at her feet.

 

That was when she’d first seen it. The nagging suspicion.

 

Not just a gifted medic. Not just her apprentice.

 

Something older. Something heavier. Something inherited.

 

But that hadn’t been the only time that night.

 

The memory stretched further, sharper, layered with details she couldn’t forget no matter how much she drank.

 

There was a time Tsunade had found herself called into an overcrowded operating room. Two critical patients had been rushed in at once, both shinobi torn apart by explosive tags, blood pouring too fast to contain. There weren’t enough hands. The senior medics were already overwhelmed, sweat pouring, voices overlapping into confusion.

 

And there, standing on a stool to see over the table, was Sakura.

 

Her hands were shaking — of course they were, she was twelve — but her voice wasn’t.

 

“Clamp that artery!” She snapped, her eyes locking on a chunin twice her size who had frozen mid-action. “You’re wasting time! Now!”

 

He jolted, obeyed.

 

“Good. Hold it steady. Don’t let go until I say.”

 

Her chakra control wasn’t perfect yet, her healing green glow flickering and sputtering. But her focus… gods, the focus. She bent over the shinobi’s torn abdomen with a concentration that cut through the panic of the room, her tone sharp when someone faltered, steady when another’s hands shook.

 

When a senior medic’s breath hitched — too much blood, too much pressure — it was Sakura who steadied him. A girl who hadn’t even seen her thirteenth birthday.

 

“Breathe,” she told him, voice firm but not unkind. “If you panic, he dies. Focus on the clamp. Just the clamp. I’ll handle the rest.”

 

And somehow, she had.

 

The room had bent around her, just as the hallway previously had. Adults twice her age followed the orders of a child because in that moment, she didn’t feel like a child at all. She felt inevitable.

 

Tsunade remembered standing there, watching with a strange hollowness in her chest. She should’ve pulled Sakura out. Should’ve told her she wasn’t ready, that she was too young, that this wasn’t her burden.

 

But she hadn’t.

 

She had stayed, silent, watching her apprentice carve order from chaos. Watching the way her presence held the team together.

 

And then came the moment that seared itself deepest into her memory.

 

A jonin had been brought in, half his chest caved in, his breaths rattling shallow and wet. Everyone had thought him lost. One of the medics whispered it aloud — “he won’t make it.” The words had spread like poison, filling the air with resignation before they’d even tried.

 

Sakura had heard. She had lifted her head, blood smeared across her cheek, and snapped, “Shut up.”

 

The room froze.

 

“He can hear you,” she hissed, glaring at the medic with eyes too sharp, too furious for her age. Then she leaned down, her small hand brushing blood from the jonin’s lips, and whispered to him — low but firm enough that Tsunade, standing nearby, caught every word.

 

“You’re not dying here. You hear me? You’re not allowed to. You’ll keep breathing until we’re done. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

And the man — gods help them — had obeyed. He’d clung on long enough for Tsunade herself to step in, finish the procedure, pull him back from the brink.

 

But it wasn’t Tsunade he remembered afterward. It wasn’t Tsunade’s voice that had anchored him when the dark closed in.

 

It was Sakura’s.

 

That night had blurred into exhaustion, a haze of blood and bandages, but those moments stood out in stark relief — the hallway, the surgery, the dying jonin clinging to a child’s command.

 

Even then, Tsunade had known.

 

She had seen her apprentice command the chaos of an entire hospital as a child — not just once, but again and again, each moment chiseling the truth deeper into her bones.

 

It had only been the beginning.

 

Over and over again, Sakura showed that same command — in the wards, on the field, even in council meetings where she was supposed to sit quietly and observe. She spoke and people listened. She steadied chaos without realizing what she was doing. And every time, that spark twisted something deeper inside Tsunade’s chest.

 

Until she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

 

She remembered the night she finally broke.

 

“Jiraiya,” she had said, her voice low, too raw to disguise, as they sat together in her office. Her hands were tight around a glass of sake, untouched. “What if… what if our daughter’s alive?”

 

The words had dropped like stones into still water.

 

Jiraiya had gone utterly still, his one good eye narrowing as he studied her. The usual teasing curve of his mouth was absent. He didn’t even pretend to laugh it off.

 

“…What brought this on?” He had asked quietly.

 

And she told him. She had told him about her apprentice. About the way Sakura’s voice carried in chaos, the way her eyes sharpened with command, the way she carried that weight as if she had been born to it. She told him how sometimes, just sometimes, when Sakura turned her head a certain way, Tsunade swore she saw her own mother’s profile — and other times, when she clenched her fists, she saw Jiraiya.

 

“She reminds me of her,” Tsunade whispered hoarsely, the words scarring her throat on the way out. “The child we lost. Too much. More than coincidence.”

 

Jiraiya hadn’t spoken for a long time. He had only looked at her, his expression unreadable, until finally he said, almost carefully:

 

“You think she’s ours.”

 

“I—” Tsunade had pressed her palms over her face, her composure cracking. “I don’t know what I think. But every time she walks into a room—gods, Jiraiya, it feels like she’s ours, and I can’t stop seeing it.”

 

His hand had closed over hers then, large and calloused, grounding her. He hadn’t argued. He hadn’t mocked. He had only nodded once, grave and heavy.

 

For months after that, Tsunade tried to bury it again. She told herself it was sentiment, guilt, projection. She told herself she had simply lost too much, and Sakura filled a wound that had never healed.

 

But then came the mission.

 

Sakura returned broken and bloodied from the field, half-conscious with a kunai wound that had sliced too deep. They had rushed her into surgery.

 

And in the frantic preparation, the medic at her side had cursed under his breath: “We need blood, fast—she’s AB negative, it’s rare—”

 

Tsunade’s own voice had snapped before she could stop it: “That’s mine.”

 

Her type. Her rare, stubborn, impossible blood type.

 

She had shoved her arm out before anyone could question her, and when the blood flowed from her veins into Sakura’s, the monitors steadied. Her color returned. Her pulse climbed.

 

Later, when Sakura was asleep and safe, Jiraiya had appeared in the doorway of the hospital room, silent as a shadow. He had been holding a scroll from the labs.

 

The DNA match stared up at them in unyielding black ink.

 

It was undeniable.

 

Their child.

 

The child they thought they had lost.

 

The one Tsunade had mourned with a hollow ache so deep it never healed.

 

And now, years later, sitting in the silence of her garden with sake burning in her veins, Tsunade let out a ragged laugh that tasted more like grief.

 

Because she had nurtured Sakura's inherited gift of authority, even way before she had known Sakura was her actual daughter. Gods help her, she had seen that presence at twelve and she hadn’t stopped herself. She’d thrown Sakura into situations again and again to harden it, to polish it, to make it undeniable—and instead of shielding her, she had decided then and there: this one can bear it.

 

And she had spent every day since making sure Sakura never forgot how.

 

Tsunade leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, bottle dangling from one hand. Her breath fogged faintly in the cool night, and her eyes unfocused on the shifting patterns of moonlight across the pond.

 

She had been waiting for this. That was the truth.

 

She hadn’t known what form it would take, or when it would happen, but she had always been waiting for the moment Sakura would have to step into the light—not as a medic, not as her student, not as just Sakura Haruno, but as her heir. As Senju.

 

She had just… been cautious. Too cautious, maybe. Every time she had tried to talk about the Clan, Sakura recoiled. She remembered it so clearly, the set of her daughter’s jaw, the sharp shake of her head, the stubborn words: That’s not me. That’s not what I want.

 

And Tsunade, for all her fire and temper, had never pushed too hard. She hadn’t wanted to break her. She hadn’t wanted Sakura to close off entirely. So she played the long game, placing lessons into medicine, hiding leadership in responsibility. She thought one day Sakura would simply… realize.

 

She huffed, low and bitter. She should’ve known better.

 

Who would’ve thought that the one thing to make Sakura willingly dive into it wasn’t duty, or legacy, or clan—but love.

 

For Ino, she had thrown herself into the fire. For Ino, she had embraced the weight she had resisted all her life.

 

And it terrified Tsunade how easily her daughter had chosen to be consumed.

 

Tsunade clenched her grip tighter around the bottle.

 

That was why she hadn’t taken the burden herself. Why she hadn’t shielded Sakura as she should have. Why she had let the island purchase fall to her daughter instead of herself. Because only in this crucible—this fire of responsibility and consequence—could Sakura be forced to step into the role she was born for. The world would see her, judge her, test her, and she would rise.

 

That was the hope—the selfish, guilty truth.

 

Tsunade tilted her head back, staring up at the cold glitter of stars. “I’m sorry, Sakura,” she whispered into the night, her throat tight with the burn of more than just alcohol. “I should have protected you. But… gods help me, I want them to see you. I want them to see what I see.”

 

Her hand shook faintly as she poured another drink. She didn’t know if Sakura would forgive her if she ever knew that she wasn't truly protecting her from the Clan but instead building her up for it, just in a different way. She didn’t even know if she deserved to be forgiven for it. 

 

It wasn’t as if her daughter had ever asked to be born a Senju heiress. Sakura came into the world blind to that truth, left to grow up believing she was nothing more than a clanless child—just another face in a village that overlooked her. She had no grand name to protect her, no noble bloodline to prop her up. All she had was her grit, her stubborn drive to claw her way out of the shadows and prove herself in a world that was merciless to the weak.

 

Tsunade had always blamed herself for that. She had surrendered too quickly to despair the day Sakura disappeared. There was no way, she had convinced herself, that an infant could have survived such a fall. That lie had become her shield, her justification for not searching harder, not overturning the world to make sure. If she had only pressed further, looked beyond her grief and her shame, perhaps she could have saved Sakura. She could have given her a childhood filled with warmth instead of hunger, love instead of loneliness. A childhood with family instead of abandonment.

 

So when the truth came crashing back—that her daughter had lived, that she had grown up alone, without even the knowledge of who she really was—Tsunade understood why Sakura recoiled every time the word “heiress” touched her ears. It wasn’t a gift to her. It was a chain.

 

Sakura hadn’t asked for titles. She hadn’t asked for a name that carried centuries of power and expectation. She hadn’t asked to be watched by eyes that saw not Sakura Haruno—the girl who fought and bled and earned her place through sheer will—but a Senju, Tsunade’s daughter, a legacy.

 

She rejected it again and again, ducking away from the title, refusing to wear it, refusing to become what others wanted her to be. She bore the Haruno name like an armour, as if it were the last piece of herself she still had control over—only ever using her Senju name when simply being Haruno wasn't enough.

 

And yet—Tsunade couldn’t pretend she wasn’t one of those people, deep down.

 

She tried to tell herself she was different, that she only wanted her daughter to be happy, free, safe. But in the deepest, selfish corners of her heart, she longed for more. She wanted Sakura to not only heal, but to lead. To not only inherit her hands, her skills, but her entire mantle, her place in the world. She wanted Sakura to carry the weight of the Senju name on her shoulders, to reclaim the "Clan with thousands skills" that had been lost when their house barely produced shinobi but medics and politicians instead.

 

The guilt of that longing was suffocating. It hollowed her out. Every time she looked at Sakura, she felt it—the tug of two opposing truths: that she loved her daughter enough to never cage her, and yet she desired so desperately to see her stand as the heir she was born to be.

 

So Tsunade drank. She drowned it all in sake, the grief of years lost, the shame of her failures, and the unbearable burden of wanting too much for the one person she loved most in the world.

 

Because how could she explain it to Sakura—that her mother’s greatest sin was not abandoning her, but wishing, even now, to mold her into something she hated?

 

 

 

Chapter 31

 

By the fourth day, Ino had already grown used to Fuyunomi Island. Every morning was the same with its salt-sweet air rising from the sea, the faint cries of gulls wheeling above, and the rustle of Kurobane’s men shadowing their every move as the trio pretended to be nothing more than dutiful surveyors. 

 

Outwardly, the three of them were the picture of diligence—walking the forest ridges, tracing the shores, jotting down notes about soil quality and water sources. 

 

Now, their map lay stretched across the central table of their temporary tent, thin black lines spidering across the parchment in an interconnected web. Where Sai had pressed harder, darker strokes converged into junctions—dense pools of chakra, like nodes in a circulatory system. Looking at it made Ino’s stomach tighten. The entire island pulsed with unnatural life, veins of chakra woven through earth and stone, converging at a point they had yet to uncover. It wasn’t just a relic hidden here—it was the power source of the land itself.

 

The map remained spread across the table, its web of dark lines seeming almost alive in the low lantern light. Ino’s fingertips lingered near one of the thicker strokes, following the vein-like trail as if she could feel the pulse beneath parchment. Sai sat cross-legged, brush still in hand, calmly refining one of the nodes while Shikamaru leaned back with a hand pressed to his temple, muttering calculations under his breath.

 

The flap of the tent stirred, breaking the silence. Ino’s head snapped up just as Kurobane stepped inside, his heavy boots sinking into the sand-dusted mat. He carried a slim leather folder tucked beneath one arm, his expression all sharp politeness.

 

“Forgive the interruption,” he said smoothly, inclining his head. “I trust the survey is progressing well?”

 

Ino flicked a glance at the map—at the web they absolutely couldn’t allow him to glimpse. Without missing a beat, she slid her hand across the parchment, drawing up a blank sheet from the side and laying it over the central section as if it had always been there. Sai, wordless as ever, leaned forward, his brush moving deliberately over the cover sheet, sketching meaningless contours of coastline.

 

“We’ve made some headway,” Shikamaru drawled, the lazy cadence in his voice disguising the tension in his shoulders. “Soil composition’s steady, water sources seem viable. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

Kurobane’s eyes moved briefly to the covered map, but only for a moment—long enough for Ino’s chest to tighten before he dismissed it with the same detached disinterest he carried for everything outside his own plans. He set the folder on the table, sliding it forward with two fingers.

 

“These are the finalized terms of our agreement,” he explained. “Documentation of land rights, project scope, and compensation clauses for your village. I expect Lady Sakura will want them reviewed before her seal is affixed.”

 

Ino’s lips curved into a polite smile, though her mind was still racing beneath the mask. Of course he’d bring this now. Always neat, always official. Not a hint he suspects the ground beneath his feet is alive with power.

 

She opened the folder, letting her eyes scan the rows of careful script. It was all technical jargon—land assessment permits, mineral rights, export privileges. Clean, structured, binding. Nothing about relics, nothing about chakra lines, nothing about the truth humming below the soil.

 

Shikamaru leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand as he read. “Straightforward enough,” he murmured, though Ino could hear the undertone of suspicion in his voice. “No hidden clauses. Hn. That’s almost disappointing.”

 

Kurobane allowed himself a thin smile. “I prefer transparency when dealing with potential allies. Trust is more efficient that way.”

 

Sai’s brush paused over the decoy map, and for a fraction of a second, Ino caught the faintest shift in his gaze toward her—a silent question, asking if anything was amiss. She gave the barest shake of her head. 

 

“Efficient,” she echoed, sliding the papers back into the folder and shutting it with deliberate care. “I’ll ensure these reach Sakura.”

 

Kurobane inclined his head again, but his eyes lingered on her a moment too long, as though he were weighing something. Not suspicion—more curiosity, the way a hawk might glance at a dove that strayed a little too close.

 

Kurobane’s eyes flicked down to the folder again before rising back to Ino, his sharp politeness hardening at the edges. He tapped a finger once against the leather cover.

 

“You are her representative, yes?” His tone was smooth, almost casual, but there was an undercurrent to it—like steel hidden in silk. His gaze lingered on her a fraction too long, steady and unblinking. “A fiancé, too. Surely she wouldn’t mind if it were your signature there.”

 

The words landed like a pebble in still water, rippling across the tent.

 

Ino’s breath hitched, though her face didn’t betray it. She felt the prickle of Shikamaru’s attention shift beside her, sharp and sudden. Sai’s brush had stilled, ink bead trembling at its tip.

 

It wasn't that they didn't want the collaboration, anything would be fine as long they're able to access the island. But since Sakura was planning on pushing with the island purchase, signing the documents now might get in the way of that. So they would have to wait.

 

She managed a soft laugh, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear as if the suggestion were almost flattering—and it is, despite how it was being used. "Sakura takes these matters very seriously. Her seal will be the one that binds anything official.”

 

“Of course,” Kurobane replied smoothly, though the curve of his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Still, efficiency is everything in diplomacy. A small formality—your mark of confidence—would be more than enough in the meantime. A gesture of good faith, if nothing else.”

 

Shikamaru leaned forward at that, chin still resting lazily in his hand, but his eyes sharp as blades beneath half-lowered lids. “Rushing things, huh? That’s unlike you, Councillor. You’ve been meticulous these past days. What changed?”

 

Kurobane’s gaze flicked to him, and for a moment, the air in the tent felt heavier, as though an invisible thread had been pulled. Then, just as quickly, his expression smoothed back into that diplomatic calm.

 

“Merely ambition,” he said. “Partnership with the Senju name would secure Kurobane's future. I should like to see it settled sooner rather than later.”

 

Sai, without lifting his eyes, murmured quietly as he set his brush back to the decoy map, “Impatience can sometimes blur the lines of success.”

 

The words were soft, spoken as if to the paper, yet they cut through them.

 

Ino seized the moment, straightening, her polite smile never wavering. “As I said, Sakura will decide what’s signed, and when. That’s how she operates.” She closed the folder gently, fingers firm on the cover, making it clear it would go no further today.

 

Ino’s refusal hung in the air, her hand still pressed lightly on the closed folder. Kurobane didn’t immediately speak; instead, his eyes flicked once more toward her fingers, as though measuring the firmness of her grip. For a moment she thought he might press again, but then—

 

The sharp rattle of footsteps broke the silence.

 

Daigo Kurobane’s secretary stumbled inside, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry. His face was pale, sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, and his hands trembled as he clutched a rolled scroll.

 

“Councillor!” His voice cracked, a hiss more than a call, though too urgent to be ignored. He darted a quick, guilty glance at Ino, Shikamaru, and Sai before bending close to Kurobane, whispering low. Even so, Ino’s trained ears caught fragments of words, thin threads cutting through the hurried murmur: Daimyō… Lord Yuri… urgent.

 

Kurobane’s expression faltered. Gone was the polished confidence he had worn for days, the calm of a man assured of control. His mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes darkening as he straightened slowly. Then, with an effort, he set the folder down with deliberate composure.

 

“My apologies,” he said tightly, tone strained beneath its veneer of civility. “I must attend to a matter of urgency. Please excuse me.”

 

He swept out of the tent with his secretary scrambling in his wake, the flap snapping shut behind them.

 

Silence settled, heavy and close, broken only by the faint wash of waves against the shore and the rustle of canvas in the evening breeze.

 

Ino exhaled, setting Sai’s brush back into the inkpot, her movements slow and precise. “That didn’t look like nothing,” she murmured, eyes still on the swaying fabric of the tent entrance.

 

Shikamaru’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest. His gaze lingered on the path Kurobane had taken before sliding to her. “Did you hear it?”

 

She nodded once. “The Daimyō. Lord Yuri.”

 

Sai was quiet, his posture unchanged, but his fingers hovered near the darkest nexus on the parchment, ink staining the tips. His voice, when it came, was soft, almost an observation rather than a statement. “That means Sakura has already moved.”

 

Shikamaru let out a slow breath, the corner of his mouth curling into something between a grimace and a smirk. “Figures. She said she’d lean on that favor sooner or later. Looks like she called it in.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. “If the Daimyō’s reaching out to Kurobane directly, then negotiations aren’t hypothetical anymore. They’ve already shifted.”

 

Ino tilted her head, blonde hair sliding over one shoulder as she frowned at the leather folder. The script inside swam in her memory—clauses, guarantees, mineral rights—but all of it meaningless now if Sakura was cutting him off at the source. “He’s been clinging to the idea of collaboration since we landed,” she said slowly, her voice edged with contempt as she mimicked Kurobane’s tone. “‘His land, our centers. Equal footing, shared interests.’ Unless he gets to tie his name to the Senju itself through marriage, he doesn’t want to sell outright because he thinks ownership gives him leverage."

 

“Which he doesn’t have anymore,” Shikamaru added, straightening now, his tone growing sharper, more analytical. “Remember how jurisdiction works here. The Daimyō sits above the Councils. Local landholders like Kurobane get influence, sure—they manage trade, levy taxes, oversee projects—but when the Daimyō issues a directive, it cuts straight through them. Kurobane can protest, delay, make noise… but legally, he can’t refuse. The title transfers if Yuri says so. End of story.”

 

Ino’s brows arched, though her smile was thin. “So it becomes clean paper, clean ink. The Daimyō grants title, Sakura purchases, and Kurobane’s left with nothing but the scraps of a compensation fee. Neat. He’ll hate that.”

 

“Yeah,” Shikamaru said dryly. “And he’ll fight it. Politically, maybe even with private muscle. But here’s the kicker—once the Daimyō puts his weight behind a deal, any public resistance from Kurobane looks like insubordination. Which means he risks losing more than land. His council seat, his reputation, maybe even trade privileges. Sakura’s not just buying the island—she’s pinning Kurobane into a corner he can’t wriggle out of, exactly like she planned."

 

Ino tapped her nail lightly against the closed folder, thoughtful. “That changes our leverage too. Before, this was Kurobane’s project on his land, with Sakura as the outside investor. If Sakura owns the island, it flips into Waves being seen as hosting Konoha's expansion with the Senju Clan heiress herself acting on it. Every medical outpost we build here cements us in the region. Makes the Leaf a permanent stakeholder on their soil.”

 

Shikamaru grunted, acknowledging the point. “Diplomatic pressure goes both ways, though. Too much Leaf presence, and the other villages are going to start sniffing. They won’t like the idea of Konoha planting roots this deep in Wave territory, even if it's all Senju's initiative."

 

Sai finally spoke again, his brush hovering above the nexus of black lines. “Which means this island can’t remain a political landmark. Once the relic becomes known, it escalates. First Kurobane, then Waves, then beyond. The more parties aware, the more dangerous it becomes.”

 

Ino followed the brush’s shadow over the parchment, her eyes narrowing at the ink-dark heart of the island. “Then Sakura’s timing is perfect. Secure the deed before the secret spreads. Once the island is hers, she controls access. No councils, no debates, no oversight. We dig before anyone else even suspects.”

 

Shikamaru rubbed his temple with two fingers, his voice lowering into calculation. “Which puts us on a clock. The longer Kurobane stalls, the more desperate he gets. If he kicks up enough dust, even a hint of something unusual here could reach the wrong ears. So, bottom line—we need to assume we’ve got a limited window to find the relic once the purchase finalizes. Days, maybe weeks, before external attention follows.”

 

Ino’s smile curved sharper, though her voice carried steel beneath the softness. “Then we move fast. Sakura will secure the land. Once she does, this island is no longer Kurobane’s bargaining chip—it’s ours.” Her fingertip pressed down firmly on the central nexus of the map, the black veins spidering outward like arteries. “And with it, so is this.”

 

Outside, the sea breeze rattled the tent walls again, carrying faintly the sound of raised voices—Kurobane’s, sharp and strained, the distant echo of a man realizing his foundation was slipping away.

 

Shikamaru’s eyes lingered on the map, his voice quiet, heavy with thought. “Troublesome as it is, the moment Sakura seals that purchase, the clock starts. And once it does… every move we make here will ripple.”

 

And Ino, with the certainty of someone who had seen Sakura’s plans unfold before, knew those ripples had already been set in motion.

 

Sai set his brush down at last, careful and precise, the action unhurried. He didn’t look at either of them as he spoke, his voice level, as though he were only continuing some inner thought out loud.

 

“What does this mean,” he asked quietly, “for Sakura?”

 

Ino blinked, caught off guard. His tone wasn’t probing, wasn’t sharp like Shikamaru’s questions tended to be—just curious. Innocent, almost.

 

Her lips parted, then closed again, the practiced smile faltering. She glanced at Shikamaru, but he didn’t immediately answer either. His eyes narrowed in thought, not irritation, as though Sai had dropped a stone into still water and both of them were now watching the ripples spread.

 

“…What do you mean by that?” Ino asked carefully.

 

Sai’s brush rested parallel to the parchment, his fingers steady, pale skin smudged faintly with ink as though even his silence left traces. He finally lifted his gaze to her, calm and unreadable.

 

“Purchasing land of this scale. Using the Daimyō’s hand to override a councilor. Sakura is making herself visible.” His voice carried no judgment, just an observation dropped into the space between them. His eyes flickered briefly to Shikamaru, then back. “Visibility draws cost. I wondered what that might be.”

 

The words hun, invisible but impossible not to breathe in. The only sound for a long moment was the canvas shifting with the outside afternoon breeze, taut ropes creaking as if even the island itself were listening.

 

Ino forced a laugh, soft but too thin, like glass held to the light. “Sakura knows what she’s doing. She wouldn’t move unless she was sure.” She had said it so many times to herself over these past days, each repetition smoothed into a charm against doubt. But the words sounded weaker now, stretched thinner under Sai’s gaze.

 

Almost without thinking, her hand slid across the table, over the leather folder Kurobane had left them. She pressed her palm against the surface, as if the rows of inked clauses might steady her, might reveal some secret truth if she held on long enough. But all it did was remind her of the paper’s weight, cold and bureaucratic—something tidy enough to disguise everything it didn’t say.

 

From across the table, Shikamaru sighed. The chair beneath him groaned as he tipped it back onto two legs, arms folded loose, his head tilting to the side in contemplation. “Sai’s not wrong.”

 

Ino turned sharply toward him, strands of her hair brushing her cheek. “What?”

 

He didn’t open his eyes. His words came out in that slow, measured way of his, of someone laying stones one by one across a river. “Calling in the Daimyō isn’t small. Even if it’s just to push things faster, a move like that puts Sakura in the middle of the political board. Everyone’s watching her now. Not just Kurobane, not just Wave’s council. Beyond them, too.”

 

The knot in Ino’s stomach twisted tighter, a creeping unease threading under her skin. “…And you think that’s a problem?”

 

One dark eye cracked open, drifting lazily from the map to her face. “I think it’s the kind of problem Sakura already knew she was stepping into. She’s not careless. If she asked the Daimyō to step in, she weighed the fallout first.”

 

“What do you mean fallout?” The words burst out sharper than she intended, a crack in her carefully built composure. She hated the edge in her own voice, hated that they could hear the worry in it. 

 

“Fallout means attention,” he said. “Sakura’s playing on a level where names start sticking. The Daimyō doesn’t just lend his hand for nothing. He’ll expect her to hold whatever role people decide to see her in.”

 

Sai tilted his head faintly, as though the idea of expectation itself required study. “Roles are difficult to shed once worn,” he murmured, his pale fingers brushing against the edge of the parchment. “That is what I meant by cost.”

 

Ino’s pulse stumbled. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting the first words that wanted to tear free—that Sakura never wanted roles, not like that, not ones others forced onto her.

 

Instead, she drew a slow breath, tasting canvas dust and oil smoke on her tongue. “You’re both overthinking this,” she said, softer than she meant to. “Sakura’s not… she doesn’t chase titles. She just wants to get this done.”

 

Shikamaru finally looked up at her, and it was worse than when he hadn’t. His gaze was sharp, searching, like he could peel away her words to find the nerves twitching underneath. “Yeah. I know. Which means if she’s moving this far, it isn’t just about land surveys. She’s tying herself to something bigger. Whether she wants to or not.”

 

The outside background noises crackled faintly behind them. Ino felt her fingers curl tighter over the leather folder, the edges digging into her palm. 

 

Whether she wants to or not.

 

Her mind betrayed her then, dredging up memories she didn’t want. Sakura slamming books shut in the archives, dismissing lineage records with clipped words; the way her hands clench whenever someone mentioned her bloodline where it wasn't appropriate, as if to belittle the efforts she pulled—the Senju name always somehow hanging over her like a shadow she refused to stand beneath.

 

And yet… Ino’s chest tightened, a cold passing suspicion scraping at her ribs, a question burning her throat before she could stop it. “Then why the hell hasn’t she said a word to me?”

 

No. Sakura would tell her. She had to. 

 

Wouldn’t she?

 

The chair legs thudded back to the mat as Shikamaru leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing slow circles into his temple. His brows had drawn together, a crease of thought that rarely eased once it set in. “Don’t know,” he admitted flatly. “None of us do. That’s the point.”

 

Sai’s gaze had already returned to the parchment, to the nexus where the black veins converged in his careful inked imitation of the island’s living chakra. His voice was quiet, the kind of quiet that forced the ear to listen closer. “The more power there is,” he murmured, “the higher the price.”

 

Ino’s pulse skipped. For a moment, she swore the lines on the map seemed to pulse too, the light catching the wet sheen of ink so it looked alive. She blinked hard, shaking her head, tossing back golden strands of hair as if she could physically throw off the thought. “Sakura doesn’t gamble blindly,” she said, firmer this time. “If she’s paying a price, it’s one she already counted.”

 

But even as she said it, the words felt brittle in her mouth. Not enough. Not steady enough. Because she knew Sakura. She knew how her lover carried things without complaint, knew how easily she shouldered burdens no one else could see, and if there was a cost… 

 

Her hands had curled into fists before she realized it, nails biting against her palms, the urge rising hot and familiar—to act, to demand answers, to tear down the curtain that separated her from the truth of what Sakura was actually doing.

 

“Hey.”

 

Her eyes snapped toward the voice. Shikamaru. His tone was meant to ground, the single word slicing through the spiral forming in her mind.

 

He was watching her, unflinching but not unkind, the way he always did when she tipped too far into emotion. The passing afternoon light from the tent, plastic windows carved his features into something sharper.

 

“Don’t get stuck on what-ifs," he said simply. "You know how Sakura is. If she’s keeping facing something, it’s because she already accounted for it. Worrying about the pieces you don’t see doesn’t help her. It just throws you off.”

 

Ino bit the inside of her cheek hard, the action almost anchoring her. Her face felt hot under his gaze, caught in the too-easy way he had read her. “…You think I’m overreacting.”

 

“I think you care too much to see straight when it comes to her.” His words were blunt, but his voice had softened, taking the sting out of them. Shikamaru leaned back again, though his eyes didn’t leave her. “And that’s fine, just don’t let it drag you sideways. Our job is here, kn this island—while she’s handling her end.”

 

Sai, without lifting his head, gave the faintest nod, as though Shikamaru’s words were an obvious truth. “Trust,” he said, that single word pared down to its essence.

 

The silence followed, but steadier, as though the ground beneath them had stopped shifting.

 

Ino drew in a breath, let it out slow, her shoulders slumping with the weight of reluctant acceptance. She knew they were right. She hated that they were right.

 

“…Trust,” she echoed, voice quieter now, more to herself than to them.

 

The map remained between them, the dark network of inked lines sprawling like veins across parchment, a crude reflection of the living thing beneath the island’s skin. Beyond it, beyond the tent, Sakura was moving her own pieces across another board entirely—one they couldn’t see, one Ino desperately wanted to understand.

 

Her fingers brushed over the paper, lingering for a heartbeat at the nexus where everything converged. She pressed down, as if tying herself to something solid, something tangible, against the vast unknown.

 

For now, that would have to be enough.

 

 

Chapter 32

 

On their fifth day, noon brought the same still heat pressing off the waves, gulls crying overhead as laborers carried timber along the shoreline. The trio sat in their open-air tent, bowls of rice and grilled fish set across the table, the sound of canvas flapping in the sea breeze a steady backdrop.

 

Shikamaru ate in silence, chopsticks moving lazily, though his eyes were already angled toward the maps stacked beside him. Sai sketched in the margins of another parchment, brush strokes careful, precise. Ino picked at her food without appetite, her thoughts elsewhere—on Sakura, on the Daimyō’s sudden intervention, on the ripples already spreading.

 

The quiet didn’t last.

 

Heavy boots pounded across the sand outside, the rhythm sharp and furious, until the tent flap snapped back hard enough to make the frame creak. Daigo Kurobane stormed inside.

 

He looked worse than yesterday—his hair unkempt, coat half-fastened, a storm pressed into every line of his face. His secretary trailed after him, pale and anxious, but it was Kurobane’s presence that filled the space, his anger dragging the air tight.

 

He didn’t bother with greetings. Both palms slammed down onto low table with a force that rattled bowls and sent tea sloshing over the wood.

 

“The Daimyō.” The word tore from his mouth like a curse. “Tell me—how is it that His Lordship suddenly takes such an interest in my island? In my negotiations?”

 

The echo of the impact still thrummed through the table. Ino’s chopsticks froze halfway to her mouth, pulse spiking.

 

Shikamaru didn’t flinch. He calmly turned his bowl so the broth wouldn’t spill further, his voice infuriatingly measured. “Your island, huh? Funny. From what I recall, title rights don’t sit so neatly in your hands if the Daimyō decides otherwise.”

 

Kurobane’s jaw tightened. He leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Don’t toy with me, Nara.” His hand curled into a fist against the table, knuckles blanching white. His gaze cut sharply to Ino, searing, accusatory. “This is her work, isn’t it? Lady Sakura whispers to the Daimyō, and suddenly Wave’s sovereign power leans on me to sell? Convenient. Transparent.”

 

Ino felt something flare in irritation inside her, but her face smoothed into the kind of smile she had practiced since childhood—a perfect curve over steel. “Sakura doesn’t whisper,” she said evenly. “If she wanted the Daimyō’s support, she earned it. She doesn’t need to scheme in shadows.”

 

Kurobane’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “Earned it?” His voice rose, his tone slicing through the tent. “Don’t insult me. She’s Senju. That name alone opens doors and she wields it—oh, she wields it well. What does it matter what Kurobane wants, if the Daimyō commands instead? My voice, the Council, my rights as steward of this land—all erased and threatened in a stroke of her clan’s influence.”

 

Sai set his chopsticks down carefully, folding his hands in front of his chest. His face remained calm, unreadable, but his gaze lingered on Kurobane as though sketching the shape of his fury. “You imagine chains where there are only threads,” he said softly. “Authority does not vanish because someone else carries more.”

 

But Kurobane only slammed his palm harder against the table, the wood groaning. “Spare me your poetry. You think I don’t see what’s happening? She hides behind that name, leverages it to strip me of my ground. First the expansion, then the deeds, and next—the councils themselves. Today it is Kurobane’s soil. Tomorrow it is Wave’s sovereignty, signed away under the Senju seal.”

 

The words hit like a slap. Ino’s hands curled into fists before she realized it, her nails biting hard into her palms. Heat flared up her throat, white-hot, shoving past the carefully constructed calm she had tried to hold.

 

“You don’t know a damn thing about Sakura.” The words cracked out sharper than she meant, her smile shattering into something raw, unhidden. She shoved her hand flat against the folder Kurobane had left them yesterday, the leather cool under her palm. “She doesn’t hide behind her name. She hates it when people reduce her to it. Every inch she’s walked, she carved herself—not because she’s Senju, but because she’s Sakura.”

 

Her voice rose, snapping like a whip through the tense air. “If the Daimyō listens to her, it’s because she earned his respect the same way she earns everyone else’s—through work, sacrifice, and results. Not because of what she was born into. Don’t you dare spit her name like it’s some tool she flaunts.”

 

The silence that followed was knife-edge sharp. Even the waves outside seemed to still.

 

Kurobane’s lips curled, not quite a smile. “Spoken like a woman already blinded by her own chains.”

 

Ino’s jaw tightened, pulse hammering hot in her throat. “Chains?” She bit out, voice taut with anger. “I know exactly who she is and what she’s built—and it isn’t something she took, it’s something she bled for. You want to call that chains? Fine. But I’d rather wear them than be shackled to bitterness like you.”

 

Kurobane’s expression hardened, the faintest gleam of satisfaction sparking in his eye at her bite. He leaned closer over the table, shadow spilling across the maps. “You think blood doesn’t buy doors? Then you’re more naïve than I thought. Tell me—how many border permits were signed in weeks that would’ve taken months without the Senju name inked at the bottom? How many merchant tariffs were ‘waived’ because Konoha doesn’t refuse the inheritor of Hashirama’s legacy? You call it respect, but it’s coercion draped in fine silk!"

 

He jabbed a finger towards her. “That seal isn’t her skill, Yamanaka. It’s her birthright, and she has wielded it like a cudgel—whether she admits it or not. Don’t dress it up as merit when it’s influence and fear doing the work.”

 

Kurobane’s veins rose at his temples as he leaned back just enough to sweep his gaze across them. “Do you understand what this means, Yamanaka? This is not a mere transaction. This is the dismantling of authority as it has existed in my property for decades. Every charter I have signed, every port I have regulated, every trade concession I have overseen—rendered subordinate to the will of a single girl simply because her family carries influence in the Daimyō’s court.”

 

He slammed his fist against the table once more, sharp enough to make the ink blotch on a nearby draft. “Fuyunomi Island—uninhabited, yes—but its legal status, its cadastral boundaries, its designation as part of my stewardship—was never to be reassigned without my approval. And yet, one letter, one word from a Senju, bypasses every procedure codified for governance. My voice, my vote, my veto—all changed under a single flex of her influence. Do you see the audacity? The sheer structural violation of the protocols that maintain my authority?”

 

His hands swept through the air, framing the chaos on the table like a commander directing troops. “My property's legal framework, the procedural safeguards meant to ensure fairness, rendered irrelevant. Undone by pedigree. By influence. By a name that carries weight not because of accomplishment in this land, but because of connections in another.”

 

Kurobane’s eyes burned into hers, hard and unyielding. “Do you realize what this signals to every steward, every landholder, every member of the Council? That diligence, careful oversight, and years of service can be overturned by external power. That your position as the owner of your own lands can be bypassed, overruled by a family whose reach extends beyond borders. That even the Daimyō—my Daimyō—will place their seal above my objections. That is the injustice here, Yamanaka."

 

He leaned closer. “Fuyunomi may be a blank page in the ledger of habitation, but in law it is mine and yet, because one Senju chose to step into the Council’s shadow, I am left holding scraps of paper that dictate nothing. My position reduced to formality. Is this what your heiress thinks the world is? That everything can be dictated by mere influence alone?"

 

He drew a breath, every muscle in his frame trembled with restrained rage. “And what precedent does it set? Today, it is Fuyunomi. Tomorrow, it could be every port, every dock, every trade license I have spent years securing. All overridden, all reassigned because influence carries more weight than law, and pedigree outweighs merit. This is not policy. This is corruption masquerading as a humanitarian act under the guise of expansion!"

 

His shadow fell long across her hands as he leaned back, fingers splayed against the table, voice dropping to a razor’s edge. “The Daimyō may see it as expedient. The Senju may see it as rightful. But I—owner of this land—see only injustice. That is the crime here, Yamanaka. Not the name. Not the skill. Not even the ambition. But the bypassing of law, council, and order itself.”

 

Ino’s hands balled into fists on the table, the heat from Kurobane’s shadow crawling into her skin like fire. “You insist on injustice," she spat, voice tight and sharp. “But what you refuse to see is that this isn’t coercion. Sakura didn’t steal your property. She's buying it. You act like the law is absolute justice when it’s been bent, ignored, and corrupted by men like you for decades.”

 

Sai’s pale eyes went over to scrutinize him. “You make yourself out as the paragon of procedural propriety, yet your ledger is littered with black-market permits, unregistered trade routes, human trafficking, and private acquisitions. You enforce law only when it benefits you, then cry foul when someone else plays by influence rather than intimidation.”

 

Shikamaru stood from his seat. “And let’s not forget what we hold against you—your illegal dealings, your favoritism in awarding contracts, the ports where tariffs were quietly pocketed. If there’s structural violation here, it’s been you doing the violations for years, and now you want to dress it up as some moral crusade because a Senju’s intervention exposes the gaps you’ve built in your own authority?"

 

Kurobane’s nostrils flared. His hands gripped the edges of the table so tightly that his fingers were turning white from pressure. “Don’t twist this. Those were operational maneuvers within the boundaries of the law, strategic decisions made for the benefit of my province. There’s a difference between administration and whatever this is!"

 

He clenched his fists. "And you misunderstand Sakura’s place in all this. She is nothing more than a spoiled heiress, a product of a powerful clan. Every letter, every signature she submits, is expanded by her mother’s influence, by the political machinery of the Senju. Everything she does is a calculated outcome of nepotism. She could not walk this path without the networks that support her. The Daimyō listens, yes—but do not mistake his attention for recognition of merit. He acts because ignoring a Senju is politically costly, because her bloodline carries leverage that cannot be denied.”

 

Ino’s eyes blazed, her voice rising over the pounding waves outside. “If pedigree alone were enough, then the world would be run by names, not skill! Sakura doesn’t rely on her family."

 

Shikamaru added more. "You only call it nepotism because it inconveniences you—because you’ve built a career hiding behind rules and fear, pretending process is justice, when all along you’ve been exploiting it for your own gain."

 

Daigo huffed. "She has turned every council rule, every protocol meant to restrain ambition, into a tool to serve her convenience. Influence is one thing. But what she does—she weaponizes her family’s legacy, preys upon the inefficiencies she knows exist, and fashions them into her personal advantage."

 

"And you—” his gaze cut sharply to Ino, “—you defend her as if innocence matters in this world of laws and lineage. But influence abused is still abuse, and she practices it as naturally as she breathes.”

 

Kurobane’s voice rose, raw now, the accusation almost tactile. “This is a deliberate undermining of authority. She does not walk through doors because she deserves to; she walks through them because she knows the hinges are greased by her clan, and every seal, every stamp, every signature she acquires is an assertion of entitlement. She is no mere achiever. She is an heiress bending everything around her not with inherited power—and laughing at the rest of us for pretending that merit still matters.”

 

He laughed bitterly, eyes blazing as if daring anyone to contradict him. “Do you want to speak of fairness, Yamanaka? Then tell me—where is the fairness in one family’s name obliterating decades of service, experience, and lawful authority?"

 

The words nearly tore a retort from Ino’s throat once more but Shikamaru’s voice cut in before she could. “You know, Kurobane… all your rants, your indignation, your lectures on law and authority… they don’t change one thing. The Daimyō has ordered this. Fuyunomi Island is to be sold to Sakura Senju. That isn’t a suggestion, and it isn’t open to debate. You can stew in your outrage all you want, but in the end, the choice is no choice at all.”

 

Kurobane’s face flushed, a mix of disbelief and fury sharpening every line. “You… you can’t—”

 

Shikamaru raised a lazy hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “Oh, I can. But I’m just stating facts. Your Daimyō’s word carries absolute weight. Obey, and the world keeps spinning. Refuse…” He let the pause hang, the silence dragging the air. “…and you risk everything you’ve built. Your position, your council seat, your authority—all for what? Pride?"

 

Kurobane’s glare became more heated as turned slightly, glancing down at the folder, then back at the three of them. “Don’t think this ends here,” he spat, venom coating each word. “I may sign. I may comply. But this—this is far from over. You think handing over Fuyunomi Island settles anything? This changes nothing. I will not forget, and I will not forgive. Yamanaka… your victory today is temporary and this… will not stand.”

 

Shikamaru’s lips quirked faintly, almost bored, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Sure, Kurobane. Feel free. But while you’re busy plotting revenge, the world moves on without you.”

 

Sai’s nodded. “Just remember… the longer you cling to your resentment, the further behind you fall. Competence doesn’t wait for grudges.”

 

Kurobane’s glare lingered, cutting across the table like a blade, but even his fury couldn’t undo the reality pressing down on him. With a final, venomous glance, he spun on his heel, the flap of the tent snapping shut behind him, leaving only the sound of distant waves and gulls in the tense, sun-drenched quiet.

 

Ino exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “He’ll be annoying.”

 

Shikamaru leaned back, fingers steepled, expression unreadable. “Troublesome, yes. But he’s trapped in a corner he can’t climb out of. That’s the advantage we have. Let him fume—it’s more exhausting for him than for us.”

 

Sai’s eyes swept across the maps again, calm but alert. “For now, Fuyunomi will belong to Sakura. Everything else… we manage from here.”

 

The three of them returned to the remains of their breakfast, the clink of bowls and chopsticks against the wooden table blending with the rush of waves outside. The sunlight had grown harsher, spilling across the canvas tent and warming the air to a heavy, almost oppressive. 

 

Ino pushed the last piece of grilled fish around her plate without interest, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “We have the freedom to move across the island now,” she began, voice soft, almost pensive. “But the relic… we know we can’t just take it. Even if we find the source, removing it could shut the entire island down. Or worse—it could sink. And we can’t let that happen. Sakura’s plans… she’s going to use this land for medical centers. Expansion. We can’t let her spend money on a property she won’t actually be able to use.”

 

Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed as he traced an absent pattern in the wood grain of the table. “Exactly. We can’t just pick it up and move it, or even attempt to neutralize it completely. The island’s life is tied to that relic. We need to make sure it’s contained but still functional. Otherwise, her investments, her projects… all of it would go to waste. That’s unacceptable.”

 

Sai, ever precise and deliberate, set his chopsticks down and stared at the table for a moment, as if drawing invisible lines between the scattered bowls and the discussion itself. “The backup plan is the only realistic option,” he said softly. “We seal the relic. The island will still receive energy, but at a diminished level—enough to appear normal from the outside. Any observer, any would-be intruder, won’t detect the source. It reduces the risk, while keeping the island viable. But… the seal must be flawless."

 

Ino’s brow furrowed as she pressed her lips together. “Flawless. One misstep and the island loses vitality completely. Or sinks. Even partial failure could render it useless for Sakura. We have to get this right.”

 

Sai tilted his head. “Naruto could handle this. He’s trained in advanced sealing techniques with Jiraiya and has studied his Uzumaki heritage extensively with Karin since the war. He could design a containment seal sophisticated enough to stabilize a relic of this scale.”

 

Shikamaru’s hand froze mid-motion, holding a chopstick lazily between two fingers. “Too far away. He’s traveling, following Jiraiya’s footsteps, learning, protecting people across the world. Even if he wanted to help, reaching him would take weeks and we can't risk weeks. Remember, the Elders are still looking out for this relic. We have to hurry before they find out it's in this island."

 

Ino glanced down at her plate, then back at them. “Sasuke? He has the Rinnegan… that’s plenty of analytical power to understand the relic and construct a high-level seal.”

 

Sai shook his head. “Same problem. He’s too far away. He moves according to threats, not schedules. We can’t depend on him arriving in time, especially not with the time being different from where he is."

 

The three lapsed into silence for a moment, the sun beating low, the waves outside insistent. 

 

Shikamaru finally exhaled. “We need someone skilled, accessible, and trustworthy. Someone who understands the risks, who won’t improvise recklessly. One miscalculation, one unstable seal… and the island possibly dies. Sakura’s investments, the expansion plans… all of it wasted.”

 

Sai’s eyes flicked toward Ino. “Then we have to consider… someone outside our immediate group. Someone we can contact directly."

 

Ino’s expression shifted, subtle at first—a faint tightening at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes glazed just slightly over the horizon. Shikamaru and Sai both noticed instantly.

 

“What is it?” Shikamaru asked, leaning forward lazily but with a sharp edge of curiosity.

 

Ino exhaled, letting out a breath that was half frustration, half begrudging acceptance. “Karin,” she said finally, her tone flat. “She’s… probably the best option.”

 

Sai blinked. “Karin? She… isn’t someone we’re particularly close to."

 

Shikamaru’s brows lifted, gulping down the last of his eggs before setting the chopsticks down. “Karin, huh… that’s an interesting pick.” He leaned back, expression thoughtful, as if already running through probabilities and outcomes in his head. “She’s an Uzumaki, so sealing is in her bloodline. She’s precise, and her chakra control is top-notch. Not a bad option.”

 

Ino pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Not a bad option, but not one I like.”

 

That single note of reluctance pulled both men’s attention to her immediately. Shikamaru tilted his head lazily, studying her in that calculating way of his. 

 

Sai, more direct, asked bluntly, “What’s the problem?”

 

Her jaw worked as she weighed whether to answer, but their expectant silence left no room to deflect. “Karin isn’t exactly someone I want to be around. Back during the war… she got attached. To me.” She waved a hand as if brushing away the memory. “And I don’t mean ‘let’s be friends’ attached. She flirted constantly. It was annoying. It still is annoying. And frankly, I don’t need that complication in the middle of this mission.”

 

Shikamaru blinked once, then smirked faintly, as though the thought amused him. “So that’s what that look was about.”

 

Sai, ever the observer, tilted his head curiously. “She expressed romantic interest in you?”

 

Ino groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “Yes, Sai. She did. Not that it matters. We’ve all been on decent terms since the war ended, and Naruto's friends with her, but it doesn’t make sitting across from someone who openly flirts with you any less… irritating.”

 

Shikamaru’s smirk widened just a fraction. “Troublesome, but personal discomfort isn’t reason enough to dismiss her. Not when the stakes are this high.” He gestured toward the folded maps and documents spread across the table. “If the seal fails, we don’t just lose the island—we lose Sakura’s entire expansion project. The medical centers, the funding, the future she’s trying to build here. This land is going to be the foundation for all of it. We can’t risk it on pride or personal preference.”

 

Sai nodded in agreement, his voice calm but pointed. “Exactly. This seal is the lynchpin. If the relic is left uncontained, it will attract attention. If it’s botched, the island could die. The only outcome we can accept is flawless execution.” He turned his gaze back to Ino. “Karin is uniquely suited for this. She carries Uzumaki lineage, which makes her sealing naturally compatible with objects of immense chakra. She has firsthand knowledge of advanced Uzumaki techniques and unlike other options, she is accessible, we can actually reach her within a reasonable time frame.”

 

Ino pressed her lips into a thin line, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. She hated that they were right. “I know. I know. She’s skilled, she’s trustworthy enough, and she won’t half-ass something like this. I’m not questioning her ability. I just…” She trailed off, dragging in a deep breath before muttering, “I just don’t want to deal with the constant flirting, and troubling Sakura.”

 

Shikamaru leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “So you grit your teeth and deal with it. Troublesome as it may be, Karin is the best option we’ve got.”

 

Sai added, with that cutting frankness of his, “Consider it part of the mission. Your discomfort is minor compared to the consequences of failure. Sakura cannot afford to waste her investment here.”

 

Ino exhaled through her nose, shoulders relaxing with resignation. “Fine. Karin it is.”

 

Shikamaru nodded, already reaching for the folded parchment at his side. “Then we’ll draft a message immediately. No wasted time. We explain the situation in detail—the relic, the risk, the need for a perfect containment seal. She’ll understand the gravity of it.”

 

Sai leaned forward slightly, the brush still balanced in his fingers. “We’ll also need to prepare a preliminary diagram of the seal’s framework. Karin will adapt it, but the foundation has to be clear. We can’t leave any ambiguity for her to interpret on her own. Every instruction, every precaution, written in detail. If she fails, it won’t be because she lacked information.”

 

Ino straightened in her seat. “Then let’s make it perfect. No room for error. Sakura’s future is riding on this, and I won’t let anything jeopardize it—not even Karin’s… habits.”

 

Shikamaru smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Good. That settles it. Karin will be the one to seal the relic.”

 

For a moment, the three sat in silence again, but it was different from before. The tension was still there, but sharper, more focused—less like static in the air and more like the taut string of a bow pulled back and waiting.

 

Outside, the waves continued to crash steadily against the shore, the world deceptively calm. But within the tent, the decision had been made. Karin would be summoned and whether Ino liked it or not, her discomfort was a small price to pay compared to what was at stake.

 

The relic would be sealed. The island would remain alive—and Sakura’s investments would not be wasted.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 33

 

Two days later, the morning dawned gray and humid, sea mist crawling over the island’s cliffs and settling heavy over the mangroves. Ino stood on the porch of the wooden outpost, staring out toward the harbor. A boat had just slipped into the inlet, its sails a muted brown, its wood creaking against the tide.

 

From the moment the red head of hair appeared against the dull horizon, Ino groaned.

 

Karin.

 

She stepped off the vessel with her usual sharp, restless energy, crimson hair tied loosely but with several strands escaping to frame her pale face. She wore a fitted black vest, cinched with a red rope-belt that emphasized her slim figure, and a light cloak draped lazily over her shoulders—one corner slipping low enough to bare her pale collarbone. 

 

Her glasses glinted faintly as she adjusted them, scanning the dock with intention that felt both calculating and challenging. Beneath her knee-length shorts, her boots were travel-worn, flecked with sand from a journey she had clearly taken fast, without pause. She always moved with that kind of urgency, as if she lived in a state of perpetual readiness.

 

Ino’s eyes narrowed despite herself. Karin had read the letter—that much was clear from the sharp flicker of knowing in her expression. She wasn’t walking onto this island blind. 

 

Sakura had finalized the purchase of Fuyunomi Island yesterday, paperwork had been sent to her directly for signing as well as the deed. They talked briefly last night through the network communication, and she could feel her stomach twist when she remembered how tired Sakura had looked last night.

 

“Looks like you didn’t sink it yet,” Karin said when she neared, her lips tugging into a smirk as her gaze cut first to Shikamaru and Sai—then lingered on Ino a second too long.

 

Ino folded her arms across her chest. “You took your time.”

 

Karin’s smirk curved sharper. “Please. You wrote me about a relic powering an entire island and begged for my sealing expertise. I came faster than you had any right to expect. What’s the matter, Yamanaka—worried I wouldn’t show?”

 

Her tone was teasing, but it wasn’t her words that stung. It was the way her eyes softened faintly when they landed on Ino, as if looking past her practiced sharpness to something deeper. Ino knew that look. She’d seen it before—during the war.

 

She remembered dragging Karin out of a crater where an ambush squad had cornered her, the other kunoichi battered and bleeding but still trying to push herself to heal others first. Ino had snapped at her, furious that she could be so reckless, and Karin—half-delirious, bloodied, glasses cracked—had only laughed. After that, they’d crossed paths again in the months of planning and battle. It had been then, Ino realized, that Karin’s little smiles had started to linger, her words tipping into something more… deliberate.

 

The realization had annoyed Ino at first. Then unsettled her. And finally, it had been Sakura who noticed—Sakura whose hands clenched into fists, Sakura whose eyes hardened in silence, until one day, Ino realized Sakura wasn’t angry because Karin’s attention was bothersome. She was angry because she was jealous.

 

And that was the day Ino had understood that Sakura loved her too.

 

Now, standing here almost two years later, that same flicker had returned, Karin’s smile still sly but her gaze betraying something rawer underneath.

 

“You look good,” Karin added offhandedly, her voice low but cutting clear in the damp air. “War suits you less than peace does, Yamanaka. Guess I always knew that.”

 

Shikamaru groaned faintly under his breath, turning away toward the maps sprawled on the table inside. Sai, expression unreadable, followed him without a word. Neither wanted to stand through Karin’s relentless needling. That left Ino alone to feel the weight of that gaze, the sharp claw of discomfort it stirring in her chest.

 

She wanted to snap at Karin, to remind her that Sakura—her Sakura—was waiting on them, counting on them. She wanted to say it was Sakura’s island, Sakura’s vision, Sakura’s dream that they were safeguarding, not a stage for Karin to parade her old habits.

 

But instead, Ino exhaled slowly, her hand curling against her elbow. She lifted her chin, her blue eyes glinting as the ocean spray. “Let’s get one thing straight, Karin. You’re here for the seal. Nothing else. Sakura’s vision is riding on this island staying intact. We can’t afford your games.”

 

Karin’s smirk faltered—just a fraction—before she pushed her glasses up her nose and chuckled, low and unbothered. “Oh, Yamanaka… still sharp as ever. Fine. Show me the map.”

 

But as she brushed past, her shoulder grazed Ino’s a second too long. And though Ino stood her ground, the old irritation simmered deep in her veins.

 

Because this wasn’t about Karin’s games. This was about Sakura—and Ino would not let anyone, anyone, endanger what Sakura had invested.

 

Inside the outpost, the air was thick with the smell of ink and parchment. The large wooden table was already cluttered with Shikamaru’s careful notes and Sai’s crisp drawings: a detailed map of Fuyunomi Island, with inked lines branching like veins across its surface. Each one traced the flow of chakra as they had felt it—converging toward the heart of the island.

 

Karin leaned over the map, her red hair slipping forward as she adjusted her glasses. Her sharp eyes scanned every detail, her fingertips lightly brushing the edges of Sai’s brushstrokes.

 

“Impressive,” she murmured, her tone sincere for once. “You’ve done more than just scout. You’ve actually charted the network. These aren’t just chakra-rich zones—this is a circulatory system. And here—” she tapped the center where the lines tangled in a tight knot “—that’s your heart. The relic’s anchor point.”

 

Ino stayed standing, arms folded. She didn’t want to give Karin the satisfaction of seeing her sit across from her, as though they were equals here. But she listened. They all did.

 

Sai broke the silence first, his voice flat. “If the relic is removed, the flow collapses. This island… dies.”

 

“Worse than dies,” Karin corrected without hesitation. She tapped again, harder this time. “This island is the relic. Or at least, its life support. If you take the heart, the body sinks. Straight to the ocean floor, but you already knew that."

 

“So we agree,” Shikamaru said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Extraction’s out of the question. Sealing is our only viable option.”

 

Karin nodded. “Seal the relic in place, smother its presence. Reduce its output so no one outside this island can sense it. But—” she pushed her glasses up, her gaze cutting to Ino “—that means compromising what makes this land so perfect. Crops won’t thrive quite as fast. The air won’t feel quite so clean. It’ll still be fertile, still useful, but… Sakura’s dream won’t be as effortless as she imagined.”

 

Silence hung. None of them dared say aloud the truth, but Ino felt it all the same: better Sakura struggles with land that’s merely good than lose everything to water and ruin.

 

“Do it,” Ino said firmly before anyone else could. “Sakura’s already invested. She's already been told of the side effects."

 

Shikamaru’s gaze flicked to her while Sai merely dipped his brush back in ink, quiet as always.

 

Karin, however, smirked again, though softer this time. “Still the bossy one, aren’t you?”

 

“Get to work,” Ino snapped.

 

 

---

 

 

They left the outpost within the hour, following the narrow footpaths into the dense forest. The canopy swallowed them whole, sunlight breaking only in mottled beams. Birds scattered at their approach, and beneath the earth, Ino could feel it—the steady thrum of chakra. Like the island itself was breathing.

 

The closer they walked to the center, the thicker it became. Karin paused often, eyes closing as she focused, her hand pressed against tree trunks, soil, stone. Each time she adjusted their course slightly, until finally, the trees gave way to a clearing.

 

At its center lay a natural hollow in the ground, ringed with stone and thick with moss. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat echoing beneath the earth. Even Ino, no sealing expert, could feel the power radiating upward. It was raw, unshaped—dangerous.

 

“There,” Karin said quietly, almost reverently. “The anchor.”

 

She stepped forward, slipping her cloak from her shoulders. Beneath, sealing tags and ink vials were strapped neatly to her belt. She pulled them free, kneeling on the earth with practiced ease. Her fingers already stained black, she began to sketch the first of many complex spirals onto the stone ring.

 

Shikamaru crouched nearby, eyes narrowing as he studied her movements. “How sure are you this will hold?”

 

Karin didn’t look up, her hand moving with steady confidence. “As sure as anyone can be when working with something older than recorded history. But if you want someone to blame if it fails—” her smirk flickered “—you can blame me.”

 

Ino watched her, arms tight across her chest. The way Karin’s hands moved—confident—was the same way she used to weave chakra chains in battle. It was unsettling, but it was also… convincing.

 

The sealing patterns grew, line upon line, forming a net across the stone. The air grew heavier with each completed mark, chakra pooling thick around them. Ino felt the hair on her arms rise, a pressure building at the base of her skull.

 

Finally, Karin pressed her palm flat against the center sigil, chakra flaring bright red from her skin. The seals lit up in response, spiraling outward like veins igniting in fire. The pulse beneath the earth faltered—then steadied, slower, weaker, as if lulled into sleep.

 

The ground did not collapse. The forest did not wither. But the perfection of the island dimmed, subtly but unmistakable.

 

Karin exhaled, sweat dripping down her temple. “Done. For now.”

 

Ino’s hands curled into fists at her side. Relief washed through her like a tide.

 

The moss along the ring of stones trembled once, then stilled as if exhaling its own relief. Karin leaned back on her heels, tugging her cloak back over her shoulders, the ink staining her hands and forearms in a web of spirals and blotches.

 

“Don’t look so tense,” she said, adjusting her glasses with a quick push. “That was just the foundation layer. Think of it like… tying the relic down by one chain. The trick is, if you keep tightening chains too quickly, the anchor fights back. Seals unravel. So we wait.”

 

Shikamaru, squatting lazily nearby, tilted his head with a sigh. “Wait how long?”

 

“A few hours at least.” Karin’s tone was brisk. “The relic needs time to settle into the restraint. If I add the next layer now, the bind won’t take. Later tonight I can set another, maybe two if the flow stabilizes. This thing is ancient—forcing it will just snap the work I’ve done.”

 

Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling a long, drawn-out 'troublesome.' “So, in the meantime?”

 

“We can reinforce the perimeter.” Karin’s gaze slid over the map Sai had rolled open, still marked with chakra nodes across the island. She tapped several spots with a scarlet-stained fingertip. “Set secondary seals here, here, and here. Think of them as pressure valves—redirecting and dampening flow before it ever reaches the anchor. Strong walls always need supports.”

 

Sai gave a small nod, already reaching for his brush. “I can map routes.”

 

Karin’s lips curved again. “Perfect. You’ve got steady hands—I could almost mistake your brushwork for Uzumaki line art.”

 

“Almost,” Sai replied tonelessly, though the faintest twitch of his mouth betrayed the jab had landed.

 

They moved together, leaving the clearing, the relic’s heartbeat muffled now beneath layers of earth. The footpaths wound deeper through dense forest, sun blotched out by the canopy, the air thick with damp loam. Ino kept a sharp pace, every step radiating her need to stay in control.

 

But Karin—Karin moved like she was strolling through a market square, every so often leaning toward Ino, her words dropping too close.

 

“Careful, Yamanaka,” Karin murmured once, when Ino ducked beneath a low branch. “Wouldn’t want that golden hair catching. I might have to rescue you.”

 

Ino shot her a glare sharp enough to cut bark. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle you with it first.”

 

Sai, walking a few steps behind, blinked once at her sharp tone. “Don't kill our seal expert, Ino."

 

Shikamaru, hands in his pockets, let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, it's not worth the trouble."

 

Ino whipped around, blue eyes narrowed. “Oh, shut up, both of you.”

 

Karin only laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “See? Still fiery. Some things never change.”

 

They reached the first parameter point—an old banyan tree whose roots clawed into the soil like petrified snakes. Karin crouched, brushing soil aside with stained fingertips, her movements precise and practiced. She sketched a spiral seal across the root’s surface, ink bleeding into the grooves of bark.

 

Her voice softened then, almost more to herself than the others. “It’s like weaving a net. The relic’s energy bleeds outward like water from a cracked jar. These perimeter seals will catch the leaks, siphon them back before anyone outside ever feels it.”

 

Ino hovered with arms crossed, pointedly avoiding Karin’s eyes. But she couldn’t help watching—the way Karin’s hand never trembled, the way the seals formed like flowing script, she looked so natural in her element. She knew Karin and the rest of their team are staying in Otogakure, a village Orochimaru made to house his bases and laboratories which became an actual recognized village after the two-year war—though still questionable, they earned their recognition because of their help. 

 

Karin straightened suddenly, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist, smearing ink across pale skin. Then, without missing a beat, she leaned a little too close to Ino and said in a sly whisper, “I could write your name like this too, you know. Permanently. Right over my heart.”

 

Ino’s lips parted in outrage. “Karin!”

 

Shikamaru barked out a laugh, clutching his stomach. “She walked right into that one.”

 

Even Sai, deadpan as ever, tilted his head. “It’s interesting. Flustering Ino is apparently not difficult.”

 

“Excuse me?” Ino snapped, but both men ignored her.

 

Karin chuckled under her breath, smug. “I like your teammates, Yamanaka. They appreciate quality humor.”

 

Ino spun on her heel, storming toward the next waypoint before she said something she’d regret.

 

The hours slipped by this way—stamping seals into earth, tree, and stone, Karin’s chakra working like threads sewing a vast, invisible quilt over the island’s bones. Between the work, her constant teasing was relentless, each quip needling Ino, each smirk daring her to break. Shikamaru and Sai took their amusement in the way Ino bristled and flared, as if Karin had dug her fingers into the exact spot where composure cracked.

 

By the time they finished the third parameter seal, the light had shifted golden, the forest humming with dusk. Karin dusted her hands off, red hair glowing like embers in the fading light.

 

“One net cast,” she said softly, satisfied. “Next comes the tightening. Tonight, we add another chain to the heart.”

 

Ino inhaled deeply, her resolve anchoring her spine that no amount of Karin’s games would pull her off course from their objective here.

 

Still—when Karin caught her eye with that sly half-smile, Ino rolled hers with enough force to make the boys chuckle again.

 

 

---

 

 

The night had deepened into a blanket, the air damp with sea-salt and cicadas buzzing faintly from the treeline. Their camp had settled into a clearing not far from the central seal site, a cluster of canvas tents set up around a modest fire. It was quiet, with Kurobane and his people having vacated the island two days ago after the purchase was finalized.

 

Smoke curled upward in thin streams, carrying the scent of grilled fish and wild herbs. Surprisingly, it was Sai crouched at the fire, turning skewers of fish with a calm hand. For a man who once treated eating as a necessity, he moved with unhurried grace, adding pinches of seasoning from a pouch at his side. Shikamaru was standing beside a tree, a smoke in hand, probably thinking deeply again—while Karin lingered near the firelight, absentmindedly cleaning ink stains off her hands with a cloth.

 

Ino had taken the log just a little farther from the circle of fire, where the night breeze brushed through her hair, cool against the warmth of her skin. She took out her communicator device, a compact cylindrical gadget that functions as an advanced communicator. At first glance, it looked like a small metallic scroll, its body lined with chakra-conductive alloys and sealing inscriptions hidden beneath the casing.

 

It was one of the three communicator devices they had developed during the war, a ninja tech. This one was called the Communicator Capsule, that when infused with chakra, the capsule unfolds slightly, projecting a glowing blue panel like a light-screen scroll. From this panel, a holographic seal matrix rises, creating a three-dimensional projection of the linked communicator, transmitting live images.

 

There was the standard shinobi bracelet too, a sleek, metallic wristband issued to every shinobi embarking on missions beyond the village. Forged with chakra-conductive steel and embedded with miniature sealing arrays, the device doubles as a communicator and a life-status indicator. By channeling chakra into the bracelet, the user connects directly to the Yamanaka Network, enabling voice transmission with teammates or mission command. 

 

The Communicator Band can also open direct links between shinobi in the same squad, allowing hands-free communication in battle. It was written into law as a standard shinobi device because it can mark locations on the field for reconnaissance or emergencies. 

 

There was also the Sync Seal, a specialized sealing formula imprinted directly onto a shinobi’s forearm or wrist, acting as a biometric seal communicator. Its function is the same as the bracelet, except that unlike the external bracelet, the seal cannot be removed unless ordered. It's meant to be subtle and harder to tamper with, but it places more burden on the wearer’s chakra reserves. The Sync Seal is often reserved for high-ranking shinobi or long-term operatives who can’t risk losing physical gear. Sai permanently has it etched on the back of his wrist as an ANBU Commander, as so is the rest of the ANBU and their seals are all linked to a private ANBU network that she regularly oversaw.

 

Her capsule glowed faintly in her hand, projecting Sakura’s hologram across from her. The hospital’s office light pooled around Sakura’s figure, stacks of charts visible on her desk. She looked tired—hair pulled up into a messy knot, dark smudges beneath her green eyes—but focused all the same.

 

Ino’s lips curved in a faint smile as the familiar projection sharpened, casting pale light across her face. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, the log creaking softly beneath her weight. For a moment, she didn’t speak—just drank in the sight of Sakura, the way the faint blue of the projection caught the strands of her pink hair, the slight sheen of sweat on her temples from working too long. Even the tired slump of Sakura’s shoulders made something protective stir deep inside her.

 

“How was it today?” Ino finally asked, her voice low, careful. The night wind carried her words away in whispers, but their chakra bond made them land softly in Sakura’s ears. “You look like you’ve been buried under half the village’s paperwork again.”

 

Sakura let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re not wrong. We had a wave of admissions—half of them respiratory from the factory sector, and the rest the usual training injuries. A couple of ANBU came in for bloodwork too.” She gestured vaguely to the stacks of charts. “I’ve been shuffling between the wards and this desk since morning. I swear if one more genin tries to impress his friends with explosive tags, I’ll staple his hands together myself.”

 

Ino snorted softly, shaking her head. “Same old, then. You’re supposed to be the head of the hospital, Forehead—not its only doctor.”

 

Sakura smirked faintly, though the tiredness didn’t leave her eyes. “Says the one who barely sleeps when she’s monitoring relic movement on the field herself."

 

Ino leaned back, tilting her head to let the moonlight play along her hair, but her gaze never left Sakura’s projection. “Touché. But at least I’ve got a team. You—” her voice softened “—you just keep pushing yourself. I can see it in your eyes, Sakura. You look… worn out.”

 

For a heartbeat, Sakura’s holographic form stilled. Her green eyes flicked up, locking onto Ino’s through the glowing panel. Even separated by chakra and distance, it felt as if she could feel the weight of Ino’s stare.

 

Sakura’s lips curved faintly, the smile more weary than amused. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders rising and falling, before answering.

 

“It’s been manageable,” she said at last, her tone measured, like she was reassuring them both. “Compared to the nightmare a few days ago, this is nothing. At least now it’s just charts and stubborn patients. Before…” She paused, rubbing her temples, as if the memory itself was enough to trigger a headache. “Before it was pages of contracts, permits, signatures—dozens of documents stacked higher than my desk just to finalize the island purchase. Every line item had to be justified, and the amount of seals I had to verify—gods, Ino, I thought I was going to drown in paperwork before we even touched the island itself.”

 

Sakura eventually leaned back in her chair, her projection wavering faintly as her chakra shifted. “Compared to that? A flood of factory coughs feels like mercy.”

 

Ino’s brows knit together, her fingers tightening slightly on her knees. “You should’ve told me you were buried like that. You didn’t have to drag yourself through all of it alone.”

 

Sakura’s laugh was soft, but tired. “Who else would I trust to check every single clause? If we’d missed something—if even one of those contracts had been mishandled—we’d have wasted time. Worse, we could’ve risked losing the entire investment. All that effort, all the resources we’ve pooled together… I couldn’t afford a single mistake, Ino."

 

Her eyes softened, the green brightening in the pale chakra-light as she looked at Ino’s silent silhouette. “Don’t worry, though. It’s behind us now. The worst of the bureaucracy’s finished. The island is ours.”

 

Ino tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly at the flickering projection. The firelight behind her snapped and hissed as the night wind shifted, carrying the scent of salt from the sea. She let a beat pass, then leaned in, voice slipping into a softer, more teasing lilt—though her eyes were sharp.

 

“So,” she began, “how did Lady Tsunade take it when you went ahead and bought an entire property sitting in international waters?”

 

The change in Sakura was subtle, but Ino caught it. A small flinch, the barest tightening at the corners of her mouth before she schooled her expression. Almost like she’d been struck somewhere she hadn’t armored.

 

For half a heartbeat, Sakura’s lips parted, as if something was going to spill out. But then she hesitated, inhaled slowly, and masked it with a wry smile. “She… wasn’t thrilled.”

 

Ino raised a brow. “That’s an understatement.”

 

Sakura exhaled, leaning back in her chair. The hologram shimmered faintly with the movement, her tired face caught in the pale blue glow. “Let’s just say she made her opinion very clear. At first, she thought I’d lost my mind—that I was biting off more than I could chew. Called me reckless. Reminded me more than once how complicated land ownership is when it crosses borders.”

 

Her voice was even, steady—but Ino could hear something under it, a tautness she couldn’t quite place.

 

“And after she finished yelling?” Ino prompted gently, folding her arms, watching Sakura carefully.

 

Sakura’s gaze flicked away from the projection, down toward the edge of her desk where her fingers traced along a scattered chart. Her hesitation was brief but telling. “She told me if I was set on it, then I’d better make sure it mattered. That if I was going to take this risk, I needed to be prepared for the responsibility that comes with it. No excuses.”

 

Sakura chuckled faintly after, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Typical Mama, a slap on the back, then a shove forward.”

 

Ino smirked, though her eyes softened at the edges. “Sounds like her. But you’re dodging. I can hear it in your voice, Sakura. She said more than that, didn’t she?”

 

For just a second, Sakura’s jaw tightened, and something flickered across her face—uncertainty, maybe even fear. But it was gone as quickly as it came, hidden beneath that same tired-but-steady mask. She lifted her gaze again, forcing a smile.

 

“She said enough,” Sakura replied simply, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “But don’t worry about it. What matters is that the purchase is done. The island is secured. That’s what counts.”

 

Ino studied her for a long moment, not entirely convinced but unwilling to press—not tonight, not when Sakura already looked one chart away from collapse. Instead, she softened her posture, leaning an elbow against her knee as she offered a small smile.

 

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” she murmured.

 

Sakura’s eyes lingered on hers through the flickering projection, gratitude hidden in their green depths. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I will.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 34

 

The projection wavered slightly when Sakura moved to face her fully, her posture tightening again into something businesslike. 

 

“And the relic?” She asked, green eyes flicking toward Ino. “How are the seals holding?”

 

Ino leaned back on the driftwood log, stretching her arms over her head with a tired groan. “Better than expected. We’ve got it wrapped up tight—layer after layer of reinforced chakra webs. It’s practically a chakra cocoon by now.” She dropped her arms and smirked faintly. “No one’s poking at it without losing their eyebrows, that’s for sure.”

 

Sakura’s mouth tugged upward, the briefest hint of amusement before her expression sobered again. “And it’ll hold?”

 

“It should be. It’s solid.” Ino brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her voice warming with relief despite herself. “And we're planning to add even more layers tomorrow—extra barriers, redundancies, the whole nine yards. Karin's thorough like that.”

 

The silence on Sakura’s end lasted a beat too long. Long enough for Ino to blink and glance up at the flickering projection, wondering if the transmission had lagged. But no—the image was steady. It was Sakura who wasn’t.

 

Her face had shifted subtly, too subtly for anyone else to notice—but Ino knew those micro-expressions. The faint crease between her brows, the way her eyes narrowed not in focus but in something tighter, heavier. Her lips pressed together, curving into the barest frown.

 

“Karin?” Sakura said slowly, her voice deceptively even. “Uzumaki? She’s there?”

 

Ino blinked, tilting her head. “Uh—yeah? We sent you a message two days ago about the sealing expert, remember?”

 

The pause that followed was sharp enough to make the back of Ino’s neck prickle. Sakura’s gaze locked on her like a kunai pinning a scroll to the wall.

 

“And you conveniently forgot to mention it’s Karin?”

 

There it was—that smile. Polite. Too polite. Sharp as a senbon.

 

Ino’s mouth went dry.

 

Internally, she cursed. Not at Sakura, no—at Sai. That absolute block of wood. He had been the one to write the field report and send the message scroll, and of course he’d put something vague like ‘a sealing specialist’ without mentioning Karin’s name. Ino could practically hear his excuse already: ‘Details are irrelevant if the task is accomplished.’ Gods, she was going to throttle him.

 

Still, the silence dragged, and it wasn’t the kind of silence Sakura used when she was tired or thoughtful—it was the sharp kind, the one where she was balancing three emotions behind a smile and hadn’t decided which to let out yet.

 

Ino laughed, too quickly, too nervously. "Well… you know how details slip through the cracks sometimes, and Sai isn't a detailed reporter."

 

The hologram didn’t soften. Sakura just watched her, smile polite but too tight at the edges.

 

Ino straightened unconsciously, as though good posture might protect her from Sakura’s too-pleasant smile. The projection’s faint blue glow made the shadows under Sakura’s lashes sharper, her smile smoother, her eyes narrower.

 

It was ridiculous, really. Ino had been trained to be emotionless in Root. She had survived ANBU missions where one wrong breath meant death. She had been debriefed by men who spoke like their tongues were made of knives, and she had smiled back without blinking. Nothing rattled her.

 

Except Sakura.

 

Sakura, who could sit there on the other side of a chakra transmission looking like she’d just come from a tea party, and still make Ino feel like a genin caught lying about breaking curfew.

 

Ino forced a laugh again, dragging her hand through her hair. “You know me—I’m all business. Nothing slips past me. Usually. But Sai… you know Sai. About as detailed as a brick wall and Karin just… happened to be the brick he left out.”

 

“Mm,” Sakura said, lips curving that little bit more.

 

Gods. That mm. It should’ve been studied, weaponized. Not even the Yamanaka interrogation manuals had taught her how to survive this.

 

Ino tried to keep her voice steady, professional, like she was back in ANBU reporting to superiors. But she heard the wobble in it, hated it. “Look, she’s just doing her job. I’m doing mine. Nothing more to it.”

 

The problem was, she could feel Sakura’s eyes on her even through the projection, like a scalpel dissecting every twitch of her mouth. And the more Ino thought about it, the more absurd it was: she could keep her cool under torture, could walk away from a failed mission with her mask intact. She had been shaped by Root to be unshakable, then broken down in ANBU until she learned it was alright to bleed, to falter, to fail.

 

But it had been Sakura—only Sakura—who had made her completely human again. Who made her care about how she laughed, how she smiled, whether she looked nervous. Who made her heart sprint when a too-polite smile crossed a hologram.

 

It was maddening.

 

“I swear, Forehead,” Ino muttered finally, slumping a little despite herself, “only you could make me feel like I’m about to get detention in the middle of an international sealing crisis.”

 

Sakura’s brows rose, the sharpness of her smile finally softening into something real. “Detention?”

 

Ino jabbed a finger at the projection. “Don’t give me that look. You know exactly what you’re doing. You sit there all calm, all polite, and I’m over here sweating like a genin about to be chewed out for leaving shuriken on the training field.”

 

For the first time, Sakura laughed—actually laughed. The sound rang soft but genuine through the projection, and Ino’s shoulders loosened instantly, the tension leaking out of her like air from a punctured balloon.

 

She hated it. She loved it. Only Sakura could flip her from dread to relief in seconds, like she owned every lever inside Ino’s chest.

 

“I hate you,” Ino said without heat, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You know that, right? I hate you so much.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Sakura replied easily, smirking now, utterly confident.

 

And damn it all—she was right.

 

Sakura let Ino’s “I hate you” hang in the air, her smirk widening just a fraction, like a cat pawing at a cornered mouse. She leaned back in her chair, fingers lacing together as though she had all the time in the world.

 

“So,” she said, casual as a summer breeze. “Tell me, what exactly did you all do today?”

 

Ino blinked. “Uh. Today? You mean—on the island?”

 

“No,” Sakura said, lips twitching. “I meant the three-course dinner you had at the Sand’s embassy. Of course I mean the island.”

 

Ino swallowed. “Right. Well… same as always. Patrols. Mapping. Seal reinforcement."

 

Sakura hummed, resting her chin lightly on one hand. “And Karin? What else did she do?”

 

Ino stiffened. There it is.

 

“She… uh… also supervised.”

 

“Supervised?” Sakura echoed, like she was tasting the word. “Interesting. I thought she was supposed to be the one actively layering the seals.”

 

“She was!” Ino blurted too fast, wincing. “I mean, yes, she did that. She—we—we all helped one way or another. Everyone contributed.”

 

Green eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the polite smile returning, thin as glass. “Ino.”

 

Ino coughed, adjusting the hem of her sleeve, suddenly fascinated by the embroidery. “What?”

 

Sakura tilted her head, watching her in silence for a moment that stretched far too long. The kind of silence that stripped down masks. Then, softly: “Out with it.”

 

Ino froze. “Out with what?”

 

“That thing you’re dancing around,” Sakura replied smoothly. “The thing you don’t want me to know. You’ve got that look—you always do when you lie. You shift in your seat, you touch your hair, and your voice goes up half a pitch. So.” She leaned closer to the projection, smile still perfectly pleasant, eyes sharp enough to cut steel. “What is it, Ino?”

 

Ino wanted to sink into the driftwood and never come out again. Gods, why was she like this? She’d been interrogated by the best—Root handlers who could pry secrets out of a stone—and yet one smile from Sakura, and her entire defense system collapsed.

 

She forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re imagining things. Really. Nothing happened. Just work, seals, the usual—”

 

“Yamanaka Ino.”

 

That was all. Just her name. Firm, low, edged with warning.

 

Ino winced. She hated that tone. It was the tone Sakura used when she was about three seconds away from prying the truth out of her whether she liked it or not.

 

Finally, she groaned, slapping a hand over her face. “Ugh, fine! She—she was just being… Karin.”

 

Sakura’s brows rose. “Meaning?”

 

“Meaning she spent half the damn day leaning over me and making comments she thought were clever,” Ino muttered through her fingers, ears burning. “About my hair, my hands, my chakra control, you name it. Every time I so much as breathed, she had something flirty to say. It’s exhausting.”

 

Sakura’s smile never faltered, but her eyes narrowed just a hair more. “And you were going to tell me this… when?”

 

“I wasn’t!” Ino admitted, exasperated. “Because it’s nothing, Forehead. She flirts with anything that moves. And besides—” she jabbed a finger at the hologram, indignant now, “—you think I’d let her get anywhere near me? Please. You’re the one I go home to. You’re the one I—” She cut herself off before she blurted too much, cheeks heating.

 

Sakura’s smirk widened, her expression infuriatingly calm, almost sweet.

“Ohhh,” she said slowly, drawing the sound out like she was savoring it. “So that’s why you were all fidgety earlier.”

 

Ino sputtered. “What? No—”

 

“You’re flustered.” Sakura’s voice was maddeningly light, the smile cutting deep. “Over Karin.”

 

“I am not!” Ino nearly shouted, springing upright like the log had suddenly caught fire. “Don’t you dare—”

 

But Sakura was already laughing softly, leaning an elbow on her desk, her chin in her hand. “Gods, Ino. I’ve seen you hold steady while disarming explosive seals in a sandstorm, and yet one flirty comment from Karin and you’re ready to combust.”

 

Ino groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “I hate you. I hate you.”

 

“You’ve said that already,” Sakura teased. “Twice. Not very convincing, though. Especially when your ears are red.”

 

“They’re not red!” Ino snapped, though she could feel the heat burning the tips of them.

 

“They’re glowing,” Sakura corrected, far too pleased with herself. “If Karin was leaning over you as much as you claim, she probably used them as a chakra lamp.”

 

“Forehead!” Ino practically yelped, glaring daggers at the projection. “You’re impossible.”

 

Sakura only tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming. “You’re adorable when you’re defensive, you know that?”

 

Adorable. That was unfair. That word was a dirty trick, and Sakura knew it.

 

Ino slumped back on the log with a long-suffering groan, throwing her arms wide like a martyr. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

 

“Of course I am,” Sakura said sweetly, before her tone shifted—just slightly. Softer now, her smile gentler. “But… I still don’t like it.”

 

Ino blinked, lowering her arms. “Don’t like what?”

 

“The way she talks to you. The way she tries to… get close.” Sakura’s smirk had faded into something smaller, quieter, but no less sharp. Her fingers tapped idly against her chin, but her eyes were steady, almost vulnerable. “I trust you. I always trust you. But Karin—” she exhaled through her nose, lips pressing together. “I don’t like the thought of anyone else thinking they have a chance with you.”

 

The words landed heavy, thick as stone in Ino’s chest. For a moment, she just stared, caught off guard by how open, how uncloaked Sakura’s voice had gone.

 

Then—because she couldn’t resist—she softened into a slow grin. “Forehead… are you actually jealous?”

 

Sakura’s brows rose, her lips twitching. “I’m being honest.”

 

“You’re jealous.” Ino leaned forward, grin widening. “All this interrogation, all that mm-ing and smiling like a knife—you're jealous.”

 

Sakura huffed, crossing her arms, but her cheeks betrayed her with the faintest pink. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t like—”

 

“You are jealous,” Ino pressed, laughing now, delight bubbling up in her chest like champagne. “Gods, this is rich. Sakura Haruno, the woman who terrifies warlords, is jealous over Karin batting her eyelashes at me.”

 

“Don’t push it, Pig,” Sakura warned, but there was no real heat in it.

 

Ino leaned back again, smug and giddy, savoring the moment. “Oh, I’m never letting you live this down.”

 

But underneath her teasing, she felt that warm pulse in her chest, that simple joy that Sakura would never admit out loud: that she wanted her. Claimed her, in that almost quiet, certain way only Sakura could.

 

And damn if Ino didn’t love her even more for it.

 

And damn if Ino didn’t love her even more for it.

 

Sakura let Ino bask in her smugness for all of ten seconds before she sighed, the sound soft but heavy, like air slipping out of a balloon. Her shoulders eased back against the chair, her eyes lowering for the briefest moment before lifting again to meet Ino’s.

 

“You think it’s funny,” she said quietly, her smirk curving into something smaller, more fragile. “And maybe it is. But the truth is…” She trailed off, lips pressing together as though she were weighing whether to say it at all.

 

Ino straightened instinctively. This wasn’t the sharp-edged Sakura who sliced with politeness like a blade. This was something rarer—her voice dipped low, softer, the kind of tone she only used when the walls were down.

 

“…I just miss you,” Sakura admitted finally, barely more than a murmur. “That’s why it bothers me. Why she bothers me. Because I’m here, buried in work and reports and politics, and you’re out there with her, and I—” She broke off, shaking her head once, a rueful little smile tugging at her mouth. “I don’t like the idea of someone else trying to take up the space I don’t get to fill right now.”

 

The words hit Ino like a shuriken straight through the chest. Her breath caught, her smirk melting off her face instantly.

 

“Sakura…”

 

The projection flickered faintly as Sakura leaned forward again, elbows braced on her desk. Her green eyes held none of the teasing glint now—they were open, honest, and maybe even a little tired. “I know it’s ridiculous. I know you can handle yourself, and I know she’s… well, Karin. But knowing it doesn’t change how it feels. That little stab in my chest when I picture her leaning over you.” Her fingers tapped once against the desk, restless. “It’s not about trust. I just—wish it was me instead.”

 

Ino’s throat tightened. Gods. Leave it to Sakura to slice her open with vulnerability after flaying her with teasing first. Typical Forehead—always hitting her where it hurt, and where it healed.

 

Slowly, Ino leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, gaze locked on the shimmering image. “You think I want anyone else leaning over me?” Her voice came out rougher than she meant, softer too. “Sakura, please. The only reason Karin’s comments even registered is because they annoyed the hell out of me. She could spend a century trying, and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing. Because the only person I want hovering over me and driving me insane—” a crooked smile broke through “—is you.”

 

Sakura blinked, her expression softening in a way Ino didn’t get to see often. Something in her shoulders eased, her lips curving upward just barely. “You're ridiculous,” she whispered.

 

Ino grinned slightly. “Takes one to love one.”

 

For a long beat, neither spoke. The sound of the sea filled the silence, waves brushing against the shore, mingling with the faint crackle of chakra in the projection. Sakura’s image wavered faintly, but her eyes stayed steady, holding Ino’s like they were tethered across the miles.

 

When Sakura finally smiled again, it wasn’t sharp or smug. It was soft. Honest. The kind of smile that made Ino’s chest ache.

 

“Just come home soon, Pig.”

 

Ino swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, masking it with a smirk. “That the official Hokage’s order?”

 

“No,” Sakura said gently, her eyes warm in the flickering light. “That’s me asking.”

 

And gods—Ino would walk across the ocean itself if it meant answering that.

 

“Inoooo!” 

 

Suddenly, Karin’s voice carried even before she rounded the driftwood, bright and sing-song, like she’d been waiting all day for her moment.

 

Ino groaned, dragging a hand down her face. 

 

Ino turned her head just as Karin appeared, red hair swaying, glasses catching the night lanterns. She pushed her frames up her nose with one hand and jerked her thumb over her shoulder with the other.

 

“Sai’s done grilling the fish. Thought I’d let you know before you starve to death out here—"

 

But then she caught it.

 

That look.

 

The smug, too-sweet, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing look stretching across Karin’s mouth as her gaze flicked from Ino to the flickering projection of Sakura hovering just above the sand.

 

Oh no.

 

“What,” Ino snapped automatically, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Karin didn’t answer right away. No, of course she didn’t. She just sauntered closer, hands tucked behind her head, her grin growing with every step until it was absolutely unbearable.

 

And then, before Ino could react, Karin leaned down, slid her arms around Ino’s neck from behind, and hugged her. Hugged her.

 

“Hi, Sakura~,” Karin sang sweetly, cheek pressed far too close to Ino’s hair.

 

The projection flickered—but not from interference. No, that was Sakura. Ino could feel the temperature plummet through the chakra line, could practically hear the sound of metaphorical ice forming around her girlfriend’s smile.

 

“Karin,” Sakura said, her voice smooth as glass. “How nice of you to join us.”

 

Oh gods. Oh no. That tone. That was the tone Sakura used right before she leveled mountains.

 

“Karin!” Ino barked, already clawing at the arms hooked around her neck. “Get the hell off me!”

 

But Karin only tightened her hold, resting her chin on Ino’s shoulder with infuriating ease. “What? I’m just saying hi. Isn’t that what comrades do?”

 

Ino was halfway between shoving her elbow into Karin’s ribs and prying at her wrists like a trapped animal. “We’re not comrades—we’re coworkers! Temporary coworkers! There’s a difference!”

 

“Pfft, details,” Karin purred, tossing her red hair so it brushed against Ino’s cheek. She tilted her head just enough so Sakura could see the movement through the projection. “Besides, you’re so warm, Ino. You make a great backrest.”

 

Ino nearly exploded on the spot. “I am not a damn chair, Karin!”

 

The projection was utterly silent. Too silent. Slowly—dangerously slowly—Ino risked a glance at Sakura.

 

Her girlfriend was smiling. That same sweet, polite smile. Except—her arms were braced so hard against the desk that the wood groaned audibly.

 

“Ino,” Sakura said lightly. “Do you need… assistance?”

 

Gods. Gods, she was smiling. That terrible, perfect smile. Her knuckles were white on the desk, and Ino swore she could hear the fibers of the wood screaming in protest.

 

“Nope! Nope, I’ve got it under control!” Ino yelped, now full-on wrestling with Karin like a wildcat. She pried one arm loose, then the other, standing so quickly the log nearly tipped over. “See? Under control!”

 

Karin only laughed, unbothered, and leaned sideways into the frame so Sakura got a perfect view of her smug grin. “Honestly, Ino, you get so worked up. It’s cute.”

 

Snap.

 

Ino’s head whipped back toward the projection—just in time to see Sakura’s desk split in half. A clean, brutal break right down the middle, papers sliding into her lap as though the table itself had bowed to her wrath.

 

And still—still—Sakura was smiling. “Oh? Is that so?” She said pleasantly, voice calm enough to terrify gods. “Cute?”

 

Ino slapped a hand over her face. “Karin. Shut. Up.”

 

But Karin, oblivious—or suicidal—just shrugged, utterly relaxed as she reached to flick a bit of sand out of Ino’s hair. “I’m just saying what I see. Don’t blame me if you can’t take a compliment.”

 

Ino shoved her so hard she nearly toppled backward into the sand. “You’re insufferable!”

 

“Hey! Don’t be shy, Ino,” Karin teased, fixing her glasses with a lazy grin. “We’ve got chemistry. Anyone can see it.”

 

“Chemistry?” Ino shrieked, hands in her hair now. “The only chemistry we’ve got is what’ll happen when I throw you into the fire pit!”

 

The projection flickered again, but this time Ino didn’t dare look. She could feel Sakura’s killing intent leaking through, all wrapped in that deadly polite smile. The kind that made even Root handlers break into a sweat.

 

Finally—mercifully—Karin backed off, strolling toward the campfire with that maddening sway in her step. “Don’t be too long,” she called over her shoulder. “Your fish is getting cold, backrest.”

 

Ino just stood there, fists clenched, vibrating with fury.

 

Then—slowly—she turned back to the projection.

 

Sakura was still smiling. Her hands rested delicately on what was left of her desk, the splintered wood like the carcass of a fallen beast. The smile never faltered.

 

“Sakura—” she started, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

 

“Yamanaka Ino.” Sakura’s tone was gentle, almost affectionate, like she was about to ask if Ino had eaten dinner. But her green eyes were steady as steel, gleaming in a way that made Ino’s stomach twist. “You’re coming home tomorrow.”

 

Ino froze. “What? No, wait—I can’t just—”

 

“You will,” Sakura interrupted, her smile widening by the smallest degree, soft as silk and twice as suffocating. “Tomorrow. You come home. No excuses.”

 

Her voice was calm. Too calm. And that was the worst part—Sakura wasn’t yelling, wasn’t glaring, wasn’t breaking things (beyond the desk already sacrificed). She was sitting there, perfectly composed, like she had every string in her hand and was deciding whether or not to pull them.

 

Ino’s chest tightened. She swallowed, trying to bluff, to push back like she always did. “And if I don’t?” She challenged, folding her arms to look casual. “What then?”

 

The question hung in the air. A mistake—no, a disaster. Maybe the worst misstep Ino had made in years.

 

Because Sakura leaned forward slowly, resting her chin delicately in one hand, her elbow propped against the split table as if she had all the time in the world. She smiled. Not the soft, gentle smile Konoha knew. This was sharper, thinner, the kind of smile that looked harmless to anyone else but to Ino was a guillotine blade poised above her throat.

 

“If you don’t…” Sakura’s voice was honey poured over steel, deceptively sweet, laced with something dangerous. “Well. I suppose I’ll just… keep my hands to myself.” She let the words linger, her gaze locking onto Ino’s with quiet, devastating certainty. “After all, I don’t need to let you touch me. I can manage perfectly fine on my own. You remember that, don’t you?”

 

The memory crashed into Ino like cold water—it was a long time ago, when Sakura had withheld herself completely, always saying Sage when things got heated, giving up control only to take it back. Just that same calm refusal, those small, infuriatingly knowing smiles, and those hands—those brilliant, maddening hands—reserved only for herself. Ino had clawed at the walls of her restraint, nearly broken from the sight and sound of Sakura touching herself, sighing softly, while Ino wasn’t allowed so much as a brush of skin because she was not given control.

 

Her throat tightened. Even now, just the thought of going through that again made her pulse stutter, her breath catch sharp and shallow. She’d barely survived it last time. Weeks of lying awake with the scent of Sakura still clinging to her, begging in ways she never begged for anything else. Weeks where every touch Sakura denied her had been another twist of the knife.

 

Sakura’s smile deepened, soft but lethal, her head tilting just so. “Maybe I’ll be generous. Maybe I’ll let you watch, if I’m in a forgiving mood. But you? You won’t get to touch. Not unless I decide you’ve earned it. And we both know…” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a near-whisper, velvet wrapped around barbed wire. “You’re not very good at waiting.”

 

The air felt too tight in Ino’s lungs. Her fingers twitched uselessly at her sides, desperate for contact, for permission, for her. Panic, sharp and electric, coiled under her skin at the possibility of weeks without Sakura yielding, weeks without Sakura giving her that precious surrender that turned mistress into addict, queen into beggar.

 

And still Sakura just sat there, chin in hand, smiling like the executioner already drawing back the blade.

 

Ino’s bravado cracked instantly. “You—you wouldn’t,” she tried, but her voice betrayed the wobble in her throat.

 

“Oh?” Sakura tilted her head, eyes glinting with unbearable patience. “Do you want to find out?”

 

Ino’s breath caught. Her palms were damp. She hated this. Hated how the leash had flipped, how one veiled threat could dismantle all the dominance she’d built into their relationship. Hated how much power Sakura held in restraint alone.

 

She scrambled for words, tripping over them. “I—I’ve got responsibilities here, Sakura! The team, the relic, the—”

 

“Tomorrow,” Sakura repeated, unbothered, her voice still maddeningly calm. “Or else.”

 

The projection flickered once as if straining under the force of her will—then cut out entirely.

 

Gone.

 

The beach went silent again, only the waves and fire filling the void.

 

Ino sat frozen on the driftwood, staring at the empty air where her girlfriend had been, her chest heaving. She dragged both hands through her hair, heart pounding like a taiko drum.

 

“…Shit,” she muttered finally, slumping forward.

 

Because Sakura wasn’t bluffing. And Ino knew it.

 

Gods. She’d survived Root. She’d survived ANBU. She’d survived near-death missions and enemy torture. But if Sakura followed through on that implied consequence—if she locked her out, cut her off, left her starved and desperate—

 

Ino groaned into her hands, practically writhing with panic.

 

“…She’s gonna kill me,” she muttered. Then, weaker: “…and I’m gonna let her.”

 

 

 

Chapter 35

 

Sakura had worked herself past the point of exhaustion so many times in her life that she almost didn’t notice anymore when her body gave up trying to signal it. The ache in her shoulders, the dull sting in her eyes, the faint tremor in her fingers—they were just part of her existence now, folded into the routine of running the hospital, saving lives, keeping the Village stitched together with all the services she could offer.

 

She knew her limits better than anyone—or at least, she thought she did. Because the truth was, her body wasn’t the same anymore. Not since the war. Not since Byakugō had pulsed across her skin day after day, not since Slug Sage Mode had carved itself into her chakra system in ways few healers could ever truly map.

 

During those years, she’d pushed herself into a cycle of constant regeneration. Cells breaking down, cells knitting back together, her biology working faster, harder, more ruthlessly efficient with every battle. At some point, she had stopped merely recovering and had started… evolving.

 

At the time, Sakura had brushed it off. Perfection meant strength. Perfection meant survival. She’d needed that strength to keep pace with Naruto and Sasuke, to stand on the battlefield and not falter.

 

But then the Land of Sapphire Coast happened, and Kaelen's words began haunting her. 

 

"Your genome essentially rewrites itself to preserve this state. Every imperfection in your molecular machinery is smoothed out. Every enzymatic inefficiency corrected. Even aging becomes… optional.”

 

For the first time in her life, Sakura had truly been afraid of herself. Afraid that she was becoming something unnatural, something that might never die.

 

Kaelen’s words did nothing to quench her fears though. “Now think about this: while your body is defying the laws of biology, while it is learning to exist at that absolute peak, there is someone you care about—someone mortal, vulnerable, capable of suffering. She will age. She will decay. And you… you might outlive her by decades, centuries even, watching her crumble while your body remains… unyielding. Untouchable by time, by illness, by the very decay that defines life.”

 

The thought of immortality haunted her far more than death ever did. Death was an ending; immortality was a cage.

 

Tsunade had reassured her when she asked for her help, peeling back the layers of her chakra system like a surgeon steadying a shaking hand. “The progress has slowed since the war. You’re not triggering it the way you used to. As long as you avoid Sage Mode, the plateau will hold."

 

Sakura clung to that like a lifeline. She didn’t want perfection. She didn’t want to walk the path of those monsters who had sought eternity at the cost of their humanity. She wanted to grow old—aching joints, laugh lines, the warmth of Ino’s hand wrinkled against her own someday. She wanted the human life she had fought for.

 

Which was why when he saw Orochimaru's journals and research papers, she was convinced he could help her. Her mother had been a great help, but there were things Orochimaru could tap that she knew Tsunade couldn't and Sakura was counting on it. She had to understand more about her abilities, and what it really meant for her. 

 

But with all the events piling up, her fight with Ino, the relic hunt, the consequences of buying an island property, the medical expansion—it had been left unchecked at the back of her mind. She did remember sending a letter to the Snake Sannin though, she had simply forgotten all about it as time passed—and she doubted Orochimaru would ever reply unless it benefited him. Perhaps it was a good thing. After her fight with Ino, they had promised to never lie to each other anymore, and she didn't know how to start that conversation with her girlfriend, considering how much Ino hated the Sannin. 

 

The sunlight crept into her office before she realized she’d even worked through the night again. Her pen had stopped moving only when the ink ran dry, leaving a dark blotch across the corner of the medical requisition form. Sakura blinked, slow and heavy, before setting the useless pen aside. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her stiff spine until it popped, then exhaled a long, bone-deep sigh.

 

The office was quiet, save for the rustle of paper when she pushed another stack aside. A faint scent of varnish lingered too—the sign that her desk had been replaced. She called in some staff last night to replace the table, and even though they wanted to question why the sudden need for replacement, one look at Sakura's mood was an indication to not bother. 

 

She glanced down at it. Smooth glass surface, clean grain surrounding the glass, with sturdy wooden legs. She pressed her palm against it, testing the solidness, and her lips curved wryly despite herself. The old desk had cracked clean in half under her arms, a humiliating reminder of how deep her jealousy could sink its claws. She’d smiled through it, of course. Always smiled. But when Karin’s red hair had brushed against Ino’s cheek in that deliberately provocative way—Sakura’s strength had betrayed her.

 

She should have been embarrassed. She was the Slug Sage, for heaven’s sake. She’d faced down gods, monsters, war itself, and yet a single smug smile from Karin Uzumaki had splintered her composure.

 

The thought made her jaw tighten.

 

But she smoothed it away, as she always did, folding that storm neatly into the corners of her heart. It was easier to function when she labels her priority.

 

The pile of paperwork on her desk was a proof to that discipline. Reports from the medics possibly up for reassignment. Risk assessments from Konoha’s engineers. Contracts waiting for her signature, outlining the logistics of building the “new medical expansion” on land she had bought under false pretenses. She had done it all herself—negotiated, bargained, secured the rights—just so Ino and the others could access the relic before anyone else.

 

And even now, she knew construction couldn’t move forward until the relic was sealed beyond question. Contractors were ready, surveyors standing by, all she needed was the go signal from the field team that the relic is sealed. 

 

Her hand drifted to her temple, rubbing small circles against the tension there. Her reflection caught faintly in the window’s glass—eyes shadowed, skin pale, hair slightly mussed from where she’d tugged it loose in frustration hours ago. She looked tired. Bone-tired.

 

Because beneath the duty though, beneath the endless flood of paperwork, there was still the memory of last night.

 

Ino’s face when she’d whispered the threat. The way her bravado had crumbled, just enough to let Sakura see the panic underneath her usual composed face. That sharp pulse of guilt mixed with satisfaction that still lingered in her chest.

 

Sakura exhaled again, slower this time, closing her eyes.

 

She loved Ino. Gods, she loved her. Loved her enough to let her take the reins, to surrender in ways she’d never surrendered to anyone else. But sometimes… sometimes it was necessary to remind Ino where the balance of power truly lay. That control was a gift. One Sakura could give—or just as easily withhold.

 

And if Ino didn’t come home when she said she would…

 

Sakura’s eyes opened, green and sharp, catching the sun just as it crested the horizon.

 

No. Ino would come. She knew better than to test her again.

 

Her hands brushed lightly across the new desk, fingers pressing into the grain. A solid replacement. Strong. Steady.

 

Unlike Ino’s nerves last night, trembling at just the suggestion of denial.

 

Sakura’s smile returned—soft, secret, dangerous all at once—as she picked up a fresh pen and returned to the next document in the stack.

 

 

---

 

 

The day crept forward in a haze of ink and paper. At some point, her secretary had slipped in a tray with tea and rice balls, murmuring a polite reminder to eat, but the porcelain cup sat untouched, steam long since faded into nothing. Sakura barely noticed. Her pen scratched steadily across another report, sealing another signature, flipping another page.

 

The rhythm was almost meditative—until a knock broke it.

 

Three light raps against the door. Unhurried. Almost lazy.

 

Sakura didn’t need chakra senses to know who it was.

 

“Come in,” she called, already setting her pen aside.

 

The door swung open and Kakashi Hatake strolled inside, as if he had all the time in the world. His posture was the same careless slouch she’d known since her genin days, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other carried a neatly folded paper bag—bento, judging by the faint smell of fried pork wafting out. His hitai-ate was strapped across his forehead properly, not covering his left eye. For once, his scar and the faint etching of her seal were visible in the light.

 

When the war was finally over, Sakura found herself worrying less about the world at large and more about the smaller battles her comrades carried with them. Kakashi was one of them. He had survived everything—Madara, Obito, even carrying the weight of the Sharingan for half his life—but she could see how much the eye still burdened him. He could no longer summon the Mangekyō, but the Sharingan’s presence hadn’t changed; it was always there, awake even when he wanted rest, gradually always bleeding away at his chakra reserves.

 

Sakura had always hated that look of tiredness in his posture, the way his hand would unconsciously drift toward his headband as if to shield himself from something no one else could see. So when Naruto offered his strength in seals, she matched it with her own understanding of the body’s chakra networks, determined to help her father figure.

 

Together, they worked through it—Naruto crafting the fūinjutsu formula, and Sakura making sure the placement wouldn’t interfere with his optic nerves or chakra flow. In the end, the seal was nothing more than a faint pattern etched into the skin of Kakashi’s left eyelid, invisible unless one knew to look for it.

 

The result was simple, when Kakashi closed his eye, the seal activated, suppressing the Sharingan and cutting off its endless drain. When he opened it again, he could decide—just a flicker of chakra—whether the eye would awaken or remain still.

 

For the first time in decades, Kakashi didn’t need to live behind a headband. He still wore it sometimes—old habits died hard—but she caught him more and more often with both eyes uncovered, the burden lifted from his shoulders.

 

“New desk,” Kakashi said immediately, eye sweeping the office with lazy amusement. “What’d it do to deserve that?”

 

Sakura’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Morning, Kakashi-sensei.”

 

He hummed, unconcerned. “Almost noon, technically. You’ve been here all night again, haven’t you?”

 

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to—the untouched tea tray on her cabinet spoke for itself.

 

With an ease that was almost infuriating, Kakashi dropped the bento bag onto her pristine new desk and leaned against the edge, one ankle crossing over the other. His visible eye narrowed, more serious now. “Sakura. You can’t keep burning your candle down to the wick.”

 

Her hand tightened around the pen, just for a moment. “There’s work to be done and no one else—”

 

“—is Tsunade’s heir, the Slug Sage.” Kakashi finished for her, his tone maddeningly dry. “Yes, I’ve read the textbooks and posters. That doesn’t mean you get to die at your desk.”

 

Sakura exhaled slowly through her nose, fighting the urge to argue. He was right—he was always right, when it came to this. He had seen her run herself ragged too many times to let it slide.

 

So instead, she shifted. Deflected. “Did you come here for a lecture, or did you need your seal reinforced?”

 

His eyebrow lifted. “Hm. Tempting, but no.” He tapped his temple lightly, just above his left eye. The faint spiral of her fuinjutsu formula peeked through his skin as he blinked. “Still holding strong. You’ve outdone yourself with this one. Naruto too, though I’ll never hear the end of his bragging about it.”

 

A smile touched Sakura’s lips despite herself. “Good. It should hold another month before we need to refresh it.”

 

Kakashi nodded, but didn’t move to leave. He didn’t fidget, either—which was her first warning sign. When Kakashi lingered without his usual distractions, it meant something.

 

Her stomach tensed before he even spoke.

 

“I actually came here about something else.” His voice was light, casual, but the look in his eye was not. “Word reaches me—you’ve been buying land. A whole island, in fact. International waters.”

 

Sakura froze. It was the smallest thing, a pause of her pen mid-stroke, a hitch in her breathing—but Kakashi saw it. Of course he saw it.

 

She forced her body to relax, forced her lips into the faintest curve of a smile. “You’ve been keeping closer tabs on real estate than I thought, sensei.”

 

“Hard not to,” he replied easily, though his gaze was sharp as a kunai. “Our neighbors don’t love the idea of Konoha planting flags on neutral ground. They’re whispering about expansions, hidden bases, secret stockpiles. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that… would you?”

 

The pen in Sakura’s hand nearly cracked again.

 

She smoothed her features into calm, tucking the storm neatly away as always. “It’s for the hospital,” she said smoothly. “A medical expansion. A sanctuary, for when the mainland can’t handle overflow. You’ve seen our limits, sensei. You’ve seen how badly we need it.”

 

For a long moment, Kakashi said nothing. Just studied her with that maddening, unreadable eye.

 

Sakura held her breath behind her polite smile. He couldn't possibly tell him the island purchase was simply a cover up story for the team to secure access to the relic. If Kakashi knew…well, Shikamaru had argued it'd be best to let him know after they sealed the relic. 

 

“Mm,” Kakashi finally said, straightening. “A medical expansion. Of course.” His tone was mild, but she didn’t miss the faint edge to it. “Well, I’ll be interested to read the report on the entire thing when it crosses my desk. I usually don't bother with personal business but, you're a high ranking Konoha official, everything you do is reflected on the Leaf. I have to make sure your blind spots are secured."

 

Sakura’s pen moved again, her signature sliding neatly across the bottom of another requisition form as though the very act of writing could anchor her calm. “Of course,” she said smoothly, the very picture of composure. “I’ll have the full dossier compiled for you. Transparent as glass.”

 

“Glass can be opaque,” Kakashi murmured, picking up the untouched tea cup from her tray. He swirled it idly before setting it down again. His gaze drifted to her desk—its shine still too new, its edges too clean—before he flicked his eye back to her. “You always did prefer sturdier things.”

 

Sakura’s knuckles tightened just slightly around her pen. Kakashi let the silence stretch, deceptively lazy as he pushed his hitai-ate higher on his forehead with one finger. 

 

“You know,” he said softly, conversationally, “when the Elders first caught wind of this, they thought you’d gone behind my back. Island property, off-grid contractors..." He tilted his head, his silver hair sliding across his mask. “I told them that wasn’t like you. That you had a reason.”

 

Her chest tightened.

 

“And do you?” Kakashi’s voice remained light, casual, but the question lingered in the air like a blade half-drawn from its sheath.

 

Sakura set her pen down carefully, too carefully, aligning it perfectly parallel to the edge of the paper. She lifted her gaze to meet his, her practiced smile curving at her lips. “It’s for the hospital. For Konoha.”

 

Kakashi studied her for a long moment. His eye narrowed—not suspicious exactly, but weighing, as though measuring how much of her smile was truth and how much was armor. He leaned back against her desk again, folding his arms loosely.

 

“Mm,” he hummed. “Strange thing, though. If it’s purely medical, purely for Konoha’s benefit, why international waters? That’s a very long supply chain for patients in need.”

 

Sakura’s stomach twisted. For a heartbeat, she could almost hear Ino’s laughter in her head, teasing: He’s onto you, forehead.

 

Her smile didn’t waver. “Because neutrality keeps it safe,” she said, her tone velvet over steel. “If it sits on Fire Country soil, it’s a Konoha project. If it sits offshore, it can be a sanctuary for all shinobi nations. A neutral ground for treatment. No accusations of favoritism. No political strings attached.”

 

Kakashi’s eye flicked toward the sunlight breaking across her office window, as though he were considering her words. “That’s a noble vision,” he said at last. “The kind of idealism I’d expect from Naruto, not his most pragmatic teammate.”

 

Her lips thinned before she caught herself. “Pragmatism doesn’t mean we stop building things worth believing in.”

 

Kakashi didn’t immediately answer her defense. He just let the silence spool out again, that insufferable silence she had grown up under—back when she’d been a trembling genin trying to piece together what kind of man her enigmatic sensei actually was. Back then, she used to fill that silence with nervous chatter, desperate to prove she belonged on the team. These days, she knew better. Kakashi didn’t leave silence idly. He left it to see what people would do with it.

 

Sakura set her jaw and refused to squirm.

 

Finally, he pushed away from her desk, slow and deliberate, and wandered toward the shelves that lined her office. His gloved fingers brushed idly over the spines of medical texts, a mockery of interest. “Neutrality is a nice word,” he said. “Comforting. But I can’t help remembering the first time I taught you about words like that, Sakura.”

 

Her brows lifted, though her heart already knew where he was going.

 

“Land of Waves,” Kakashi said, casual as a sigh. “You remember. You were eleven, fooled me with your age. Brave enough to take on Zabuza Momochi one day, scared enough to faint over blood the next. Naruto bleeding out, Sasuke burning with a fever… and you, with a broken arm and no one at home waiting. You tried to pretend you could handle it, but you couldn’t even button your own jacket.”

 

Sakura’s throat tightened. He was right—he always remembered too much.

 

“So you all came home with me,” Kakashi went on, voice quiet now. “Because you needed someone. Not a sensei. You needed a guardian, and I learned something that week—that Sakura Haruno could carry storms inside her, but she couldn’t lie to save her life.”

 

Her pen slipped from her hand, clattering softly against the desk. She inhaled, steady, tried to keep her voice even. “People change, Kakashi-sensei.”

 

“True,” he said, turning back to face her. “But some things stay. I can still tell when you’re holding something back—you are.”

 

Sakura’s nails dug into her palm beneath the desk. She could feel his gaze peeling her composure apart, layer by layer, just like he always had. He wasn’t someone she could stonewall with politics, he was Kakashi—the man who’d carried her groceries when she couldn’t. The man who taught her to throw a kunai with her off-hand because her dominant arm had been in a sling. The man who'd bring her meals sometimes during her apprenticeship because she was too busy to eat. The man who’d stepped into every father-shaped absence of her childhood.

 

Her lips parted, then closed again. The storm in her chest churned.

 

Finally, she exhaled. “There are… things,” she said slowly, carefully, “that I can’t explain to you, Sensei. Not yet anyway."

 

Kakashi’s brow arched, but he didn’t interrupt.

 

“Things only Ino, Shikamaru, and Sai can answer for,” she finished, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on. “When they return, you’ll have your answers.”

 

Kakashi studied her for a long time, too long. Then he leaned back slightly, sighing. “When will that be?”

 

Sakura shrugged, almost flippantly—though her stomach was coiled like wire. “Soon. I expect them back within the week.”

 

The silence that followed was a blade.

 

“Well,” he said after a while, “if that’s the case, I'll be patient. Also, I’ll look forward to the opening ceremony of this expansion. I’m sure the Council will, too. Something tells me they’ll want to see this sanctuary in person.”

 

Sakura inclined her head, her pulse loud in her ears. “They’ll see what I show them.”

 

“Good,” Kakashi said lightly, already heading toward the door. He paused in the doorway, his back half-turned to her, his voice almost an afterthought. “Oh—and Sakura? Don't push yourself too hard at work, hm?"

 

And then he was gone, as casually as he had entered, leaving the faint smell of fried pork and the weight of his words hanging in the office like smoke.

 

Sakura sat very still, her hands one again resting on the smooth grain of her desk, feeling the pulse of her own heartbeat in her fingertips.

 

Kakashi hadn’t forced her hand, even though he could have easily ordered her so. But he was circling, drawing closer, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he expected something more solid than smiles and vague words. 

 

She exhaled slowly, the sound tight in her throat.

 

If the relic wasn’t sealed soon, she’d have far more than jealous fits and broken desks to worry about.

 

Sakura’s shoulders felt as if they’d been carved from stone. She sat motionless for a long moment, staring at the neat line of signatures she’d forced onto paper, each stroke clean and composed, even though her chest still thrummed with tension.

 

When she finally stood, her joints protested, stiff from too many hours hunched over her desk. She slipped into the adjoining room—the makeshift bedroom she had carved out of necessity rather than luxury. A narrow bed pushed against the wall, a wardrobe tucked neatly into the corner, and a small bathroom with just enough space for a shower. Not the kind of home she wanted, but the kind of home her work demanded.

 

Steam curled around her as she scrubbed the fatigue from her skin, letting the water beat against her shoulders until her muscles loosened, if only slightly. When she emerged, wrapped in a towel, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were still shadowed, her lips pale. She tugged her hair into place, applied the faintest touch of balm to her cheeks, and changed into a clean blouse and tailored jacket.

 

By the time she stepped back into her office, the sun was high. The scent of varnish had long faded, replaced now by the faint, savory aroma of pork from the bag Kakashi had left behind. She hadn’t meant to touch it, not at first—her appetite had become something she ignored more often than she indulged. But her stomach had other plans, twisting sharply as she stood.

 

She realized then that she hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, and this morning she’d had nothing but coffee. The guilt of brushing off the breakfast her secretary had brought over still lingered. With a sigh, Sakura sat back down and unwrapped the food.

 

She ate quickly, almost without realizing it, each bite vanishing before her thoughts could catch up. The pork, the rice, even the leftover breakfast she’d pushed aside earlier—all of it was gone by the time she leaned back, staring at the emptied dishes with a faint, embarrassed frown. She must have been hungrier than she’d let herself believe.

 

Still, the work waited. She slipped the empty containers aside, stacked her papers neatly, and pressed on through the last of the documents. Hours blurred until the clock’s hands inched dangerously close to three.

 

Only then did she push her chair back and rise, sliding her satchel into place and smoothing her jacket one final time.

 

Tsunade didn’t like being kept waiting. 

 

 

 

Chapter 36

 

Leaving the rest of the minor work to her secretary, Sakura signed off for the day and stepped out into Konoha’s streets. The air struck her first—the faint sweetness of grilled chestnuts from a vendor cart mixing with the sharper tang of oil from a newly repaired lantern post.

 

Konoha had changed.

 

It wasn’t the same village she remembered running through as a genin, or even the one she had fought tooth and nail to protect during the war. The streets were wider now, paved clean and lined with neat rows of flowering trees planted in memory of those who never returned. The skyline had shifted too; new buildings of stone and timber rose higher than the old shops and family homes, many of them rebuilt stronger after Madara’s onslaught had torn through entire blocks. The scars of battle were gone to the casual eye, plastered over with paint and polished wood, but Sakura saw them still—in the placement of certain monuments, in the careful spacing of the new barrier seals etched along the main roads.

 

The people had changed as well. There was a steadiness to them, a resilience she hadn’t noticed before. Children darted through the crowd with wooden kunai, their laughter shrill and bright, while their parents lingered at market stalls, voices easy and unburdened. Once, those same faces had carried fear—fear of attack, of loss, of waking to a village in ruins again. Now, there was life here. Peace, tenuous but real.

 

And yet, beneath it all, Sakura felt the undercurrent. The shinobi on patrol carried themselves differently—alert, watchful, as though expecting danger at every turn. The war had taught them all too well that peace was never permanent. Konoha had become both gentler and harder, a place of rebuilt hope tempered by scars no one could erase.

 

She adjusted her satchel against her shoulder, her gaze following the stretch of road that led toward the Akimichi Café. However much the world had shifted around her, Konoha was still hers—hers to serve, hers to protect, hers to keep standing, no matter how many times it fell.

 

The establishment was unlike the boisterous other branches the clan operated for commoners and shinobi alike. This one sat tucked against the higher tiers of the village, its exterior lined with carved wooden beams and a lacquered roof. The air inside was hushed, perfumed with tea leaves imported from the Land of Tea and the faint, savory aroma of Akimichi delicacies refined for noble palates. Here, officials, aristocrats, and visiting dignitaries could indulge without worrying about the chaos of the main hall.

 

When Sakura arrived, the hostess bowed low and guided her toward a private alcove screened with pale shoji panels. There, already seated with a cup of steaming tea in hand, was Tsunade.

 

Her mother looked much the same as she always did—ageless in a way that made people forget she was nearing her late-forties. Tsunade’s presence still filled a room without effort, her golden hair gleaming, her posture strong, and her eyes sharp with the kind of authority that never dulled. Unlike most women her age, there were no creases, no wear in her face; the Senju bloodline had preserved her youth, leaving her with a vitality that seemed almost untouchable.

 

Sakura was used to it—after all, they’d seen each other only a few days ago, and sometimes she still let herself be dragged to the Senju Manor to sleep under her mother’s watchful insistence. Still, there was something about Tsunade’s gaze today, paired with that faint, almost wry smile, that made Sakura straighten a little, bracing for whatever lecture was about to come.

 

“You look like hell,” Tsunade said by way of greeting, raising her cup in a lazy toast.

 

Sakura slid into the opposite seat, exhaling softly. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

 

Tsunade poured her a cup without asking, the steam curling between them. “Kakashi came to see you this morning.”

 

Sakura stilled for a fraction of a second before taking the tea, her face perfectly neutral. “Word travels fast.”

 

“It always does when it’s Kakashi,” Tsunade replied, sipping her tea. “He and I had a little chat before he headed back to the tower.”

 

Of course he had. 

 

“You’ve been overdoing it again,” Tsunade said, her tone deceptively light.

 

Sakura blinked, lifting the cup to her lips. “I’m fine.”

 

“Fine?” Tsunade arched a brow, that faint smile sharpening into something distinctly unimpressed. “Your secretary told me you worked straight through the night again."

 

Sakura’s fingers tightened around her cup. So her secretary had tattled. She made a mental note to glare playfully at her later—though, deep down, she knew it came from concern. Everyone around her seemed determined to remind her she was human, even when she sometimes forget it.

 

“I handled it,” she said, a touch too defensive.

 

Tsunade set her cup down with a soft clack, eyes narrowing. “You think I don’t notice those circles under your eyes?” Her voice lowered, less biting now, but no less firm. “You’re running yourself into the ground, Sakura. That’s not strength—that’s stupidity.”

 

Sakura drew in a slow breath, willing herself to stay calm. She hated this part—being on the receiving end of her mother’s lectures. She’d long since grown used to being the one people turned to for answers, for solutions, for orders. But with Tsunade, she was still her daughter. Still young, still vulnerable in ways she couldn’t hide.

 

“I can’t exactly walk away,” she murmured. “The hospital, the expansion project, the council meetings—”

 

“The world won’t fall apart if you sleep.” Tsunade’s voice cut sharp again. “You forget, I was Hokage once. I know what it’s like to think everything depends on your hands. But it doesn’t, and if you keep this up, you’ll end up in a hospital bed instead of running one.”

 

Sakura’s throat tightened, shame prickling under her skin. “I’m not—”

 

“Enough.” Tsunade’s hand came down on the table, not loud, but final. “If you don’t start listening, I’ll suspend you again and this time, not just from the hospital. You won’t set foot in a clinic or sit in a meeting for a month.”

 

Sakura froze, heart lurching at the memory. The last suspension had forced her to rest—days spent drifting at the hidden pool Ino had built in the forested backyard of the Yamanaka Estate. She hadn’t disliked it, exactly; the quiet water, the shade of the trees, and Ino’s constant presence had been… soothing, even though they ended up fighting. But the thought of it now tightened her chest. She couldn’t risk another suspension—not when too much depended on her, not now of all times.

 

Her grip on the teacup eased. Slowly, she lowered it back to the saucer. “…I understand.”

 

Tsunade leaned back, crossing her arms. “Do you?”

 

Sakura forced herself to meet her gaze, sighing. “I won’t stay late again. I promise.”

 

Her mother’s eyes softened, just barely. “Good. Remember that promise. Because if I hear otherwise, Sakura, you won’t like what happens next.”

 

Sakura inclined her head, the corners of her lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yes, Mama.”

 

Sakura let the silence hang for a moment, then leaned back slightly in her seat, fingers brushing absently at the rim of her cup. “I’m sure you didn’t just call me here to scold me though,” she said at last, voice even but tinged with dry resignation. “I’m guessing the Clan Elders are nagging at you again. Pressuring you to have me officially crowned as heir and dragged into their paperwork and traditions first thing after.”

 

Tsunade didn’t look surprised—if anything, her lips curved in that faint, wry way that always meant she’d been waiting for Sakura to bring it up herself. “You guess right. And this time, they’re louder than ever. The medical expansion alone was enough to stir their pride, but the island purchase… that sealed it.” Her tone sharpened, each word deliberate. “You didn’t just buy a piece of land, Sakura. You announced yourself on the international stage, whether you like it or not.”

 

Sakura’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t argue. She’d already had this thought—again and again, like a drumbeat in her mind that wouldn’t quiet.

 

“They all know who you are,” Tsunade continued, golden eyes narrowing. “The only child of the Senju Clan Head. My heir, whether we ever signed papers or held a ceremony. I shielded you for years. Told them you weren’t ready, that you were too young, that your path was your own. But this? This island—funded by your inheritance or not—carries the Senju name. The Waves daimyō made sure of that. And every clan head, every elder, every wandering branch family member heard it within hours. You can’t erase it now.”

 

Her words fell like stones, one after the other, and Sakura felt each one land squarely against her chest.

 

“You think the whispers are limited to taverns and gossip rags?” Tsunade pressed. “Wrong. The Hyūga Elders sent me a letter just yesterday, not-so-subtly suggesting the ‘official crowning of Senju heir’ will stabilize our partnership. The Fire daimyō’s secretary has already asked for a private audience with me—he won’t say it outright, but it’s about you. The Senju branch families scattered across the Land of Fire and beyond? They’re circling like hawks. They want their heir. They want their name secured.” She leaned forward then, resting her forearms on the low table, her gaze piercing. “They want you officiated, Sakura. And soon.”

 

Sakura swallowed, slow and deliberate, her face carefully neutral. She didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, didn’t bother with excuses. There was no point. She’d known the moment she signed Kurobane’s papers that this day would come.

 

“I warned you,” Tsunade said, softer now but still relentless. “I told you that once you invoked our name, the weight would follow. And it has. The moment you invoked the Senju name to pressure Daigo Kurobane, that money became Senju money. That act became a Senju act and now, the elders are sharpening their knives, eager to push you onto a throne you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.”

 

Tsunade sighed, taking a sip from her tea. "You’ve tied yourself to the Senju legacy in front of the continent without even meaning to. There’s no pretending anymore. You are the heiress. The only question now is whether you take that mantle on your terms—or let the Elders drag it over your shoulders for you.”

 

Sakura’s hands curled loosely in her lap, nails ghosting against her palm. She hated this part—the inevitability of it, the way her personal choices became political consequences the moment her bloodline came into play. She had spent years defining herself as Sakura Haruno—the medic, the shinobi, the woman who earned her own power. Not Senju Sakura, not the child of a legendary clan and now, all of that careful distance was crumbling.

 

“I know,” she murmured finally. The words were quiet but steady, acceptance threaded through them like steel. “I know it’s happening and I won’t fight it.”

 

For the first time, Tsunade’s expression flickered—something between relief and regret flashing across her features. But it vanished quickly, smoothed back into her usual composure.

 

“You shouldn’t have had to do this,” she said, voice low, almost reluctant. “But you’ve forced their hand.” Her eyes sharpened again, and there was something in them that made Sakura’s breath catch. “What I dislike about all of this is that island wasn’t for yourself, not for the medical stuffs you claim it is. It never was.”

 

Sakura’s jaw tensed, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

 

Tsunade sighed again, leaning back at last, lifting her teacup again as if she could bury her irritation in the steam. “You’re too much like me,” she muttered, almost to herself. “You’ll shoulder any weight if it means helping someone you love. Even if it ties your life to chains you never asked for.” She sipped, eyes narrowing at the far wall. “But hear me now, Sakura—those chains will tighten. The Elders will demand ceremonies. The branch families will want pledges. The Daimyō will expect you to wield the Senju name in their games. And every time you do, it won’t just be about you anymore. It’ll be about all of us.”

 

Sakura sat straighter, meeting her mother’s gaze head-on. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm, almost in surrender. “Don't worry Mom, I won't run away from it."

 

Tsunade set her cup aside, fingers drumming once against the table before stilling. “You need to understand the sequence, Sakura. The Elders aren’t just whispering about titles—they’re already drawing up the steps. First will be the Clan Presentation. You’ll stand before the Senju—every branch family, every affiliate still loyal to the name—and formally acknowledge the bloodline you’ve carried all your life. No more hiding behind Haruno. That alone will stir noise, but it’s only the beginning.”

 

Sakura’s stomach dipped, though she kept her face calm.

 

Tsunade continued, steady and unrelenting. “After that, there will be the Binding Ritual. It’s old—ceremonial, not chakra-heavy—but symbolic as hell, and tedious too. You’ll pledge yourself to the Senju legacy before the Elders and, more importantly, before witnesses from the other clans. It’s their way of locking you in—making sure you can’t back out later without shattering alliances your grandfather built.”

 

Sakura’s fingers tightened in her lap. “And then?”

 

“Then comes the politics,” Tsunade said flatly. "The Hyūga will expect you to reaffirm the pact at their compound. They’ve been with us the longest, and they’ll demand nothing less than a clear statement that the Senju-Hyūga alliance still stands.”

 

She paused, slicing the small cake laid in front of her into bits. "The Nara will press for guarantees over their role in intelligence. The Yamanaka will want the strategy accords renewed. The Akimichi will insist on supply treaties and provisions. The Sarutobi will remind you they stood with the Senju since the Warring States, and they’ll want recognition for that loyalty.”

 

“The Inuzuka will push for more sponsorhsip on their patrol on our borders. Even the Hatake—quieter but still alive through Kakashi’s cousin—will move to secure acknowledgment of their old ties," she added, gulping down the piece of strawberry cake, followed by another sip of tea.

 

She set her cup down with a soft clack. “And that’s just within Konoha.”

 

Her voice hardened. “Beyond it, the Uzumaki will expect a public show of solidarity in the Land of Whirlpools. The Daimyo’s court will summon you before the year ends as the acknowledged Senju heir. The minor nations? River, Grass, Frost—they’ll circle. Every handshake will be seen as an opening.”

 

Tsunade’s gaze sharpened. “But remember—those eight clans who stood with us since the beginning are watching closest. If you falter with them, the foundation cracks and once it does, everyone else will follow.”

 

The weight pressed heavier with each word.

 

“And alliances?” Sakura asked, though she already knew.

 

Tsunade eyed her again. “The Elders will insist you revisit the old pacts—the Sand, the Mist, even the remnants of the Cloud. The Senju name still carries influence outside Fire, and they’ll want to make sure that influence isn’t squandered. They’ll push you toward political marriages, even if they know better than to say it out loud in my presence. And every clan head in Konoha who hasn’t yet courted your favor will start knocking on your door. Some already are.”

 

Sakura exhaled slowly through her nose. “Sounds like chains, alright.”

 

“Chains you chose the moment you put Senju ink on Kurobane’s papers,” Tsunade reminded, though her voice softened slightly. She leaned back, golden eyes studying her daughter’s face. “But there’s a reprieve. None of this moves forward until you release a statement on the project. That’s the opening bell. The media are foaming at the mouth, waiting for it. The Elders are circling because they want to time your heirship announcement with it—to show the village, and the world, that the Senju name is alive and firmly planted.”

 

Sakura closed her eyes briefly. She could almost hear the buzz in the streets, the eager chatter in tea houses, the scratching of ink in the offices of Konoha’s news rags. Every day of silence only made the pressure mount.

 

“So the moment I speak,” she said quietly, “the clock starts ticking.”

 

Tsunade nodded once. “Exactly. Which is why you need to decide now—whether you let them set the terms, or you set them yourself. Because once the statement is out, Sakura, there’s no pulling it back. You’ll belong to the Senju in the eyes of every clan, every ally, every enemy watching.”

 

Sakura's jaw worked once, twice, before she finally said, “Then I’ll wait. A few weeks, until the first phase of construction actually begins. If I release anything now, it’s nothing but talk and promises. Let them see foundations being laid, workers on-site. Proof. That way, when the statement comes, it carries actual weight.”

 

Her words were steady, measured, but the slight tremor in her hands betrayed the nerves she fought to smother.

 

Across from her, Tsunade didn’t immediately answer. She studied her daughter in silence, golden eyes unreadable, fingers resting lightly on the rim of her cup. The quiet stretched long enough for Sakura to shift uncomfortably, though she forced herself not to look away.

 

Finally, Tsunade exhaled through her nose. “You’re still scared.”

 

The words cut sharper than any reprimand.

 

Sakura’s lips parted in reflex, denial poised on her tongue, but she stopped herself. Because it was true. Because Tsunade could see through her easily like that.

 

“I’m not—” she began, but her voice faltered, softer than she intended. She swallowed and tried again. “I’m cautious. That’s not the same as fear.”

 

Tsunade leaned forward, resting her elbows on the low table, gaze unwavering. “You’re scared. And it’s fine. You should be. The moment you step onto that stage, you stop being just Sakura Haruno. You stop being even Sakura the medic, Sakura the Slug Sage. You become Senju Sakura, and those other titles are only second. Every move scrutinized, every word weighed, every mistake magnified.”

 

Her tone was not cruel, but mercilessly honest. “You’ve served the village for years, but this is different. Because you can’t fix politics with chakra and grit. You can’t punch alliances into place with mere words and that terrifies you.”

 

Sakura’s chest thudded, breath shallow for a beat. She wanted to argue, but instead she let out a dry laugh, quiet and hollow. “You always know exactly where to stick the knife.”

 

Tsunade’s mouth curved, faint and humorless. “That’s my job.” Tsunade set her cup down again, the soft clack deliberate. “And that’s exactly why waiting is dangerous. You think a few weeks buys you breathing room? It doesn’t. It gives the Elders time to sharpen their claws. Time to scheme, to whisper, to maneuver. By the time you step forward, they’ll have already decided how to shape you. And once they dig their hooks in, Sakura, it won’t be your terms anymore—it’ll be theirs.”

 

Her words landed heavy, like blows struck with force.

 

Sakura looked away, not meeting her mother's gaze. “Then give me that time anyway.”

 

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Just a few more weeks,” Sakura pressed, voice steady but softer than usual, carrying something raw beneath it. “Let them whisper. Let them circle. I need the ground solid under me when I do this, Mama. Not blueprints, not promises—stone, timber, people at work. Something they can see with their own eyes. Otherwise, I walk into that hall empty-handed, and they’ll eat me alive.”

 

Her hand brushed unconsciously against her thigh, fingers curling. “Please, Mama. I’m not running from it anymore. I’ll face it. I’ll be ready. But I need to do this right. On my own two feet.”

 

For a long moment, quiet once again descended between them, broken only by the voices from the main hall beyond the shoji screens.

 

Tsunade’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, though the steel never left it. She leaned back, exhaling another low, tired sigh, like she was releasing years of held frustration. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

 

“I get it from you,” Sakura muttered, lips twitching despite herself.

 

That earned her the faintest huff of amusement, gone in a heartbeat. Tsunade rubbed her temple with two fingers, then dropped her hand flat on the table. “Fine. A few weeks. No more. When the foundations are set, you release the statement. No delays, no excuses. You let this drag, Sakura, and the Elders will build your cage before you ever step inside it.”

 

Relief shuddered through Sakura’s chest, though she didn’t let it show on her face. She inclined her head, a gesture both respectful and resolute. “I understand. I promise.”

 

Tsunade studied her for a long moment, then finally reached for her tea again. “You’d better. Because the moment those weeks are up, there will be no turning back. And if you falter, the Senju name falls with you.”

 

The words weren’t threat, nor warning—they were truth, and Sakura, for once, didn’t flinch from it.

 

 

 

Chapter 37

 

The meeting ended eventually. Tsunade drained the last of her tea, set the cup down with softness and stood. She laid one firm hand on Sakura’s shoulder—steady, grounding, but brief. Then she left through the sliding shoji, her presence fading like the tide retreating from shore.

 

Sakura stayed seated a while longer, staring down at the half-empty cup in front of her. The steam had long since thinned, leaving nothing but a faint ring of warmth against porcelain. Her fingers twitched once against the table before she pulled them back into her lap, clasping them tight.

 

Her chest felt too small for her lungs.

 

When she finally rose and stepped out of the Akimichi Café, the shift in air hit her hard. The streets were awash in the colors of late afternoon, gold light spilling across rooftops, laughter spilling from the crowd. Merchants hawked roasted chestnuts, children wove between patrol shinobi, a pair of kunoichi argued playfully over a scarf at a vendor stall.

 

It should have felt familiar. It should have comforted her.

 

Instead, every sound rang too sharp—the chatter of merchants too loud, sandals scuffing against stone too close, the rustle of leaves overhead too pointed in its timing. Every face seemed angled toward her, even if only in passing, and every eye—real or imagined—felt heavy with unspoken judgment.

 

Her throat caught. She shifted her satchel against her hip with the kind of motion she’d drilled into instinct, as though the simple adjustment could disguise the tremor in her hand. Her steps became deliberate, measured, the march of someone composed. 

 

Don’t falter. Not here. Not where they can see.

 

Her gaze fixed straight ahead, never straying, past the rows of memorial trees lining the street. Their blossoms stirred in the breeze, pale petals breaking loose one by one, drifting in delicate spirals. They should have whispered of peace, of renewal. To her, they only pressed closer, layering over her skin like chains, each petal a reminder of the name she could not escape.

 

Her pulse thundered at her temples, too fast, too hard. Her breath shortened until it came in shallow, stilted sips of air that refused to satisfy. A sheen of heat prickled at her neck, beneath her hairline. She lifted a hand briefly, pressing her fingers against her collarbone as though she could pin herself together before she fractured apart.

 

A shinobi on patrol dipped his head respectfully as he passed, the gesture so ordinary it should have gone unnoticed. But her stomach lurched at the sight—he knows, they all know, they’re already measuring me, already expecting me. She forced the barest incline of her head in return, her lips pressed so tight together they ached.

 

Every whisper from a passing stall seemed to catch on her name. Every laugh behind her ear felt like it split open on her back. Every glance out of the corner of her eye pulled sharper than steel. She knew—rationally knew—that not everyone was watching. But reason frayed quickly when the air itself felt crowded, when even the spaces between footsteps seemed to press her toward collapse.

 

The pressure pressed tighter, curling like an iron band around her ribs. She repeated the words she had whispered to her mother—stone, timber, people at work—like a mantra, clinging to the thought of foundations, of something solid. But it slipped through her grasp like water.

 

She made it home. Somehow—through the bustle of Konoha’s streets, through the dozens of eyes she swore followed her every step, through the long walk to the Yamanaka Estate—she kept her spine straight, her face serene, her steps steady. To anyone watching, she was Sakura Haruno, head medic, Senju daughter—composed, untouchable, unshaken.

 

She walked through the halls, greeted the workers, declined their offers of refreshments. But the instant the door of her office clicked shut, the illusion shattered.

 

Her satchel slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that echoed too loud in the silence. She sagged back against the door, breath hitching, chest heaving once, twice, before her knees buckled and she stumbled forward, hands shaking as though the weight of the day clung to her skin.

 

The desk was too far, too exposed. She dropped straight to the floor, crawling as if dragged by gravity until she wedged herself beneath the low table. Her knees curled tight to her chest, her forehead pressed hard against her arms. The space was narrow, close, a shadowed pocket that mimicked safety.

 

Like when she was a child, hiding from the world when it pressed too heavy.

 

The breath she’d caged inside her snapped loose. It tore out in jagged bursts, gasps sharp and shallow, so fast they scraped her throat raw. She pressed both palms over her mouth, trying to smother the noise, but her body betrayed her—sobs still wrenched free, strangled and wet, shuddering up from a chest that burned as though splintering apart.

 

Tears streaked hot down her cheeks, dripping into her sleeves until the fabric clung damp to her skin. The room dissolved into blur—the wooden beams, the neat rows of scrolls, the faint scent of ink and dried herbs all smothered beneath the weight of panic. Her ears roared with the sound of her own pulse, a frantic drumbeat that swallowed every thought.

 

Her chest convulsed, a stabbing pain blooming with each breath, sharp as kunai. She tried to steady herself—inhale, exhale, ground yourself, remember your training—but the words tangled in her head like broken strings. She was a medic who had soothed countless patients through attacks like this, but now her own voice drowned beneath the rush of blood in her ears, the squeeze of her ribs, the terror closing in from all sides.

 

The Senju name. The chains. The eyes on her. Her mother’s voice, implacable and cold as stone. Once those weeks are up, there will be no turning back.

 

Her arms tightened around herself until her nails bit crescents into her skin. She pressed her face deeper into the crook of her elbows, muffling what she could, because no one—no one—could hear. Not the attendants in the hall, not the guards outside, not even Ino when she returned. Especially not Ino.

 

No one could ever know that Senju Sakura—the medic who steadied the wounded, the heir with the unbreakable spine, the woman the village looked to—was here now, curled beneath her own table, shaking apart like a child afraid of the dark.

 

Her lungs dragged at the air, but nothing filled. Every inhale snapped too short, too thin, as if the world itself had narrowed to a straw she couldn’t pull enough breath through. Her chest spasmed again—once, twice—each contraction stabbing beneath her ribs, sharp and merciless.

 

The more she tried to control it, the worse it became. Her throat cinched tighter, a band of iron squeezing around her windpipe. She swallowed hard, desperate, but the motion caught halfway, lodging like a stone that wouldn’t pass.

 

Seconds stretched unbearably long. Her vision shivered, edges blurring until the room wavered like heat-haze. Shapes distorted—the square of the desk above her, the pale spill of light across the tatami floor—all of it swimming, unsteady, as if the ground itself tilted under her.

 

Pins and needles sparked through her fingers. First in the tips, then spreading fast, a tingling that edged into numbness. Her hands trembled violently, as though her body were rejecting her own control. She flexed them hard against her arms, trying to force sensation back, but the skin only prickled more, alien and unfamiliar, as if it no longer belonged to her.

 

Her legs were worse—weightless, detached. She curled them tighter to her chest, but the motion felt sluggish, like moving through water. The panic screamed louder for it: You can’t move. You can’t run. You’re trapped.

 

Her ears rang. A high, relentless keening that grew until it swallowed the sounds of the house around her. No footsteps in the hall, no rustle of paper—just that piercing shrill, underscored by the thunder of her own heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

 

She tried again—slow breath, steady breath—but the attempt backfired. The inhale dragged too fast, too shallow, and she gagged on it, choking on her own panic. Her throat burned raw with the effort, air scraping through as though every gulp cut her from the inside.

 

Her vision narrowed, closing in, black spots flecking across her sight. Each blink came slower, heavier, until she wasn’t sure if her eyes were open or closed. The edges of the room tunneled inward, the world collapsing to the tiny pocket of space beneath the table.

 

Her body curled tighter, as if smaller could mean safer. Her nails carved deeper into her arms, anchoring herself to pain because at least pain was real, at least it cut through the numbness threatening to swallow her whole.

 

The Senju name. 

 

The chains. 

 

The eyes watching. 

 

Her lungs seized again, chest jerking like a puppet’s, gasping for breath that refused to come.

 

Seconds bled into eternity. She thought she might faint, thought she might stop entirely, thought maybe this was what breaking truly felt like—not in battle, not in grief, but here, silent and hidden, her body devouring itself in the dark.

 

She thought she’d left this behind.

 

The shallow breaths, the spinning vision, the bone-deep terror that came without warning—she had believed those nights were over.

 

When she was a child, panic had been her only company.

 

In the orphanage, where the walls smelled of mold and despair, fear had crept into her bones early. Every day was a gauntlet—tasks that were never enough, punishments that came swift and merciless. Hunger gnawed at her ribs like a second heartbeat. Her hands blistered from scrubbing floors raw, her back striped with lashes for the smallest disobedience. 

 

And at night, when her body was too weak to hold itself upright, she would crawl under the dining table, pressing her cheek to the splintered wood and whispering to herself that if she stayed small enough, quiet enough, maybe the world would forget she existed.

 

Maybe the ground would swallow her whole.

 

That was survival then. Panic and silence. Breathless nights and bitten lips. She thought she had buried it. Thought she had outgrown it with every step she fought to take forward.

 

She had clawed her way out of that place. She had studied until her vision blurred, trained until her body broke, pushed herself until she could stand shoulder to shoulder with Naruto and Sasuke—their equal, not their liability. She would never again be cannon fodder, never again be the civilian girl shoved forward as a shield because her life was deemed worth less than a clan child’s.

 

She became strong. She became useful. She became indispensable.

 

And then—Senju.

 

The name was dropped on her like a verdict, like the swing of a blade that split her in two. Suddenly, her history was rewritten by a single bloodline. All those years of starving, struggling, clawing to prove herself—erased. Forgotten. Recast as if she had always belonged to something greater. As if she had been born with a safety net that had never existed.

 

Her hands shook harder, nails digging into her arms until the sting burned bright through the numbness.

 

They all looked at her differently now. As if she had always been Tsunade’s daughter, as if the Haruno girl had never existed. The girl who had stolen scraps from kitchens, who had wrapped her arms around her ribs to quiet the hollow ache of hunger, who had crawled into shadow to survive—gone. In her place, Senju Sakura.

 

And now they wanted her to wear it. To claim it. To bear the title of heiress and smile for the village as though she had always been destined for it.

 

She knew it was coming. She had accepted it the day she signed the deed for that island, the day she traded her own anonymity to give Ino what she needed, to give her easy access. She didn’t regret it. She would never regret Ino.

 

But that didn’t erase the fear.

 

The fear that everything she had built—the long climb from the gutter to the ranks of shinobi, the proof carved into her body and her fists and her heart—would vanish. That when they looked at her, they wouldn’t see the girl who survived, the kunoichi who fought tooth and nail to stand at the frontlines.

 

They would only see Senju.

 

The name pressed against her chest like a brand, suffocating, rewriting.

 

And the child inside her—the one who cowered under tables, praying for invisibility—shook awake again, dragging her down into the same darkness she thought she’d buried forever.

 

 

---

 

 

The trek back to Fire Country blurred into one long, punishing blur of motion. The morning had been salt air and cold spray, their feet pounding against the ground as they leapt into the treeline the moment they docked through one of the country's ports. 

 

The hours that followed dissolved into a rhythm of breath, bark, and bruised muscle, the world reduced to the sharp snap of branches beneath their sandals and the rush of wind against their ears. By the time the red-orange rim of dusk bled over the treetops, Konoha’s walls finally loomed ahead—familiar stone bathed in dying light, its watchtowers etched dark against the horizon like silent sentinels.

 

“Finally,” Shikamaru muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. His shoulders slumped so low he looked like he might fold into the ground on the spot. “Do you ever stop, Ino? We’ve been at this pace since dawn. Normal people sleep. Normal people breathe.” His voice carried the lazy drawl of complaint, but the grit beneath it betrayed how much she’d worn him down.

 

Beside him, Karin swatted irritably at a branch that snagged her cloak, her glare sharp enough to cut bark. “Normal people also don’t drag an Uzumaki halfway across Fire Country overnight because their girlfriend told them to.” She adjusted her glasses with a sharp push up her nose, scowling. “My legs are killing me. If I don’t find a futon in the next ten minutes, I’ll throw myself off the wall and be done with it.”

 

Sai, trailing just behind, looked infuriatingly untouched by the ordeal—his breathing steady, his expression mild. But even he carried faint shadows under his eyes, subtle proof that the all-nighter she’d demanded had cost him too. “It is a bit… extreme,” he admitted calmly. “Even for you.”

 

Ino barely heard them.

 

Her focus had narrowed to the beat of her own footsteps and the thread coiled tight inside her chest. She kept moving, strides sharp and fast, breath clipped from the relentless pace she’d set since the moment they left Fuyunomi’s docks. Her body was burning at the edges now—chakra stretched thin, muscles taut, fatigue chewing at the corners of her thoughts—but she refused to slow.

 

She couldn’t.

 

It had started an hour ago. A sharp tug, like a wire pulled taut deep in her ribcage, yanking hard enough to steal her breath. Their bond had always been steady—sometimes warm, sometimes cool, but steady. A current flowing between them, muted but constant. Until then. Until something in Sakura snapped across it like a lash, sharp and wrong.

 

The feeling hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown. The dull ache pressed harder with every mile, every tree she leapt past, like someone had hooked claws into her sternum and was dragging her bodily toward Konoha whether she wanted it or not.

 

Not that she didn’t.

 

But the sensation set her nerves raw, prickling, warning.

 

“Look,” Shikamaru sighed when she pushed through the gates without slowing, “you can’t just—”

 

“Go home,” Ino cut in, sharper than she intended. The command cracked out of her throat like glass. She didn’t even look back. “All of you. Rest. Karin, find an somewhere to sleep, probably crash with Sai. Shikamaru, I’ll write the report. Sai, just—just go.”

 

Karin muttered something that sounded like "insane hot blondes" under her breath and stalked toward the inn district, tugging her cloak tighter against the cooling air. Shikamaru groaned, too tired to argue, and shuffled after her, muttering curses about “bossy women.” Sai lingered a heartbeat longer, his gaze flat but probing, before he dipped his head and slipped soundlessly into the streets.

 

The moment they splintered, Ino broke into a quicker pace, boots striking stone hard enough to echo. Lanterns had already been lit along the main thoroughfare, their amber glow catching on the thinning crowds. Merchants were shuttering stalls, children being called in by their mothers, patrol shinobi trading shifts at the corner watch. The noise of evening settled soft as a lull across the village, warm and ordinary, as she entered the Yamanaka Compound.

 

But Ino barely saw it.

 

Every sound slid off her like water. Every face blurred past without registering. Her world had narrowed to the thrum inside her chest, sharp and insistent, every heartbeat thudding against it like it might rip her open.

 

It dragged her back, unbidden, to yesterday. To Sakura’s voice—low, steady, carrying that edge Ino knew too well. Asking her to go home. No, willing her to. 

 

She knew what it meant if she disobeyed.

 

Distance. Coldness. The punishment that gutted her deeper than any wound—Sakura’s body untouchable, her warmth withheld, all as she teased her to death. She’d lived through that withdrawal once. It had been days of ache, of constant edging. The memory alone made her chest seize tight, her skin prickle with phantom chill.

 

Never again.

 

So she had forced it. Forced Shikamaru, Sai, Karin—all of them—to work through the night, layering seal upon seal until the relic was bound beneath their hands. No rest, no food, no pause. Nothing—not their exhaustion, not her own shaking fingers, not the way her vision swam toward the end—was worth testing Sakura’s boundary.

 

And now, with the bond clawing at her ribs, she was glad. Glad she had obeyed.

 

Because something was wrong.

 

She cut down a lantern-lit side street, hair whipping loose from its tie, ignoring the stares she drew. A merchant paused mid-packing to watch her blur past. A pair of Yamanaka children pointed and whispered, but she didn’t slow.

 

The Yamanaka Estate wasn’t far now.

 

And with every step, the ache sharpened.

 

What had begun as a tug now twisted into something more violent—like pressure building behind glass, straining for a crack. It left her breath shallow, chest tight, her gut curling around dread she couldn’t name.

 

Something was pulling her home.

 

But also warning her.

 

Something in Sakura had cracked.

 

The Yamanaka gates loomed ahead, carved wood with iron reinforcements darkened by dusk, lanterns flickering at their hinges. Ino slowed only slightly, enough to pull in one sharp breath, to school her face into something neutral before she pushed them open. The guards were outside, bowing as they opened the doors, the hinges groaned low, familiar, and she stepped inside.

 

On the surface, nothing had changed.

 

The front yard stretched wide and orderly, gravel paths crisp between rows of manicured hedges, surrounding the large bush maze. The koi pond still glimmered near the veranda, water catching what little light remained of the sun. Lanterns dotted the eaves, soft halos casting gentle shadows across the walkways. The faint perfume of night-blooming jasmine threaded through the air, same as it had every autumn since she was a child.

 

It looked the same. Smelled the same. Sounded the same—the murmur of attendants preparing for night, the faint sweep of a broom across stone, the low clatter of dishes from the kitchen wing.

 

And yet—

 

Her steps slowed. Her hand brushed the frame of the double doors as though she needed to confirm its solidity. Because the moment she crossed the threshold, the bond inside her chest pulled taut, a warning note that vibrated so sharp it nearly doubled her over.

 

Something was wrong.

 

Not wrong in the obvious sense—no broken wards, no overturned furniture, no raised voices. On the surface, the estate breathed the same steady rhythm it always had, its routines still predictable. But beneath that, layered in a way only she could feel, was fracture. 

 

The same way a mirror could gleam flawless until you saw the hairline crack running beneath its surface.

 

“Ino-sama!”

 

The first voice startled her from the side, warm and effusive. A butler hurried forward, bowing low, his relief genuine. “Welcome home. We were told you would return today. Shall I have dinner prepared at once?"

 

Others followed almost instantly, drawn like moths to flame. A maid dipped low, hands folded. “Ino-sama, the gardens have been tended in your absence. Would you like to inspect them tomorrow morning?”

 

Another: “The correspondence from the Hokage’s office was sorted into your study. Suto Nobuo-san left notes regarding Council minutes."

 

“Shall I prepare a bath? You must be exhausted from travel," another maid offered.

 

Their words washed over her, practiced, polished. The exact kind of welcome she had been raised to return to from a long mission, the one that should have eased the burn in her muscles, should have softened her shoulders.

 

But every syllable scraped against her ears, discordant. Too loud. Too normal.

 

“Where’s Sakura?” The question cut sharper than she meant. Ino ignored their looks, sweeping her gaze across the large entrance hall and the faint glow of windows beyond. “Where is she?”

 

One of the younger maids stepped forward hesitantly, twisting the fabric of her apron in her fingers. “Lady Sakura is in her office, Ino-sama. She asked not to be disturbed. She said she will seek you once her work is complete.”

 

The words were simple. Respectful. Entirely ordinary.

 

But Ino’s stomach dropped.

 

Because Sakura would never—never—let her come home to an empty threshold. Not after days apart, not after nights of distance. If Sakura knew she was returning, she would have been there. First in the foyer, waiting, arms crossed and eyes sharp with the pretense of disapproval before melting into warmth the instant they touched.

 

That was how it had always been. That was how it had to be.

 

The bond throbbed hard enough to hurt now, a dull, aching pulse that reverberated through her sternum. The maid’s words only made it worse.

 

“She… asked not to be disturbed,” the girl repeated more softly, as though sensing the tension that pressed suddenly sharp into the air.

 

Ino’s jaw clenched.

 

 

 

Chapter 38

 

Ino barely remembered giving the order—something about dinner, yes, some distracted words tossed over her shoulder because it was what was expected. The servants had paused, taken her clipped tone as command, and she left them there, their bows half-finished, their voices carrying into silence behind her.

 

The grand wooden staircase stretched upward, dimly lit by lanterns in their alcoves. Her hand skimmed the railing, fingers taut, her other fist clenching and unclenching with each step. The bond gnawed at her chest, each pull sharper than the last, like claws raking bone. By the time she reached the landing, her breath had shortened—not with exhaustion, but with the pressure of dread pressing higher and higher against her ribs.

 

The halls stretched long and familiar. Shadows loomed across the polished wood, lantern light painting soft glows across doors, scrolls hung neatly on the walls beside the paintings, clan banners resting still in the air. 

 

It was too quiet.

 

Even here, in the center of her family’s compound, she should have heard something—pages turning, Sakura’s voice answering softly to an attendant, the scratch of her pen across parchment. Something. Instead, there was only the muffled echo of her own footfalls and the relentless thunder of her heartbeat.

 

Her pace quickened.

 

By the time she reached the hall that ended in Sakura’s office, her chest was a livewire. The bond pulled so hard it felt like it might snap inside her, each pulse carrying pain as sharp as knives. Her palms dampened. The air itself pressed heavy, so thick it was like wading through water.

 

She stopped in front of the door.

 

The door was closed, its wood unblemished, its edges aligned in perfect neatness. She lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles against it, just once, sharp enough to carry through.

 

“Sakura,” she called, her voice even, steady. “I’m back.”

 

Silence answered her.

 

She waited a breath, then two. Knocked again. “Sakura?”

 

Still nothing. Not even the faintest shift of movement, not a sound. If not for the screaming pull of the bond inside her chest, Ino might have doubted there was anyone inside at all.

 

She pressed her palm flat to the wood. The faint hum of chakra brushed against her senses—the seals. She knew them well; every room in tne Estate had it. Layers of soundproofing, wards meant to keep prying ears at bay. To protect privacy. To keep what was inside locked away.

 

The handle refused her when she tried it. Locked.

 

A curse burned the back of her throat. She forced it down, pressed her forehead briefly against the cool wood, and let the bond speak louder than words. Sakura was inside. She could feel her—shaky, jagged, the energy frayed at the edges, pulled tight and unraveling all at once.

 

Something was terribly wrong.

 

Her fingers curled. Chakra swelled in her palm, roots whispering to life beneath the wooden floorboards. Thin Mokuton vines surged upward, crawling into the cracks around the frame, slipping past the lock, twining delicately until the mechanism yielded with a soft click. The door hanged open without a sound.

 

The room greeted her with emptiness.

 

At first glance, it looked untouched. The desk was neat, scrolls stacked in ordered rows, ink pots sealed, quills resting in their tray. Lanterns glowed warm, painting the floor in golden tones. But the satchel on the carpet caught her eye immediately, carelessly discarded near the door. That wasn’t Sakura. Sakura placed things. She didn’t drop them.

 

Ino’s heart skipped, her throat tightening as the wrongness pressed harder. And then—

 

A sound.

 

Soft, muffled, broken. The kind of noise that might have been missed entirely if she weren’t listening for it, if she weren’t bound to the source with every fiber of her being.

 

Her head snapped toward it.

 

Her boots barely whispered against the boards as she crossed the room. Each step made her pulse sharper, her body vibrating with restraint she barely managed to keep from breaking into a run. She rounded the desk—and her stomach dropped.

 

Sakura sat curled beneath it.

 

Her head pressed between her knees, arms wound tight around herself, shoulders shaking in jagged tremors. Her hair clung damp to her cheeks, strands hiding half her face. Her breath came shallow, fast—too fast—ragged gasps muffled against the cage of her arms.

 

For a long, brutal second, she could only stand there, staring, her body locked.

 

Her Sakura—her unbreakable, steady, luminous Sakura—looked so small she could’ve fit into the palm of Ino’s hand.

 

And Ino’s chest cracked.

 

Academy years—the first time she’d ever seen Sakura miss a step. That test she’d been forced to skip because she was too sick to crawl out of bed. Ino had found her afterward, hiding beneath her desk, tears silent, biting into her own wrist to keep from making a sound.

 

And again—years later—when Jiraiya fell. Sakura had locked herself away, shut herself down. Ino had pushed her way in then too, only to find her under another desk, shoulders heaving with the weight of grief so raw it had no sound.

 

Only twice. Only those two moments. She knew there were more, numbers she could not count because she wasn't there.

 

And now.

 

The third.

 

The fury rose fast, burning, an inferno clawing at her throat. She could taste iron, her nails cutting crescents into her palms as her hands shook at her sides.

 

She swore—swore to every god she had ever been taught to name, every spirit buried in the roots of the earth, every star carved into the night—that whoever had done this, whoever had made Sakura fold into herself like this, would pay.

 

She would bury them. She would drag their soul screaming from their chest with her bare hands if she had to.

 

No one broke Sakura.

 

No one but her.

 

And yet—here Sakura was.

 

Trembling. Hiding. Her sobs muffled into her own arms.

 

Ino dropped to her knees, her body folding almost violently, desperate to close the distance. Her hand braced against the cold glass of the desk, her other hovered, trembling inches from Sakura’s hair.

 

Her throat burned.

 

The tremor in her hand spread up her arm, rattling through her chest until it threatened to tear her apart. She couldn’t stop herself—wouldn’t stop herself.

 

“Sakura…” The whisper barely scraped out of her throat, broken, more prayer than name as she fell to her knees.

 

Ino moved.

 

Her hand plunged into the tangle of pink hair, fingers threading deep until she could feel the heat of Sakura’s scalp against her palm. The moment her skin touched, something inside her spine snapped. She hauled forward, no grace, no patience—just sheer need—and dragged Sakura up into her arms.

 

Sakura resisted at first, her body stiff as if even her muscles had learned to hide. But the instant her forehead collided against Ino’s collarbone, the dam split.

 

Her whole body convulsed, sobs tearing free, raw and wet against the skin of Ino’s throat. Her hands, once locked in a cage around her knees, flew outward, clawing at Ino’s shirt, clinging with desperate, bruising force as though she might drown if she let go.

 

Ino’s arms locked around her. Hard. Crushing her close until no air could slip between them. Until the quake of Sakura’s ribs shuddered straight into her chest, until every broken breath rattled through both their spines.

 

“I’ve got you,” Ino whispered fiercely, the words shattering out between clenched teeth. “I’ve got you, Sakura.”

 

But Sakura only sobbed harder.

 

Her breath sawed, ragged, uneven, splintering into short, sharp bursts that scraped her throat raw. Each gasp dragged too fast, too shallow, her chest heaving in panicked rhythm. Ino could feel it—the frantic stutter beneath her palms, the rise and fall too quick, the pulse at Sakura’s throat thrumming wild against her cheek.

 

Hyperventilating.

 

Her warmth was real, solid—and yet Sakura’s body betrayed her, unraveling further in Ino’s arms.

 

Every sob broke jagged, every inhale shuddered half-finished, crashing into the next before the first was complete. Her breath fanned hot against Ino’s neck in uneven bursts—sharper, wet, more frantic—until each exhale ended in a choking hitch, a sound too close to a plea.

 

Ino held on tighter. Anchoring. Her own chest heaved, her own breath stumbling to match. She buried her face into Sakura’s hair, pressed her lips to her temple, desperate to pour calm into her skin.

 

But Sakura only curled tighter, shaking so violently her nails bit through fabric into Ino’s back. Her sobs came faster now, torn from the marrow, each one dragging more air from her lungs than her body could replace.

 

“Inhale,” Ino whispered, fierce and low, her lips brushing the crown of Sakura’s head. “With me. With me, damn it—inhale.”

 

But Sakura’s chest stuttered, convulsed, fighting her own lungs.

 

And Ino’s grip only tightened, as if she could force steadiness into her body by sheer contact, by refusing to let her slip into that abyss alone.

 

Sakura’s lungs seized again, chest jolting like her body had forgotten the rhythm of breath entirely. Her mouth opened on a strangled sob, but no air followed—just another ragged hitch, shallow and broken.

 

“Inhale,” Ino whispered again, harsher this time, her own voice cracking. She pressed her palm against Sakura’s back, feeling the frantic hammer of her heartbeat through paper-thin layers of fabric. “Breathe, damn it—breathe with me.”

 

But Sakura couldn’t.

 

Her chest rose, sharp and high, only to collapse again before the inhale reached her belly. The cycle fed itself—too fast, too shallow, panic pulling panic until her body spiraled beyond reason. Her shoulders heaved, her throat rasped, her whole frame shuddered like it might splinter apart under the weight of her own gasps.

 

Ino’s fury roared hot in her blood, rising like fire through her veins, but it wasn’t aimed at Sakura—it was at the world, at the nameless, faceless thing that had dragged her here. Rage seared through her ribs even as her arms tightened around Sakura like a tourniquet.

 

“You’re safe,” she hissed, voice raw, almost savage, as if she could beat the truth into existence through sheer force of will. “You’re safe, you hear me? With me. With me, Sakura.”

 

But still the frantic rhythm continued, shallow gasps battering against Ino’s collarbone, each one shorter than the last. Her sobs had dissolved into wet, choked whimpers, each one carried on air too thin to sustain her. Her nails raked at Ino’s back like talons, clinging with the desperation of someone falling through open air.

 

No. 

 

No, no, no—Ino’s mind screamed it, loud enough to deafen. Ino couldn’t lose Sakura to her own lungs.

 

So Ino forced herself lower, pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together. Her breath shook, tears she hadn’t noticed spilling hot down her own cheeks.

 

“Look at me,” she whispered fiercely. Her hand cupped Sakura’s jaw, thumb stroking the damp line of her cheek, guiding her face up. “Right here. Eyes on me.”

 

At first Sakura’s gaze skittered, glassy and unfocused, lashes clumped with tears. But the bond thrummed, tugged, and slowly—brokenly—green locked onto blue. Barely, but it was there.

 

“There you are,” Ino whispered, her voice splintering, her own breath ragged. “That’s it. Just me. Nothing else. Just me.”

 

She exaggerated her own inhale—loud, deep, shaking her chest against Sakura’s as she dragged the air in until her lungs stretched. Then she let it out slow, audible, her lips brushing Sakura’s damp temple as the breath hissed free.

 

“Do it with me,” she coaxed. “In—” another long, deliberate inhale “—out. In—out.”

 

Sakura tried. Gods, she tried. Her chest heaved against Ino’s in pitiful mimicry, but the inhale broke halfway through, crumbling into a sob that clawed out of her throat. She choked, collapsed forward again, forehead pressing hard into Ino’s shoulder.

 

And Ino broke a little more.

 

Her rage flared sharp, violent, lashing against her ribs with nowhere to go. She wanted to tear the walls apart, to raze the entire village stone by stone until she found the cause of this—but all she had was Sakura’s body shaking to pieces in her arms.

 

So she dragged her closer still, until their bodies were flush, until Ino could feel every fractured gasp against her sternum. Her hand moved to the back of Sakura’s neck, fingers firm.

 

“Then don’t do it alone,” Ino whispered, voice cracking into a plea. “Steal mine. You hear me? If you can’t breathe—then steal mine.”

 

Her hand slid to cradle Sakura’s jaw, trembling but firm, tilting her face up. For one agonizing heartbeat she hovered there, their ragged exhales mingling, before Ino closed the distance.

 

Her lips met Sakura’s—not a lover’s kiss, not yet, but a desperate seal, warm and unyielding. She drew a sharp inhale through her nose, and then parted her lips against Sakura’s, forcing the air into her. A lifeline. A command.

 

Breathe.

 

Sakura jerked at first, eyes wide, but the flood of air filled her chest, dragging her lungs open where panic had clenched them shut. The sob that tore out of her collapsed into the kiss, wet and broken, but she clung to it—clung to her.

 

Ino didn’t stop. She inhaled again, slow and deliberate, then pressed her breath into Sakura’s mouth once more, steady and unrelenting. Her free hand slid to the back of Sakura’s head, fingers weaving into damp strands of pink hair, grounding her, holding her in place.

 

“Take it,” she whispered against her lips between breaths, fierce and trembling. “If you can’t find yours, then take mine.”

 

Each pass of air steadied her, little by little. Sakura’s chest hitched less violently, the frantic gasps slowing under Ino’s forced rhythm. Her trembling remained, harsh and jagged, but her lungs were filling now, not just clawing for scraps.

 

Her lips trembled beneath Ino’s, streaked with salt and damp with tears, but she was there.

 

And Ino—half feral, half breaking—kissed her again, gentler now, letting the shared breath soften into something that was both anchor and plea. Their foreheads touched, lips brushing, each inhale dragging Sakura closer to steadiness.

 

“You’re here,” Ino murmured, voice raw, still giving breath where she could. “With me. Always with me.”

 

For a moment, Ino thought it might finally be working. Sakura’s chest still rose too fast, too shallow, but her eyes—those eyes that had been clouded, glazed, lost—were beginning to sharpen. The panic haze receded, just barely, enough for green to truly, finally— find blue.

 

Ino’s breath stuttered at the sight, relief cracking her ribs apart. She parted her lips to speak—to tell her she was safe, to tell her she had her, always—but before the words could form, Sakura moved.

 

Her mouth crushed against Ino’s.

 

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, teeth clashing, breath stolen and stolen again, as though she were drowning and Ino’s lungs were the only source of air left in the world.

 

The sobs hadn’t stopped; they bled into the kiss, uneven, hitching, wet. But Sakura clung harder, her hands fisting into Ino’s shirt so tightly the fabric strained between her fingers. Every shudder of her frame pressed into Ino’s body, every gasp a demand, every broken exhale a plea.

 

Ino froze only for a heartbeat, the shock of it ricocheting through her—then she yielded, utterly. Her arms cinched tighter, locking Sakura against her chest, her lips answering with the same desperation she had poured into each breath before. Not just giving now. Taking, sharing, meeting Sakura’s need with equal ferocity.

 

Their teeth scraped. Their noses bumped. The kiss was messy, frantic, almost violent in its urgency—but beneath it ran the same command Ino had forced upon her earlier: breath, breath, breath. She gave it willingly, let Sakura steal it, let her anchor herself on the act of taking.

 

When Sakura finally pulled back for a heartbeat, their mouths dragging apart with a wet gasp, she was trembling still—but her lungs filled, deeper this time, real air flooding into her chest. Her pupils still blown wide, her face streaked with tears, but she was looking at Ino now. Really looking at her.

 

And then she surged forward again, kissing her harder, clutching her like she would split apart if she let go.

 

Ino groaned into it, the sound raw, breaking, her own tears hot against her cheeks. She kissed her back with everything she had—breathy, fury, love, and the bone-deep promise that she would never, ever let her fall alone.

 

Sakura’s sobs shook between them, but her breath was steadier now, drawn from Ino’s lungs, pressed into the shared heat of their mouths.

 

She clung tighter still.

 

Like Ino was the only thing keeping her alive.

 

Their mouths stayed locked, lips trembling, sliding, dragging against each other with wet insistence, neither willing—neither able—to let go. Sakura gasped into Ino’s mouth, again and again like each stolen breath was still too much and not enough all at once. Her tears still smeared between them and every hitch of her chest pressed desperate heat into the crush of their bodies.

 

Ino kissed even harder. Fiercer. She parted her mouth wide, letting Sakura take, demanding she take, their exhales fusing into one frantic rhythm. Each pull of air, each messy clash of lips was survival.

 

Sakura’s hands scrabbled up Ino’s back, twisting in the fabric until her knuckles ached, dragging herself closer, closer, as though she could crawl inside her, disappear into the only place that felt safe. Her sobs cracked through the kiss, shuddering, broken, but her mouth never left Ino’s, clinging with animal desperation.

 

And then—so faint, so fragile it nearly shattered Ino’s heart to hear—Sakura breathed against her lips, a whisper so quiet it barely carried past the space between them:

 

“More.”

 

It was plea, a confession all at once. A sound so cracked it should have broken her. Instead, it ignited her.

 

Ino obeyed.

 

Her hand fisted deep in Sakura’s pink hair, tugging hard, forcing her head to the side. The sharp gasp that tore from Sakura’s throat shivered hot against Ino’s lips—and she followed, mouth dragging down, abandoning the kiss only to press against the pale skin, down the line of her jaw, until she found the fragile curve of her throat.

 

She bit.

 

Not gentle, not teasing—her teeth sank in sharp, deliberate, until Sakura’s body jolted, until her gasp broke into something half sob, half moan. The pain cut through panic, cracked it like glass. Ino felt it in the bond—Sakura’s wild, spiraling energy hitching, catching, dragged back to earth by the jolt of sensation.

 

“Yes,” Ino breathed hot against her skin, lips curling over the mark she’d made. “Feel it. Stay with me. Here.”

 

Sakura’s hands convulsed, nails raking down Ino’s back through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her throat arched into the bite, voice breaking on a whimper that was both pained and desperate, the sound raw enough to shudder straight through Ino’s spine.

 

Ino’s lips closed over the mark, tongue soothing where her teeth had claimed, then biting again, lower this time, harder, each press anchoring Sakura further, driving sensation deep enough to pull her away from the abyss of her own lungs.

 

Sakura panted now—still uneven, still ragged, but real. Her breaths caught between sobs, hot and wet against Ino’s ear, but they filled her chest deeper, steadier, each gasp forced into rhythm by the grounding weight of teeth, lips, hands that would not let her drift away.

 

Her voice broke again, barely audible, trembling against the shell of Ino’s ear. “Don’t stop.”

 

And Ino didn’t.

 

She clutched her tighter, crushed her mouth back over Sakura’s again between each bite, each mark, sharing breath and taking it, drowning her in sensation until there was nothing left to feel but her. Until panic had no room to live between the gasps and the sobs and the raw, shaking plea for more.

 

Ino didn’t stop. She found herself unable to. Her whole body vibrated with the need to give, to anchor, to force Sakura back into herself by any means necessary. But now—now it was more than that. The bond thrummed like wildfire, her rage and fear twisted into something darker, hotter, until the line between saving her and devouring her blurred to nothing.

 

Her hands moved, sliding down Sakura’s spine, gripping hard at her waist, dragging her flush until the arch of their bodies pressed tight together. Every trembling sob Sakura gave rattled through them both, but now each ragged inhale dragged heat between them, breath mingling with lips that clashed, parted, clung.

 

Sakura responded like flame to oil. Her nails scraped deeper, tearing at fabric, dragging helpless sounds out of her throat that had nothing to do with panic and everything to do with need. Her hips shifted without thought, searching, pressing into Ino with desperate, uneven friction.

 

“More,” she whispered again, broken, fractured, but no longer the voice of a woman lost in panic. This was plea of hunger, of surrender.

 

Ino gave it to her.

 

She bit again, this time at her collarbone, dragging a gasp that twisted into something dangerously close to a moan. She soothed the mark with tongue, sucking the skin with desperate need, then sank her teeth again lower, at the valley of her breasts—pulling every ounce of Sakura’s focus into her skin.

 

Her hands roamed with the same urgency—sliding beneath damp fabric, palms splayed against fevered skin. The heat there was electric, muscle jumping under her touch as Sakura arched, gasping, clutching harder at Ino’s shoulders like she’d drown without the contact.

 

“Stay with me,” Ino growled against her throat, the words vibrating against Sakura’s pulse. “Feel me. Right here. Every breath, every shiver—mine.”

 

Sakura’s response was wordless, a sharp, breathless cry muffled against Ino’s hair as her body twisted closer, legs tangling with hers, dragging them both down until they were a knot of limbs on the floorboards. Their mouths met again, frantic, tongues clashing with messy desperation.

 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was survival turned feral, grief and panic bleeding into a raw, consuming need.

 

Sakura breathed through her now—stole air, gave it back, stole it again. Her sobs melted into gasps, her gasps into moans, until the only sound left was the wet, urgent cadence of their kiss and the broken, hungry noises tearing free between them.

 

The bond between them thrummed like a livewire, each touch sparking raw through both their bodies until sensation drowned out panic entirely.

 

Every sob, every cry, every kiss dragged Sakura back into herself, but also deeper into Ino—until there was no line between grounding and devouring, no difference between saving her and needing her.

 

And Ino didn’t care.

 

She’d give everything—air, body, soul—if it meant Sakura never broke like that again.

 

Ino’s hands moved again, lower this time, urgent and unrestrained, skimming beneath layers of clothing, searching for more skin, more proof that Sakura was here, solid, grounded. Her palms slid over trembling thighs, coaxing them apart with firm insistence until she could slot her knee between them. The friction was immediate, sharp, and Sakura gasped into her mouth, the sound caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.

 

Ino swallowed it whole.

 

Her hands stayed restless, tracing the edge of Sakura’s shorts, knuckles grazing heated skin in teasing passes that made Sakura writhe. Slowly, deliberately, she pressed her thigh harder, grinding up until the fabric dragged right against Sakura’s core. The answering shudder ripped through her body like lightning.

 

“Breathe,” Ino whispered against her lips, the word more command than comfort. Her grip tightened on Sakura’s hip, forcing her to rock with the rhythm Ino set, each roll deliberate, each movement grounding her deeper into the now.

 

Sakura clung to her, nails digging, breath ragged and wet—but this time, not from panic. Each broken inhale carried a tremor of heat, each shiver less of fear and more of need. Her sobs thinned into gasps, high and sharp as the friction built beneath her.

 

Ino kissed her through it, mouths colliding in messy desperation, until she couldn’t stand the barrier anymore. Her hands slid down, hooked into the waistband of Sakura’s shorts, tugging slow—agonizingly slow—down her thighs. Every inch of bare skin revealed was met with Ino’s mouth, lips and teeth marking her way lower, grounding her with sensation until the fabric was gone, discarded to the side.

 

Sakura was bare beneath her now, trembling but open, her thighs falling wider at Ino’s urging.

 

“Look at me,” Ino murmured fiercely, lifting her head just enough to catch Sakura’s gaze. Blue burned into green, the bond thrumming between them like wildfire. “Every breath—mine. Every cry—mine.”

 

Her hand slid between them at last, fingers pressing against slick, swollen heat. Sakura jolted like the touch had stolen the ground from beneath her, a sharp cry bursting from her lips.

 

Ino caught it in another kiss, swallowing it down, her fingers beginning a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each stroke dragged from root to tip, unhurried but merciless, coaxing Sakura’s body to arch, to grind into her palm, to surrender fully.

 

Her other arm locked around her waist, holding her steady as she worked her, relentless and grounding all at once. Each sob that tore from Sakura’s throat now bled into moans, ragged breathing breaking not from panic but from pleasure wound tighter and tighter.

 

“Again,” Ino whispered fiercely into her mouth, curling her fingers just so, rubbing harder against the point that made Sakura’s whole body jolt. “Fall apart for me—again.”

 

And Sakura did.

 

Her release broke out of her in waves, body convulsing, cries sharp and raw into Ino’s throat. But Ino didn’t stop. She slowed just enough to draw it out, to carry her through, then built her up again—over and over, merciless and tender all at once.

 

She kissed every cry from her lips, fed her every breath she needed, until Sakura’s sobs were gone, until her gasps came only from the spiral of sensation Ino wove through her. Until pleasure drowned out everything else, and the only thing left was Ino’s hands, Ino’s mouth, Ino’s voice commanding her back into herself.

 

And Ino stayed there, unrelenting, determined to make her come undone again and again, until there was no trace of the terror left in her body—only the kind of trembling that Ino had given her, only the kind of breathless release that anchored her to life.

 

Sakura slumped in Ino’s arms, chest still heaving, skin damp with sweat and tears. Her body trembled, every nerve frayed—but Ino wasn’t done. Not when the bond hummed so loud between them, not when Sakura’s gaze clung to her like she was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

 

Ino brushed damp strands of pink from her face, her lips grazing Sakura’s ear as she spoke, low and rough:

 

“Again, Sakura. We're not done. You can still give me more, can't you?"

 

The words weren’t request—they were command, coaxing and inexorable, meant to draw her out, to remind her she wasn’t finished, couldn’t be finished.

 

Sakura’s lashes fluttered, her lips parting in a soft, broken sound that could have been protest, could have been plea. But she didn’t resist when Ino lowered herself on her, didn’t stop her when her back was eased comfortably against the polished wood floor.

 

Ino followed, covering her body like a shield, but then shifting lower, her mouth blazing a trail of heat down Sakura’s throat. Every kiss was firm, claiming, grounding. She marked once again along collarbone, shoulder, the swell of her chest—her tongue tracing, her teeth biting just enough to pull another gasp from Sakura’s lips.

 

When she reached her stomach, Ino slowed, lips lingering at each trembling rise and fall. Her hands gripped Sakura’s thighs, parting them again with deliberate force, until she was framed there—Sakura open beneath her, breath unsteady, body shivering in expectation.

 

“Every sound you make,” Ino murmured, voice vibrating against soft skin, “is mine.”

 

Sakura whimpered, hips shifting as though pulled by instinct.

 

Ino’s lips hovered lower, so close that Sakura could feel the warmth of her breath ghosting over the heat of her core. She didn’t touch—yet. She waited, let the tension coil, her grip on Sakura’s thighs unyielding. She wanted Sakura to feel the inevitability, the surrender pressing down on her as sure as Ino’s weight.

 

“Breathe,” Ino whispered again, softer now, but edged with hunger. She dragged the words out like silk over a blade. “And give it to me. All of it. Again.”

 

Her mouth descended, finally—slow, steady, unrelenting—her lips brushing against her lover’s most sensitive skin in a kiss that was both reverent and possessive. The bond between them pulsed wild, vibrating through Ino’s chest, glowing underneath Sakura's chest, as her lover's sharp cry tore loose.

 

Ino anchored her hips with both hands, refusing to let her flee the sensation, and pressed her mouth closer, deeper, coaxing every broken sound free.

 

She wasn’t simply giving pleasure. She was taking panic, tearing it out by the roots, and replacing it with this—heat, release, surrender.

 

And when Sakura sobbed again, the sound was different now: not fear, not despair—just need.

 

Ino didn’t let up.

 

Her mouth moved in slow, devastating strokes, deliberate as if she were rewriting every nerve in Sakura’s body with each drag of her tongue. She stayed steady, anchoring her hips firmly against the floor, refusing to let her squirm.

 

Sakura’s cries rose and broke, spilling out of her in ragged waves. Her fingers tangled in Ino’s hair, trembling, torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer. The contradictions melted into need—into surrender—until all she could do was cling.

 

“Ino—” Her voice cracked, the syllable caught between plea and worship.

 

Ino hummed low in response, the vibration sinking deep into her, pulling another sharp gasp from Sakura’s throat. Her hands held her thighs wide, grounding her in place.

 

“You’re here,” Ino whispered between strokes, lifting her mouth just long enough to speak, her lips brushing slick, trembling skin. “Not lost. Not drowning. Every breath—mine. Let me take it.”

 

And Sakura did.

 

Her body arched helplessly, thighs trembling, heat gathering too fast, too sharp. She tried to form words, warnings, anything—but every attempt dissolved into broken sobs that shifted into moans, pulled raw from her chest.

 

Ino stayed relentless. Each pass of her mouth was measured, merciless, tuned to every twitch, every sound, every shiver. She built her carefully—never rushing, never letting her slip back into panic, until the line between pleasure and desperation blurred entirely.

 

Sakura’s hands fisted tighter in her hair, her breath catching, chest heaving. “I—I can’t—” she choked out.

 

“Yes, you can,” Ino murmured fiercely against her, her words swallowed by another stroke. “Again.”

 

The demand unraveled her.

 

Sakura’s climax tore through her like wildfire, ripping a sharp cry from her lungs as her body convulsed. Her thighs clamped tight around Ino’s head, only to be pried wider as Ino held her steady, drinking in every broken sound, every desperate shudder.

 

But Ino didn’t stop. She slowed—just barely—only to drag it out, to pull her through the breaking point and back into another spiral of sensation. Each aftershock bled into fresh waves under Ino’s relentless mouth and fingers, until Sakura’s cries turned hoarse, previous panic attack seemingly forgotten, until her body writhed without rhythm, every nerve alight.

 

“Ino—please—” she gasped, the words barely coherent. Her head thrashed against the floor, sweat-damp hair sticking to her flushed skin. “I… I can’t… I’m—”

 

But Ino pressed harder, licked deeper, coaxing more from her trembling form, refusing to release her until she gave everything.

 

Only when Sakura’s lips formed the word—small, hoarse, but clear—did Ino still.

 

“…Sage.”

 

The safeword cut through like a bell.

 

Instantly, Ino stilled her mouth, lifted her head, hands softening their grip. Her chest rose and fell, breath ragged, lips damp, but her focus locked only on Sakura.

 

She climbed back up, covering her with the warmth of her body, cradling her face between trembling hands.

 

“I’ve got you,” Ino whispered, voice rough but tender, her forehead pressed against Sakura’s. “You’re safe. Always.”

 

And Sakura, undone and spent, let herself sink into that promise—clinging to Ino, the panic gone, replaced by nothing but the ache of release and the steady thrum of being loved so completely.

 

 

 

Notes:

My girlfriend and I had a talk about this chapter. Being in a medical field, let's just say she pointed out some questionable decisions I made into writing this fic.

Chapter 39

 

The room was dark, save for the pale wash of moonlight spilling through the glass windows. It painted Sakura’s skin in silver, her breath rising and falling slow, even, calm—so unlike the frantic, shattered gasps that had nearly stolen her only hours ago.

 

Ino sat at the edge of the bed, her posture rigid, as though the slightest movement might disturb the fragile peace Sakura had finally found.

 

Her hands rested in her lap, but her fingers dug hard into the silk of her nightgown, twisting until the fabric bit into her knuckles. It was the only thing stopping her from rising, from tearing through the estate, from finding something—anything—to break.

 

Because she remembered. She remembered the way Sakura’s body had curled in on itself beneath that desk, small and trembling. She remembered the sound of sobs caught between ragged breaths that would not come, remembered the cold terror of watching the strongest woman she knew unravel in her arms.

 

And it burned. Gods, it burned.

 

Her chest felt too tight, her breath too sharp, her pulse clawing in her throat. Fury curled hot and unrelenting in her belly, searing through her veins until her vision blurred. She wanted to hunt. To destroy. To carve the source of Sakura’s terror out of the world and salt the earth it came from.

 

No one should have the power to make her look like that. To make her Sakura—the healer, the warrior, the woman who had carried the weight of peace on her shoulders—curl into the shadows and choke on her own lungs.

 

No one but Ino.

 

The thought seared like iron. Her grip on the silk tightened until her hands shook, the fabric twisting beneath her clenched fists. She pressed her lips together, hard, swallowing down the roar that clawed at her throat.

 

Beside her, Sakura shifted in her sleep, murmuring something low, unintelligible. Ino’s fury froze, shuddered, and broke into silence. She turned, instantly softer, her body leaning in.

 

Her hand hovered above Sakura’s cheek for a moment—trembling, afraid of waking her—before settling gently against warm skin. The silk of the nightgown she’d dressed her in rustled as Sakura exhaled, her lips parting just slightly, lashes fanning across flushed cheeks.

 

Peaceful.

 

At last.

 

Ino’s chest cracked wide at the sight. Tears stung sharp at the corners of her eyes, unbidden, unwanted. She bent, brushing her lips across Sakura’s hair, breathing her in, grounding herself in the way her chest rose against the mattress.

 

“You’re safe now,” Ino whispered, though the words were more for herself than for Sakura. “Whatever it was. I won’t let it touch you again. I swear it.”

 

The fury hadn’t left her—it never would. It simmered low, deep, a promise written in her bones. But she swallowed it down, forcing her hands to relax, forcing her body to stay.

 

She would not leave Sakura’s side tonight.

 

Even if her blood screamed for vengeance, even if her lungs ached from holding the fire in, she would stay.

 

But her mind reached out. A thread, extending toward the VEIN agent assigned to follow Sakura, a silent call through the mental link that only he could hear. 

 

She felt him immediately—quiet, composed, sitting beneath the branches of the great tree outside the Yamanaka Estate. His presence was distant because no agents was allowed inside these grounds, not here where Sakura was untouchable by any prying eyes.

 

“Ino-sama,” he acknowledged, calm, clipped, and she felt the faintest edge of tension beneath his professional composure.

 

“What happened while I was… occupied?” She asked, her voice even in her mind, controlled. There was a weight behind it she could not hide—the need to understand, the fear of missing something crucial, the slow burning of protective anger that never left her. “Any news? Anything Sakura has done today?”

 

The agent responded with neutrality. “She has maintained her usual schedule. From dawn to dusk, mostly working late. Skipping meals. Sleep appears minimal. Since the acquisition of the island property, she has been heavily engaged with professional matters.”

 

Ino’s chest tightened. Her jaw clenched as she absorbed it. That was familiar, routine even—but it wasn’t why Sakura had panicked earlier. Not entirely. “Where has she been today?” She pressed, probing deeper, trying to find the thread that led to the terror she had witnessed.

 

The agent’s voice was objective. “Hospital until three p.m., where she met with Tsunade. Departed the Akimichi Café around four to walk home. Observation indicates no abnormalities in demeanor beyond minor fatigue consistent with workload.”

 

At the surface, it seemed nothing had gone wrong. Yet Ino knew better. That kind of calm was deceptive, masking the undercurrent that had pushed Sakura into the panic attack she had seen only hours ago. Her fingers dug into her nightgown again, tightening instinctively.

 

“What about the outside? Anything she should know? Whispers? Reactions?” Ino asked, her mind straining for context beyond the immediate.

 

“There has been considerable chatter regarding her recent purchase: 720 million ryo for an international property,” the agent answered. “Public perception indicates surprise, skepticism. Certain political circles are noting her usage of the Senju name to expedite negotiations and assert influence over the Waves Court.”

 

Ino’s brow furrowed. Seven hundred twenty million ryo. A sum incomprehensible to most, yet somehow, to Sakura, she had insisted it was manageable. And yet, the consequence of it, the ripples it caused, was not a trivial matter. Even Sakura’s careful management could not escape attention.

 

“And the Senju?” Ino asked quietly, almost to herself. “What are their Clan Elders saying?”

 

“Expectations are rising. She is to accept the title of Senju heir. Discussions within the Council are ongoing regarding her officiation as the heiress. Pressure is mounting for a statement on her medical centers’ expansion so the Senju could officially start crowning her."

 

Ino’s fingers unclenched and clenched again, tighter this time. The picture was clear now, horrifying in its simplicity. Sakura did not want this title. She had never wanted the attention, the name, the responsibilities thrust upon her by heritage alone. Every achievement, every sacrifice she had made over the years, reduced to mere appendages of the Senju lineage the moment her name was spoken aloud. And now, because of the island purchase, because she had used her Senju heritage to secure it, because Sakuda had to do it for her, she could not escape. The clans would not let her.

 

She cut the link. Silence returned, heavy and unrelenting in the bedroom. Her eyes moved to Sakura, tracing the line of her jaw, the soft curve of her shoulders, the way the moonlight caught her lashes. She was asleep, fragile, serene, completely unaware of the storm gathering inside of Ino.

 

“They’re forcing her into a corner,” Ino whispered to herself, anger bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “They want to mold her into what they want… what she has never asked for.”

 

Ino exhaled slowly, hard, gripping the silk at her lap so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart ached—not for herself, but for the woman sleeping before her, whose mind had been pushed to the edge of collapse. The panic, the fear, the suffocating pressure—it wasn’t just the workload, not just the money. It was the weight of expectation, of legacy, of a heritage Sakura had never wanted but could not avoid.

 

Ino’s hands clenched again, a quiet promise coiling around her heart. They could not force her. Not if Ino had anything to say about it. She would protect her, shield her, hold her in place if the world tried to drag her into something she did not choose. The Senju could demand their heir, but Sakura would not be molded into their ideal, not while she drew breath.

 

And if the clans, the Elders, anyone tried to break her, Ino would burn the path to them first. Every last one.

 

Ino exhaled slowly, letting the fury that had been coiled like a serpent in her chest settle into a sharp, precise focus. The storm of anger, fear, and protectiveness had transformed into a strategy—calculated, ruthless, and entirely centered on one goal: keeping Sakura safe from a world that had no right to corner her.

 

Her hands moved, subtly, almost imperceptibly, and from the shadows of the room, two wood clones sprang into form. Both were exact copies of her, dressed in her usual work uniform—the same sharp blazer, the tailored pants, the composure that marked Ino Yamanaka both in appearance and demeanor. The clones stood at attention, waiting for instructions.

 

“You,” she said, pointing to the first, her voice low, commanding. “Go to Tsunade. It doesn’t matter if it’s late. You will speak for Sakura. You will make it absolutely clear that Sakura Haruno will not be officiated as the Senju heir. Do not falter. Do not hesitate. Tell her it is final.”

 

The first clone nodded, a flicker of chakra pulsing along its form. It was already moving, dissolving into countless threads of wood and dispersing down the streets of Konoha, tracing the fastest path toward Tsunade’s residence. Ino didn’t watch it leave—she didn’t need to. She could feel its presence, the resolve humming beneath the wood chakra, already anticipating the conversation it would have.

 

Her gaze shifted to the second clone. “And you… go to the Yamanaka Elders. Tell them about my plan to purchase Fuyunomi Island from Sakura.” Ino’s voice hardened, each word deliberate. “Convince them of the island’s benefits to the Clan. They have the resources—the money, the assets. Whether it’s 720 million or even one billion ryo, they will pay. They will grumble, but they will comply because I am ordering them to. Think carefully about how you frame the initiative, make them believe it strengthens the Clan’s legacy and security. Make them believe in the necessity.”

 

The second clone’s form pulsed with acknowledgment. It flickered immediately, dissolving into splintering light and disappearing, already threading its way toward the Elders, calculating, persuasive, ready to manipulate the conversation exactly as Ino envisioned.

 

Finally, Ino closed her eyes and extended her mind to the clone stationed at the Sensory and Communications Division HQ—a sentinel she always kept in place, handling communications, public statements, and intelligence when she was otherwise occupied. She guided the clone’s thoughts with strictness.

 

“Tomorrow morning,” she instructed, “the network will release a statement. It will say that Ino Yamanaka is the one who bought the island. Sakura Haruno is my partner, yes—but she is not the one who initiated this. She is only a collaborator, a participant in the project. Frame it clearly: the Yamanaka initiative, our expansion of the medical centers into international waters, is a strategic move to create a secure hub for humanitarian and informational acts. The world must see the truth—Sakura has not been pulled into this of her own volition. She is safe in her innocence. The focus, the responsibility, the fallout—it is mine to bear.”

 

The clone’s form shivered in acknowledgment, and Ino felt the shift of the network’s gears beneath her control. The plan was precise. The message would be clear. The public perception, the whispers, the gossip that threatened to suffocate Sakura—all of it would be redirected. The world would see Ino pulling the strings, and Sakura would remain untouched, a figurehead in a shadow she did not cast herself.

 

Ino exhaled again, slower this time, letting the faint rustle of her breath mingle with the soft hum of the night. The chessboard she had arranged in her mind was flawless, each piece positioned with purpose, each move calculated to shield Sakura from the storm that threatened to engulf her. Yet even as the plan solidified, an awareness coiled inside her.

 

The Council was already on edge, acutely aware of the scope of Ino’s influence, the reach of her power. Her network of information spanned the entire country, veins of intelligence flowing from the smallest village to the bustling streets of the capital, spreading even more so when Salura had given her access to Jiraiya's spy network. 

 

Every piece of advanced technology, every security system, every whisper of political maneuvering ran through her hands—through the Yamanaka clan’s patents, through her vigilance. Konoha's Elders did not like it. The Council was skeptical of her actions. They had never liked her. Her growing prominence, her political maneuvering, her strategic expansion—it painted a target squarely on her back.

 

But she always let them try.

 

Because she knew it did not matter what they plotted, what schemes they whispered behind closed doors. They could make threats, they could attempt sabotage, they could try to manipulate allies or twist rumors, but Ino had built herself into an immovable force long before they even realized she existed as a player. She owned the information, the infrastructure, the very arteries of Konoha itself. She knew the village’s heartbeat, its vulnerabilities, and its hidden strengths in ways few ever could. 

 

Unlike Sakura, who had never acted on her name or title, who had walked her own path unobtrusively, Ino had been forged for this role from birth. She had been born into responsibility, raised to wield power, trained to see the strings beneath the world’s surface. Politics, scheming elders, ambitious council members—they were obstacles she had been taught to navigate before she could even fully understand the consequences of failure. Every move, every negotiation, every decision had been a lesson in survival and domination.

 

Ino would not fail. Not for Sakura. Not for anyone who underestimated her.

 

Her gaze swept over the sleeping figure of Sakura again, and the heat in her chest spiked, tempered by resolve. The world could see whispers, could see threats, could see the stirring of a Yamanaka asserting herself—but they would not touch Sakura. No matter the Elders, no matter the Council, no matter the undercurrents of envy or ambition, Ino’s control was absolute. She would anticipated every move, preempted every threat, and she would bear the fallout herself. Every consequence would fall on her shoulders so that Sakura’s remained untouched.

 

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved Ino’s lips. Let them watch. Let them plan. Let them wait for an opportunity—they would find none that could pierce the fortress she had built around the woman she loved. She had spent her life preparing for this, and now, more than ever, it mattered.

 

The chessboard was set. The pieces were in motion, and Ino Yamanaka would crush anyone who dared threaten the queen she protected.

 

Her hand found Sakura’s again, brushing lightly against her hair, her fingers tangling in soft strands. “You won’t have to carry it,” she whispered, almost reverently, almost like a prayer. “I’ll carry it for you. Every expectation. Every pressure. Every consequence. None of it will touch you unless you allow it.”

 

Ino’s eyes glinted with a sharp, determined light. Outside, the world could roar. Politics could demand connection. The Senju could press its power. But inside these walls, with her hand on Sakura, Ino would bear it all, so Sakura never would.

 

And if anyone tried to cross that line, to pull Sakura into that chaos? Ino Yamanaka would ensure they regretted it with every fiber of her being.

 

 

---

 

 

The morning broke gently, pale sunlight seeping through the thin curtains and washing the room in a soft, golden glow. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, suspended in the still air, and everything felt quiet, heavy with the lingering air of the day before.

 

Sakura stirred slowly, her body reminding her of everything with a low ache that started at her hips and pulsed deeper, a soreness both tender and grounding. She winced at first, shifting slightly against the sheets, but then it sank in—not pain, not regret, but a reminder. A memory etched into her muscles and bones, of surrender and relief and something so much more than desire.

 

She exhaled, long and shaky, her lips curving faintly upward as her gaze drifted sideways.

 

And there she was.

 

Ino.

 

Golden hair spilling untamed across the pillow, strands catching the light like threads of fire. Her face softened in sleep, stripped of the sharp composure she carried into every waking moment, her brow uncreased, her mouth relaxed. One arm was looped firmly around Sakura’s waist, her hand splayed against her stomach in a hold that was both possessive and protective, as if even unconscious, her body refused to let go.

 

Sakura’s heart stuttered at the sight. Her chest ached, not from the memory of panic, but from the overwhelming swell of gratitude that nearly knocked the breath from her.

 

Yesterday came back to her in fragments, jagged, blurred around the edges by panic. She didn’t remember hearing Ino come home. Didn’t remember the sound of the door opening, the brush of footsteps. All she remembered was the crushing weight pressing down on her chest, the way her lungs had seized, how her thoughts had spiraled so fast they had tangled into knots she couldn’t cut free from.

 

She remembered hiding beneath the desk, the suffocating shadows of her office closing in. Papers felt like they were stacked high, names and titles and demands circling her like vultures. The Senju name, the Clan Elders’ expectations, the whispers that never stopped. She had tried to stand tall, to carry it, to bury the exhaustion and fear deep beneath her skin. But the cracks had widened, the walls had caved in, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

 

She had been clawing at nothing, sobbing soundlessly, choking on her own lungs. Everything blurred, warped, became too loud, too heavy—until there was nothing but the desperate need for air, for escape.

 

And then—warmth.

 

A voice she hadn’t heard clearly but had felt, wrapping around her like a lifeline. Fingers on her arms, strong and grounding, and then lips on hers—fierce, unyielding, desperate, pulling her back when she had nearly drowned.

 

Sakura’s breath hitched as she remembered it—the sudden shock of that kiss, the way her panic had shattered under it. She had clung blindly, clinging like her life depended on it, sobbing into Ino’s mouth as if she could pour all the fear out and breathe something steadier in return.

 

She remembered stealing air from her lungs, greedy, desperate, refusing to let go. She remembered the heat of Ino’s arms, the steadiness of her presence, the way Ino’s voice—direct, commanding, trembling at the edges with fear and fury both—had anchored her when she had been lost.

 

And then she remembered how she had kissed back again. Not out of calm, not out of thought, but out of need. Because she missed her. Gods, she had missed her. The distance, the pressure, the days spent holding everything together when inside she was unraveling—it had broken her in that moment.

 

She hadn’t wanted to hold on anymore. She hadn’t wanted to be strong. She had wanted to give in, to collapse, to let someone else carry her when she couldn’t stand on her own. And Ino… Ino had been there. Fierce, demanding, unrelenting. Ino had taken control, had guided her through the storm, had reminded her that she didn’t have to do it alone.

 

Sakura’s chest tightened, tears pricking faintly at her eyes as she lay there now, staring at the sleeping figure beside her. Gratitude swelled so sharp it almost hurt, a pressure in her chest that refused to be swallowed.

 

She didn’t know what she had done to deserve this woman. To deserve someone who saw her at her weakest—sobbing, broken, gasping—and didn’t turn away. Who stayed, who held her, who put her back together without asking for anything in return.

 

Her hand lifted before she realized it, fingers trembling as she brushed them gently against Ino’s cheek. The skin was warm, soft, and she let her touch linger, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips.

 

Ino shifted slightly, murmuring in her sleep, her grip around Sakura tightening reflexively as though even in dreams, she could sense the threat of loss. Sakura’s lips trembled into a smile.

 

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to Ino’s forehead with the gentlest reverence. The kiss was soft, lingering, almost like a prayer.

 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the words, the truth raw in her chest.

 

Her fingers threaded lightly through Ino’s hair as she pulled back, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the way the sunlight painted her lashes gold.

 

Sakura’s throat tightened, but for once, it wasn’t with panic. It was with something else—love, gratitude, an aching kind of joy. She closed her eyes, shifting closer to her lover, sinking into the warmth pressed against her side.

 

Whatever the world demanded, whatever the clans or the Senju tried to force on her—it could wait. For now, all she wanted was this.

 

This peace.

 

This woman.

 

This morning that felt like the first breath after drowning.

 

 

 

Chapter 40

 

Sakura shifted a little, brushing her lips against Ino’s forehead one last time before easing back onto her pillow. She thought she’d have a few more minutes to watch her sleep, to drink in that rare softness, but Ino stirred almost immediately.

 

A quiet groan slipped from her lips as she stretched, limbs languid and feline, before curling right back against Sakura like she hadn’t moved at all. Her fingers flexed against Sakura’s stomach, splaying wide as though she was confirming, even in her half-conscious state, that she was still there.

 

Then came the low, raspy murmur, her voice heavy with sleep. “Mm… you’re warm. Stay like this forever.”

 

Sakura huffed a soft laugh. “Forever sounds impractical.” She let her voice drop into a thoughtful hum. “What about breakfast?”

 

One blue eye cracked open, cloudy and annoyed, and Ino glared at her as if she had just committed treason. "Betrayal,” she rasped. “You’d leave me… for toast?”

 

Sakura bit her lip, pretending to deliberate. “Depends on the toast.”

 

Ino pushed herself up a fraction, squinting at her in exaggerated disbelief. “Unbelievable. I rearrange my entire body clock to keep you warm, and you’re ready to throw me away for bread.”

 

“If it’s the cinnamon honey loaf from the Akimichi Bakery,” Sakura teased, “then maybe.”

 

The scandalized gasp that tore out of Ino made Sakura laugh, really laugh, her chest shaking as she pressed her hand over her mouth to smother the sound. Ino shoved her shoulder lightly, grumbling as she dropped back down onto the mattress and buried her face into Sakura’s neck.

 

“You’re cruel,” she muttered into her skin. “And heartless.”

 

“Ridiculous,” Sakura corrected, still smiling, running her fingers through the tangle of gold spilling over the pillow. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“You love it,” Ino shot back immediately, voice muffled but smug.

 

Sakura didn’t answer, only hummed, her fingers combing with slow patience through those golden strands. She’d never admit how much she adored moments like this—the laziness, the silliness, the way Ino stripped away all the sharp edges she wore in daylight.

 

But then Ino shifted, lifting herself up on one elbow, sharpness returning to her expression. Sleep still clung to her features, but her eyes were intent, focused, studying Sakura like she could peel her apart if she wanted to.

 

“How are you feeling?” Ino asked softly, careful. “I didn’t… push too hard yesterday, did I?”

 

Sakura’s chest clenched at the question, too much, too raw. “Thank you.”

 

Ino blinked. “That’s not an answer.”

 

“It’s the only one that matters.” Sakura rolled onto her side, turning her face into the pillow to hide the warmth rising in her cheeks.

 

She could feel Ino’s grin, wide and victorious, without having to look. “You’re cheating again,” she accused.

 

Sakura risked a glance, arching a brow. “Cheating? For saying thank you?”

 

“Mmhm. You use it like a weapon.” Ino dragged the words out in a mock pout. “Stops me right in my tracks. I can’t argue against it. Terrible tactic. Unfair.”

 

Sakura snorted, unable to stop her laugh. “You’re impossible.”

 

“And you’re still here,” Ino shot back, triumphant.

 

The conversation melted into nothing important after that, both of them content to wander into safe, familiar territory. They talked about the way the pipes in the estate rattled whenever the heat kicked in, whether they had enough coffee beans left in the pantry, how Shikamaru was probably still asleep despite swearing he had an early meeting.

 

Sakura teased her about her terrible handwriting on official documents, Ino retaliated by poking her in the ribs until she squirmed, and at one point Ino threatened to ban her from touching the Yamanaka archives ever again because she apparently stacked scrolls in “disrespectful piles.”

 

It was ridiculous. And it was everything.

 

For a while, it felt almost normal—two women tangled in sheets, bickering over household nonsense, teasing like they were teenagers again. Sakura found herself laughing more than she thought she could after yesterday, her cheeks sore from smiling, her chest lighter with every exchange.

 

Eventually, the banter quieted. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy; it was comfortable, a kind of quiet that wrapped around them like another blanket. Ino lay back against the pillows now, one hand still linked with Sakura’s, her thumb idly tracing circles against her knuckles. Sakura shifted, curling closer, until her head rested against Ino’s chest.

 

She could hear her heartbeat—steady, grounding, a rhythm she hadn’t known she needed until it was there. Ino’s free hand slid into her hair, combing gently through the strands, each pass slow and soothing.

 

The silence stretched on. It should have been enough. It almost was.

 

But the question sat on Sakura’s tongue, bitter and heavy, itching at the edges of her thoughts. She swallowed once, twice, hoping it would fade. It didn’t.

 

Her throat felt tight as she shifted, burrowing deeper into Ino’s arms, her voice barely above a whisper. "…Aren’t you going to ask?”

 

For a moment, Ino didn’t move. Just the sound of her breath, steady, the weight of her arm secure around Sakura’s waist. Then her fingers threaded deeper into Sakura’s hair, combing through with slow patience.

 

“Only if you’re ready,” Ino murmured, her voice low, even, certain.

 

Sakura squeezed her eyes shut, clutching tighter at the fabric of Ino’s shirt, letting the words sink into her bones. Relief bloomed sharp and aching in her chest, because Ino meant it—she always meant it. She wouldn’t force it, wouldn’t drag her through explanations before she was ready.

 

Sakura stayed quiet for a long while, listening to the slow, steady beat under her ear. It would have been so easy to stay there, to let the silence stretch until morning, until the weight in her chest dulled enough to ignore.

 

But this was Ino.

 

The one person who had seen her splinter and break, who had held the jagged pieces without flinching. The one who knew the truth of her beginnings, the blood and history she carried, the ghosts she couldn’t shake. If she couldn’t say it here, in this bed, in these arms, then there was nowhere in the world she could.

 

Her fingers twisted tighter in the fabric of Ino’s shirt. “It’s the Senju Elders,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

 

Ino stilled, but she didn’t push. Just a subtle shift, her hand sliding lower to rest between Sakura’s shoulder blades, anchoring her.

 

“They’re using the expansion,” Sakura went on, voice thin. “The island… they’re calling it leverage. A stage.”

 

Her chest ached as the words tumbled out, jagged and reluctant. “They want to make it official. They want me to stand there—before the Council, before the clans, before the whole damned world—and let them name me heir. Senju heir. Their banner, their promise, their symbol.”

 

The silence that followed was suffocating. Sakura pressed her face harder into Ino’s chest, as though she could hide from it. “I can’t stop it,” she admitted, voice breaking. “I did this. I bought the land. I used the name. I opened the door, and now—”

 

Her breath hitched. “Now I can’t close it again.”

 

Ino’s hand tightened at her back, the touch was firm. She didn’t speak right away, didn’t rush to fill the silence. And maybe that was the only reason Sakura managed to keep going.

 

“I thought I could manage it quietly,” Sakura said, softer now, almost ashamed. “That I could build something under the name without stepping into its shadow. But the Elders—” her jaw clenched. “They don’t care what I want. They never did. To them, this is proof. Proof that I’ve accepted it. That I’m willing to wear the name in public, to let it bind me.”

 

The words came faster, sharper, as though she couldn’t hold them back anymore. “They’ll parade me as some Senju reborn. They’ll strip away everything I’ve fought for, everything I’ve chosen for myself, and I’ll be left with chains I can’t break because I put them on with my own hands.”

 

By the time she stopped, her throat was raw. She didn’t realize she was shaking until Ino’s palm smoothed slow, steady circles into her back.

 

Ino’s voice was quiet when it finally came, but there was steel beneath it. "They think they can put you in a cage.”

 

Sakura swallowed, guilt rising thick. “And maybe they can. Maybe I handed them the key.”

 

Ino shifted then, pulling her back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were clear now, sharp and unyielding despite the sleep that still clung to her edges. Her hand came up to cup Sakura’s cheek, thumb brushing against damp skin she hadn’t realized was wet.

 

“Don't worry. You won't have to deal with all of that anymore,” Ino said simply.

 

Sakura blinked at her, startled by the certainty in Ino’s voice. There was no hesitation, no edge of doubt—it was spoken as though the matter had already been decided.

 

Her lips parted, trembling with a protest that came out small. “It’s not that easy…”

 

She didn’t know what Ino had meant by those words, didn’t know what she’d done—or what she might already be planning. But she knew her Clan best. She knew the Council. She knew the pressure of her name and how far its shadow stretched. Nothing about this was simple.

 

But Ino only leaned forward, brushing her lips across Sakura’s with aching softness. A kiss meant not to silence her, but to anchor her, to press something steady into the cracks of her doubt.

 

When she drew back, her blue eyes shone, clear and unyielding. “Today,” she murmured, the firmness in her tone at odds with the gentleness of her touch, “you’re going to skip work. No documents. No meetings. No Clan matters waiting to corner you in some chamber. You’re going to rest.”

 

Her thumb brushed Sakura’s cheek again, deliberate, calming. “And you’re not going to waste another second worrying about being their heir.”

 

Sakura froze, breath caught in her throat. For a moment she could only stare, searching that gaze for some flicker of uncertainty, some sign that Ino was bluffing, buying her time. But there was nothing. Only calm certainty—like the chessboard Ino always seemed to see when no one else could.

 

Her heart clenched. “Ino…” she whispered, because she wanted to believe her, wanted so badly to let herself fall into that promise.

 

But part of her still knew the world didn’t bend so easily. Not even for her. Not even for them.

 

And yet, the way Ino looked at her now—the way her grip was steady and her voice unwavering—made Sakura wonder if, just maybe, she was wrong.

 

 

---

 

 

By the time they stepped outside, the air was crisp with autumn, the kind that nipped faintly at the skin but smelled of soil and ripening fruit. The Yamanaka estate stretched wide before them, a patchwork of cultivated beauty that felt both curated and untamed. 

 

The garden was alive with motion. Workers moved along the rows with baskets and pruning shears, sleeves rolled high, boots caked with dirt. The greenhouses, scattered in domes of glass across the land, shimmered faintly with condensation. Inside, she could just make out bursts of color—autumn lilies still stubbornly blooming, chrysanthemums arranged in careful tiers, marigolds bending their heads in the low light.

 

But it was the vineyard that pulled them in, that neat sprawl of vines heavy with purple and black clusters, their skins catching the sunlight in dull gleams. The smell here was sweet and earthy, tartness rising as baskets filled with grapes. The leaves overhead were tinged bronze and gold, some already crisping at the edges, drifting down to scatter across the dirt paths between rows.

 

Sakura adjusted her grip on the roller cart they’d been dragging behind them. It rattled over the uneven ground, already half-full with the harvest they’d gathered in the last hour. The baskets stacked neatly, brimming with fruit that caught the sun in jewel tones. Her fingers were faintly sticky from plucking stems, her nails stained with grape skin. It should have been tedious work, but here, like this, it wasn’t.

 

“You’re staring again,” Ino said lightly, reaching up to twist a particularly fat bunch free. She dropped it into the basket with a triumphant flick of her wrist.

 

Sakura blinked out of her reverie. “At the vines?”

 

“No,” Ino replied with a smirk, glancing sideways at her. “At me.”

 

Sakura rolled her eyes, though warmth pricked her cheeks. “I was not.”

 

“You were.” Ino tugged another cluster down, brushing dust off her fingers on her apron. “It’s fine. I don’t blame you.”

 

Sakura huffed, biting back a smile. “You’re so full of yourself.”

 

“And you’re predictable,” Ino teased, her voice bright with mischief. “You get that far-off look whenever you’re overthinking. Then you look at me like I’m supposed to have all the answers.”

 

Sakura’s fingers tightened around the handle of the cart. “Maybe because you act like you do.”

 

“Exactly,” Ino said, unbothered. “And right now, my answer is: stop thinking about it and pick that bunch to your left. It’s perfect.”

 

Sakura hesitated, then reached up, tugging at the vine where Ino had pointed. The grapes came away easily, cool against her palms. She dropped them into the basket and wiped her fingers against her trousers, trying to ignore the way her chest still ached from their conversation earlier.

 

But Ino had a way of weaving around her defenses, slipping laughter into cracks where worry had rooted itself.

 

“Did you ever help with this as a kid?” Sakura asked, voice softer now as they moved down the row.

 

Ino tilted her head, considering. “Sometimes. But mostly I just ran through here chasing butterflies and got yelled at for bruising the fruit.” Her grin flashed. “Shikamaru would nap under the vines, and Choji would follow me around trying to catch the butterflies I scared off.”

 

The image pulled a laugh from Sakura before she could stop it. “That sounds about right.”

 

“Mm.” Ino reached for another cluster, her hand brushing Sakura’s in the process. Instead of pulling away, she let it linger, her fingers squeezing gently before she dropped the fruit into the basket.

 

Sakura’s chest tightened. The warmth of the moment warred with the weight pressing at the back of her mind—the inevitability of the Elders, the announcement, the title she couldn’t escape. She opened her mouth, the words half-formed.

 

But Ino was already moving, tugging the cart forward with a grunt. “Come on. If we fill this basket, the maids can get the good cider from the kitchen.”

 

Sakura blinked. “You’re bribing me with cider?”

 

“Yes,” Ino said plainly, tossing her a grin over her shoulder. “And it’s working.”

 

It was ridiculous, how easily Ino could pivot her. But Sakura found herself smiling anyway, trailing after her, her fingers brushing the vines as they passed. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, warm where it touched her skin. The cart creaked. The chatter of workers rose and fell around them.

 

And for a little while, with grape juice sticky on her hands and Ino’s laughter filling the air, Sakura let herself believe this was enough—that her worries could wait.

 

By the time they left the vineyard, the cart was heavy, stacked high with baskets gleaming with dark fruit. Workers moved in and out of the rows, taking over where they’d left off, their chatter rising and falling with the rustle of leaves. 

 

A few attendants bowed lightly to Ino as she passed, and Sakura felt her usual prickle of discomfort at being acknowledged not as the lover of their Clan Head but as a Senju. But Ino didn’t let her linger in it—her hand brushed against Sakura’s wrist, a silent tug that pulled her along toward the stretch of trees at the far end of the estate.

 

And there—already waiting—was the picnic.

 

A large blanket spread out beneath the shade of an old maple, its leaves burnished gold and red, branches swaying faintly with the breeze. A low table had been set up over it, draped in cream linen, and stacked neatly across its surface were plates and bowls, each covered until the moment they were ready to eat. Steam rose faintly from a kettle perched to one side, the sharp-sweet smell of brewed tea already mingling with the earthy scent of fallen leaves.

 

The attendants were efficient, practiced. One dipped his head toward Ino. “Lady Ino, everything is prepared as you requested. We’ll see to the fruit shortly.”

 

“Perfect,” Ino said easily, slipping her arm around Sakura’s waist as though staking a claim. “Take the cart to the kitchen and have the staff bring cider out for everyone when we’re done here. You’ve all earned it.”

 

The bow that followed was deeper, touched with relief, and then the workers filed back toward the house, cart rattling behind them.

 

Sakura stood frozen for a moment, blinking at the spread laid out before her. She turned to Ino slowly, her brow lifting. “You… ordered this ahead of time?”

 

“Obviously.” Ino smirked, tugging her down toward the blanket. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I let you do manual labor for an hour without a proper repast waiting?”

 

“Repast,” Sakura repeated faintly, allowing Ino to press her down onto the blanket. “You make it sound like we’re guests in some noble’s estate, not just having a meal outside.”

 

Ino plucked the kettle from the tray, pouring steaming tea into the waiting cups. “Correction—you live here,” she said smoothly, handing Sakura her cup. A smug smile tugged at her lips. “Which makes you the very spoiled partner of the Clan Head."

 

Sakura huffed, trying for exasperation, but it fell flat under the warmth rising in her chest. The blanket was soft beneath her fingers, the tea fragrant, the filtered sunlight catching in Ino’s hair like spun gold. On the table, dish after dish was unveiled: fresh bread still warm from the oven, honey butter in a small ceramic dish, wedges of smoked cheese, bowls of berries that still gleamed with dew. There was a platter of roasted vegetables, brushed with herbs and oil, and a delicate quiche that smelled faintly of leeks and thyme.

 

Sakura’s stomach growled. Ino smirked wider.

 

“You knew this would happen,” Sakura accused, reaching for the bread before she could think twice.

 

“Of course I did.” Ino leaned back on one hand, tea balanced in the other. “I know everything.”

 

“Mm. Arrogant,” Sakura muttered, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. She spread honey butter across her bread, the sweetness melting instantly against the warmth. The first bite had her shoulders sagging, a soft sound slipping out before she could swallow it back.

 

Ino’s eyes darkened with amusement. “You’re welcome.”

 

Sakura fought the heat climbing her cheeks and busied herself with the food, piling her plate with far more than she meant to. They ate in companionable quiet for a while, the rustle of leaves above them mixing with the clink of cutlery. Ino reached shamelessly across Sakura’s plate whenever she wanted something, earning herself an elbow to the ribs, which she endured with infuriating smugness.

 

It wasn’t until Sakura’s second cup of tea that she let herself lean back, her body relaxing into the blanket. Ino had stretched out beside her, legs crossed at the ankles, her head tipped back to catch the light through the branches. She looked utterly content, like the world beyond the garden didn’t exist at all.

 

And for a terrifyingly sweet moment, Sakura almost believed it.

 

Almost believed there wasn’t a title pressing against her throat like a collar. Almost believed there weren’t eyes waiting to devour her in some chamber, Elders whispering in corners about her duty and her bloodline. Here, with sticky fingers from the honey, with tea warming her chest, with Ino lying casually in the sun—she could almost pretend she wasn’t someone else’s heir, wasn’t about to be put on a stage she never asked for.

 

She turned her face toward Ino, the words caught sharp behind her teeth. How do you make it so easy? She wanted to ask. How do you pull me out of myself every time?

 

But all she managed was a soft exhale, her head falling until her temple brushed Ino’s shoulder.

 

Ino didn’t move for a long moment. Then, with a faint sound, she set her cup down and curled an arm around Sakura, tugging her close.

 

“You’re thinking again,” she murmured.

 

Sakura closed her eyes. “Am I not allowed?”

 

“No.” Ino’s answer was immediate, smug, but her hand rubbed slow circles against Sakura’s arm. “You’re only allowed to eat, drink, and enjoy the fact that you’re dating the most thoughtful, brilliant, devastatingly beautiful woman in Konoha.”

 

A laugh slipped out before Sakura could stop it, muffled against Ino’s shoulder. “You’re unbearable.”

 

“And you’re lucky.” Ino tilted her chin down, her grin brushing against Sakura’s hair.

 

Sakura let the words sink in, soft and sharp all at once. Lucky. Yes. That was exactly what it felt like. To be seen, to be known, to be taken care of so wholly that she could breathe again. Lucky—and loved.

 

And for just a little while longer, with autumn sunlight flickering over their plates and the garden alive with color around them, she let herself sink into that truth and nothing else.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I COULD have simply ended it here. But noo, I just HAD to write the next part.

The next chapter is where the Dark tag begins.

Chapter 41

 

Ino was the first to break the silence, her voice light as she reached for another wedge of cheese. “Did I ever tell you about the time Choji tried to turn this vineyard into a test kitchen?”

 

Sakura blinked, turning her head just enough to glance at her. “Test kitchen?”

 

“Oh yes,” Ino said with mock solemnity, gesturing with her fork. “He decided he could ferment grapes himself when we were, what? Eight? Borrowed one of my father’s jars, filled it with smashed fruit and sugar, hid it in the shed like it was contraband.”

 

Sakura arched a brow, already smiling. “Let me guess. Disaster?”

 

“Explosion,” Ino corrected, eyes gleaming. “Two weeks later it blew the lid clean off. The whole shed smelled like sour candy and vinegar for months. My father was furious. Choji swore it was a scientific breakthrough.”

 

A laugh bubbled from Sakura, unexpected and light. “Of course he did.”

 

“Mm.” Ino leaned back on her elbow, looking far too pleased with herself for drawing that sound out of her. “And Shikamaru swore it was all my idea because apparently I dared Choji first.”

 

Sakura shook her head, but her lips curved despite herself. She could almost see it—the three of them, children tangled in their mischief, filling the estate with laughter.

 

Ino went on, spinning the story into a dozen little tangents—how Shikamaru tried to calculate the pressure buildup with equations he barely understood, how Choji insisted on tasting the mess anyway, how Ino had to bribe one of the gardeners to keep it secret from her father. Her voice was animated, her gestures quick, her laughter easy.

 

Sakura let the sound wash over her, grounding and bright. She sipped her tea slowly, eyes half-lidded, listening. Half of her mind followed every word; the other half drifted back to yesterday, to the crushing panic, the walls closing in, the Clan hovering like vultures. It hadn’t been that bad in years—not since her training, not since she’d learned how to press those feelings down, bury them where no one could see.

 

But yesterday, she had cracked wide open.

 

And Ino had stayed. Held her through it. Patient. And now here she was, weaving stories like threads of gold, trying to patch over the jagged edges with warmth and laughter.

 

Sakura’s chest ached. She knew what this was—Ino’s way of protecting her, of offering her steadiness without naming it outright. It worked. Of course it worked. But still, the worry lingered, clinging stubbornly like damp clothes.

 

Her thumb rubbed against the rim of her cup, restless.

 

“…I’m glad you’re telling me this,” Sakura murmured when Ino paused to sip her tea. Her voice was softer than she intended.

 

Ino glanced at her, sharp enough to notice but kind enough not to press. Instead, she only smiled, faint but certain. “Good. Because I have an entire catalog of embarrassing Yamanaka family history. I can keep you entertained until dinner if you let me.”

 

Sakura set her cup down carefully, fingers lingering on the porcelain. The tea was still warm, but her chest had gone tight again, the sweetness of the moment tugged thin by the edge of her thoughts.

 

“…Is it really alright for you to be here though?” She asked finally, voice quieter than she meant. Her eyes flicked toward the manor in the distance, then back to Ino. “You’re still the Chief Sensor. You should be in the Division. And Kakash, you were supposed to meet with him. About Fuyunomi—" her throat tightened, the words brittle. "About what’s in the island, now that you have sealed the relic, before the Village Elders could outmanuever her.”

 

Just saying the name of the island—now her property—made her pulse spike, panic threatening to swell sharp and suffocating. She gripped the hem of the blanket, grounding herself in the weave of the fabric before her mind could spiral further.

 

But then—fingers brushed her hair back, soft and deliberate. Ino’s touch lingered against her temple, her knuckles grazing her cheek as though she could soothe away every jagged edge with that one motion.

 

When Sakura forced herself to meet her eyes, there was no hesitation, no shadow of doubt. Only composure. Only certainty.

 

“I’ve already handled it,” Ino said simply.

 

The words landed like a weight and a balm all at once.

 

Sakura blinked, startled. “Handled…?”

 

“Yes.” Ino tucked another strand behind her ear, her thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. “The Division is covered, always is. The Council has their reports and Kakashi—don’t worry, he and I spoke already this morning about the relic. Everything is under control.”

 

Sakura’s brow furrowed. “How?”

 

Ino’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more like the edge of a secret. “Wood clones.” She said it like it was obvious, as if Sakura should have guessed already. “I can be everywhere, anywhere, all at once—and nobody would ever know which one is me. Not even the Council. Not even Kakashi. They’ll never guess if it’s the real me or not.”

 

Sakura blinked, caught between awe and unease. “You’re… using clones to sit in on Council meetings?”

 

“And oversee the Division. And negotiate with Kakashi. And handle the relic reports.” Ino listed them off like chores, like she was rattling through a shopping list. Then she leaned closer, her hand brushing Sakura’s knee in passing as she reached for the damp towel folded neatly on the tray. “It’s efficient.”

 

Before Sakura could press further, Ino caught her wrist gently, turning her palm upward. “Hold still.”

 

The cloth was cool against her skin, wiping away the tacky traces of honey and cheese from their harvest snack. Ino’s movements were slow, almost tender, her voice just as casual as before. “You don’t have to worry about Fuyunomi anymore. Drop the paperwork for the project. You don’t even have to bother about the consequences.”

 

Sakura’s heart thudded, sharp and unsteady, at the weight behind words that sounded so light. She couldn’t look away from Ino—casually tending to her like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just declared control over things that had left her sleepless and shaking.

 

Her fingers curled slightly under Ino’s touch, tension coiling in her chest. “Ino…” she murmured, her frown deepening. “What do you mean by that?”

 

Ino didn’t answer right away. She only lifted Sakura’s hand, dabbing the cloth carefully between each finger, her expression calm, unhurried, as though the world outside the garden had already been dealt with. 

 

Ino dabbed the last of the honey from Sakura’s palm, then folded the towel neatly back onto the tray. She didn’t look hurried, didn’t look nervous—her posture was all ease, the kind of quiet confidence that came from a plan already in motion.

 

“You’ll see it when you check,” she said, almost conversationally, as though she were pointing out the weather. “One billion ryo. Forwarded to your account this morning. The transfer’s clean, the paperwork airtight. I already have the documents. Fuyunomi now belongs to the Yamanaka Clan.”

 

Sakura’s breath caught. “What?”

 

Ino tilted her head, still calm, still maddeningly composed. “Which means the Senju can’t use it against you anymore. They’ve lost their leverage. You’re not tied to their demands, their heirship, their pageantry. You’re free, Sakura. Still free.”

 

Sakura stared, chest tightening, words refusing to form at first. Then, sharper: “You—sold the island?”

 

“Not sold.” Ino’s tone was light, almost indulgent, like she was correcting a child. “Reassigned. Consolidated. You’ll still have full access, every right to use it, every plan you made will move forward if you still want to. Only difference is, the Senju name isn’t on it anymore. It’s officially mine. Ours.”

 

Shock gave way to heat—anger burning up through Sakura’s throat. She jerked her hand out of Ino’s grasp, the loss of warmth sharp as her fingers curled into fists. “You didn’t ask me. I didn’t authorize any sale—”

 

“You didn’t need to.” Ino cut her off smoothly, eyes steady, unbothered. “You gave me access, remember? Anything under your name, anything you touch—I can touch too. We have shared finances, accounts, properties. All I did was use what you entrusted to me.”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, fury and hurt colliding so fast she couldn’t separate them. She stared at Ino, at that maddening serenity, the certainty that had seemed like reassurance just moments ago. Now it made sense—every calm word, every confident promise. Because Ino had already moved the board without telling her.

 

Her voice cracked when she managed to speak. “You did this behind my back.”

 

Ino didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned in closer, her expression soft in contrast to the steel in her voice. “I did this to keep you free.”

 

Sakura’s mouth opened, but the words tangled in her throat. Disbelief churned into heat, her hands trembling as she shoved herself upright, the blanket falling into her lap.

 

“You—” Her voice cracked before she forced it louder. “You had no right. I didn’t ask you to swoop in and fix everything! I was handling it, Ino. I was—”

 

“No.”

 

The single word, quiet but sharp, cut her off clean.

 

Ino’s gaze held hers, a wall of calm against the storm in Sakura’s chest. Her voice when it came was even, almost gentle, but also almost unbearably suffocating.

 

“The consequences of you purchasing that damn island broke you down. I was there. I felt you shake in my arms, I listened to you fight for breath. That was not you handling it.”

 

Sakura’s fists clenched, knuckles white. “That doesn’t give you the right—”

 

“You didn’t want the Senju name,” Ino interrupted again, still calm, still maddeningly in control. “You didn’t want any of it. And yet you took it on anyway. For me.”

 

Her voice softened then, not with hesitation but with certainty, her words rolling out in that smooth, deliberate cadence that left no space for denial.

 

“You did it because you got involved. Because I pulled you into this relic hunt, this mess. You should never have been part of this and now…” Ino reached out, not to grab but to rest her hand lightly over Sakura’s clenched fist. “Now I am simply doing what I should have done from the start."

 

The touch burned, not from heat but from the suffocating finality threaded through her words.

 

Sakura yanked her hand back as though burned, her pulse hammering in her ears. Relief was there, deep in her chest, like a weight had been lifted—but it was tangled with fury so sharp she could barely breathe around it.

 

“Do you even hear yourself?” Her voice rose, unsteady but fierce. “Do you realize what this looks like, Ino? You take the relic, the island—do you know what people are already saying about you? About the Yamanaka? That you’ve grown too powerful, that the Council can’t rein you in anymore. And now you’ve taken Fuyunomi? An international property? You’ve handed them proof! You’ve made every clan that already distrusts you see you as nothing but greedy for more power—”

 

Ino tilted her head slightly, the picture of composure, and it only stoked Sakura’s anger.

 

“Don’t you dare look at me like that!” Sakura snapped, surging to her feet, her chest heaving. “Like you’ve already thought this through, like you get to decide how much I can handle. It’s my name, my burden, my life! You don’t get to just—just move the pieces while I’m sleeping and smile like it’s for my own good!”

 

Her hands shook. She hated that part of her wanted to lean into that calm, to collapse against it and let it carry her—but she couldn’t. Not like this. Not when it felt like her voice was being stripped away.

 

Ino rose slowly, still infuriatingly unbothered, her eyes stayed locked on Sakura’s, steady as stone.

 

“If this world keeps breaking you apart like that,” she said, her tone low, terrifying in its certainty, “then yes. I might as well decide everything for you.”

 

The words landed like a blade.

 

Sakura’s breath caught, fury warring with something deeper, shakier, something she refused to name. Relief, yes, but also dread—because Ino meant it. She meant every word.

 

Sakura’s chest heaved, her voice cracking with fury. “You don’t get it! You think you can protect me, but you’re suffocating me! You’re taking my choices, my voice, my agency, and calling it love. That’s not protection, Ino—that’s control!”

 

Her fists trembled at her sides, nails biting into her palms. “I am not some child you can lock away behind your walls and your clan name! I am not something to be managed because it’s convenient for you to make sure I don't break apart!”

 

Ino’s gaze didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened, the calm cutting deeper than any raised voice. “And yet no one can protect you the way I do,” she said, still said so casually. “Not Naruto nor Sasuke, not Kakashi—and certainly not Tsunade.”

 

The name snapped through the air like a whip.

 

Sakura froze, then flared, voice rising to a snarl. “Don’t talk about my mother like that. She has protected me this entire time—from the Senju, from that cursed name, from the clan responsibilities I never wanted. She made sure I could choose my own path—”

 

“And yet,” Ino cut in smoothly, mercilessly, “she could not shoulder the consequences of your choices.”

 

Sakura’s words stuttered, but Ino didn’t give her space to recover. Her tone remained calm, but her eyes burned with the heat of conviction.

 

“Because she has been waiting for an opening like this all her life, Sakura. An opening where you’d have no choice but to take up her legacy. To carry the Senju name forward, to tie yourself to their tradition, their history, their blood. She tells herself she’s protecting you, but the truth is—she’s been grooming you for this moment.”

 

“That’s not true!” Sakura’s voice cracked, fury laced with desperation. “You don’t know her like I do, you don’t get to say that—”

 

“I do know,” Ino interrupted again, voice quiet but cutting deep. “Because I spoke to her last night.”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, the world lurching. “You—what?”

 

Ino tilted her head slightly, her calmness more terrifying than any raised voice. “A clone of mine was in her office. We had… a talk. She didn’t like hearing it, but I made it clear. I told her she could not keep pulling your strings under the guise of protection. That if she keeps pushing you toward that legacy, I’ll cut the threads myself.”

 

The blood roared in Sakura’s ears, her hands trembling with rage and disbelief. “You had no right,” she whispered, voice breaking, before it rose, sharp and furious. “You had no right to go to her behind my back! To speak for me, to threaten her—”

 

“And yet I did.” Ino’s words were calm, certain, final. “Because she is not the one who arrives to find you shaking in the dark. She is not the one who watches you break. I am. Do not condemn me to a sight like that ever again, Sakura. I have sworn to never let anything nor anyone, make you feel that small and broken—and I will make certain of that."

 

Sakura dragged both hands through her hair, frustration bleeding sharp into her voice. “One billion ryo, Ino. Do you even understand what that means? The Yamanaka Clan will be bleeding funds for the rest of the year. You’ll have to gut half your projects just to recover. And the other clans—they’ll see it as reckless, desperate even—”

 

“It will hurt our finances,” Ino admitted, calm, “for a season. No more. I’ve already shifted assets into three trade routes and restructured the patent rights for our sensory tech. Within two months, that billion becomes three. Within six months, eight. Possibly more. Especially with the projects I plan to invest in Fuyunomi. The numbers are already in motion.”

 

Sakura’s voice climbed higher. “And what about stability? What about the perception of stability? You can’t just—just play games with an entire clan’s livelihood, Ino! People rely on you—”

 

“They will not suffer,” Ino cut her off, unflinching. “Because I will not allow it. Do you think I made that transfer blind? Every step was calculated. Every weakness anticipated.”

 

Her words should have reassured, but they only fanned Sakura’s fury. “And the politics? Do you have any idea what this looks like outside these walls? News will spread. Everyone will know the truth you show them—that the Yamanaka pulled the strings behind the Fuyunomi purchase, that you used my name, my bloodline, to cover your move. They’ll see you as dangerous. As overreaching. As a threat.”

 

“Yes,” Ino said, almost casually. “They already do. I've already released a statement. I control half of the medias in the Fire Country, thanks to access you granted with your father's network, making things easier for me."

 

Sakura’s breath caught—then burst out as a furious snarl. “You’re not even denying it! You’re feeding into exactly what they want to believe! You’re proving them right, Ino! And if they decide you’ve crossed too far—if the Council, if the Daimyō, if the other clans—”

 

“They will move,” Ino finished for her, still calm, still certain. “And when they do, I will already have the countermeasure waiting. If they even give out a single threat to my Clan, they will learn what little hidden information can do."

 

Sakura shook her head violently, fists curling, anger boiling over. “You can’t just keep saying that! You can’t keep steamrolling through every consequence like it doesn’t matter! This is reckless, it’s arrogant, it’s—it’s insane, Ino! You can’t fix everything by yourself!” 

 

Her voice cracked into a near scream. “You’re going to burn yourself alive trying to carry it all and you won’t even let me stand beside you!”

 

The silence that followed was electric, charged so thick it pressed into Sakura’s lungs.

 

Then Ino moved.

 

Slow, deliberate steps, closing the space between them until Sakura felt the heat of her body, the impossible steadiness radiating from her. A hand slid to Sakura’s waist, fingers flexing there in a grip that was firm, unyielding, possessive.

 

“Yes, I will burn,” Ino murmured, her breath brushing hot against Sakura’s cheek. “If that is what it takes to keep you untouched, unburdened, free. I will burn everything down before I let this world break you again. You don't know how far I'd go for you, Sakura.”

 

Sakura’s heart thudded violently, her fury stumbling over the weight of that certainty. She opened her mouth, a dozen rebuttals trembling on her tongue—but none would form.

 

Ino’s other hand slid upward, threading into her hair, tugging with enough force to tip her head back, exposing her throat, forcing her eyes upward into that steady blue gaze.

 

“You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be,” Ino whispered, voice dark and velvet-soft, her words both a vow and a command. “Not a Senju. Not an heir. Not a savior for anyone. Let me shoulder it. All of it. From this moment forward—you will accept protection, and you let it be mine.”

 

The hand in her hair tightened, angling her face higher, helpless beneath that unwavering hold.

 

And then Ino kissed her—hard, certain, sealing the vow with the kind of possessive hunger that left no room for doubt, no room for refusal.

 

Sakura’s protest broke against Ino’s mouth, swallowed whole as the kiss deepened. Her hands came up, trembling—not to push away, but to clutch at Ino’s shoulders as if caught between fury and need.

 

Ino pressed harder, lips bruising, unrelenting, her hand in Sakura’s hair holding her exactly where she wanted. When Sakura tried to turn her head, to breathe, Ino followed, catching her again, forcing her mouth open with a hungry insistence that left no space for denial.

 

The world narrowed to heat, to the press of Ino’s body against hers, to the taste of honey and tea still lingering on their tongues.

 

Sakura gasped when Ino shifted—her grip at Sakura’s waist tightening, steering her back step by step until the rough bark of a tree met her spine. She flinched, half-startled, half-anchored, the wood biting through the thin weave of her clothes.

 

“Ino—” she tried again, breathless.

 

Ino silenced her with another kiss, deeper, slower this time, the kind that felt like a claim. Her palm flattened against Sakura’s side, sliding upward until it pressed just beneath her ribs, pinning her in place. Her thumb stroked there, steady, commanding, as if daring Sakura to resist.

 

“Yield to me,” Ino murmured against her lips, the words low, threaded with steel. Her breath was hot, her tone a vow and a demand all at once. “Just this once—let yourself stop fighting.”

 

Sakura’s chest heaved, torn between fury and the treacherous relief that throbbed underneath it. Her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up—her head tilting, her lips parting again, her hands fisting in Ino’s shirt as if to anchor herself.

 

Ino groaned softly at that, a sound equal parts satisfaction and hunger. She pressed in closer, her thigh sliding between Sakura’s, her body boxing her in fully now—the tree at her back, Ino before her, no escape anywhere.

 

Her mouth left Sakura’s lips only to trail lower, dragging heat along her jaw, down to the edge of her throat. Each brush of her lips was purposeful, until her teeth scraped lightly over the pulse hammering there. Sakura gasped, her knees weakening, and Ino’s arm wrapped tighter around her waist to hold her upright.

 

“You belong here,” Ino whispered against her skin, voice dark, unwavering. “With me. Protected. Safe. Whether you rage against it or not, Sakura—I will not let you go.”

 

The words sank deep, burrowing past the anger, striking the place where Sakura’s fear lived. It made her shake—anger and want and something else she dared not name.

 

Her lips parted, desperate for air, for sense, but all that came was a broken sound when Ino caught her mouth again, swallowing the noise whole.

 

Her body was caged, her voice lost, her choices slipping like sand through her fingers—and still, still, she clung to Ino, breathless and undone, as if she couldn’t bear to fall without her.

 

And when Ino finally pulled back, just enough to let her breathe, Sakura’s chest was heaving, her lips swollen, her eyes wet with unshed fury and something dangerously close to surrender.

 

The tree at Sakura’s back felt harder with every heartbeat, bark biting her through thin fabric, but it was nothing compared to the grip in her hair. Ino’s fingers twisted cruelly, tugging until Sakura’s head tipped back, throat bared, breath stuttering.

 

“Look at me,” Ino whispered, the command wrapped in silk but sharp enough to cut.

 

Sakura’s eyes, green and blazing with fury, snapped to hers—and still, faltered. Because Ino’s gaze was unrelenting, a storm behind pale blue, the kind of gaze that stripped her down to nothing but truth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 42

 

“You think I can forget what I saw?” Ino’s voice was low, ragged at the edges, every word pressed hot against Sakura’s lips. “You—under that desk, curled in on yourself like a child, shaking so hard I thought you’d vanish if I touched you. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

 

Her grip on Sakura’s chin tightened, lifting her face until there was nowhere left to hide. Their mouths brushed, cruelly close, not quite meeting. “I was terrified, Sakura. Terrified in a way I haven’t been since I thought you died. My heart stopped, my head went black—because in that moment I thought I’d already lost you. And then fury came. A wildfire, burning through every nerve, because how dare they… how dare this rotten drive you that far down? How dare they make you believe you had to hide?”

 

Her nails bit faint crescents into Sakura’s skin, her voice breaking into something more fevered, more unhinged. “I wanted to rip the floorboards up, tear the Senju stone by stone, make them all crawl on their knees and beg for forgiveness. Do you hear me? Because seeing you like that—cowering, breaking—it shattered me. It split me open until all that was left was rage. I would have slaughtered everything down if you’d just whispered the word.”

 

Her forehead pressed to Sakura’s, breath trembling, tone dropping to a vow that was half-plea, half-command. “Don’t you understand? You are mine. My heart, my air. If you fall apart like that again, I’ll burn this whole village before I let them touch you. I will not let the world take you from me—not while I’m breathing.”

 

Sakura’s fists clenched in Ino’s shirt, trembling. “You’re taking everything from me,” she hissed, though her voice shook. “My choices, my voice—”

 

Ino silenced her with a savage kiss, her mouth crushing against Sakura’s, stealing the words, swallowing her fury whole. Sakura gasped into it, a sound torn between outrage and desperate want, her body betraying her as her grip tightened instead of pushing away.

 

When Ino broke away, her breath was ragged, her lips bruised. Her forehead pressed to Sakura’s, her hand still a steel trap in her hair. “If you truly hated this,” Ino whispered, her words hot against Sakura’s mouth, “if you hated me for it—you would have fought me. You would have screamed your word, the one that ends it. But you haven’t.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, her voice turning darker, heavier, until it felt like a shackle around Sakura’s chest. “Because part of you doesn’t want it to end. Part of you craves being free of the weight they put on your shoulders. Craves the relief of letting me take it from you. All of it.”

 

Sakura’s breath came fast, ragged, her chest rising and falling against Ino’s in frantic rhythm. “You’re—” Her voice cracked, the protest catching in her throat. “You’re twisting it.”

 

“No.” Ino’s answer was molten, pressed against her skin like a brand. Her lips grazed her jaw, then her throat, then the shell of her ear, each denial punctuated with searing heat that made Sakura shudder despite herself. “I’m naming it. Naming the truth you can’t say aloud. The part of you that’s too damn proud to admit you want to yield. The part of you that’s choking under the Senju name, dragging chains you never asked for, breaking yourself just to carry a burden that you never have to bear.”

 

Her teeth caught lightly at the edge of Sakura’s ear, sharp enough to sting. Her hand slid from her chin to her throat, not choking, but cradling with a pressure that left no room to mistake who held her steady. “You don’t want the Senju collar, Sakura. You never did. And now…” Ino’s breath seared hot against her skin, her tone a low, furious vow. “Now you’re free of it. Because I tore it off. Because of me.”

 

Sakura trembled, torn between anger and the unbearable thrum low in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to throw the words back—but Ino cut her off, her voice sinking deeper, unhinged with certainty.

 

“You’d rather wear mine.” Her grip tightened, her lips brushing the hollow of Sakura’s throat. “Don’t deny it. You’d rather wear my collar than ever bow to the Senju. You’d rather give yourself to me—every breath, every heartbeat—than let them own a single piece of you.”

 

Her fingers splayed at the base of Sakura’s neck, her thumb tracing lazily against the rapid pulse hammering there. “And I’d give it to you, Sakura. Not a burden. Not a chain. My mark. My claim. One the world can’t twist, can’t steal, can’t use to break you.”

 

She drew back just enough to look into Sakura’s eyes, her gaze fever-bright, unyielding. “So tell me—tell me you hate it. Tell me you’d rather suffocate under their name than let me keep you. Because if that’s true, then fight me. Scream the word. Push me away.”

 

Her lips curved, not in a smile but in something darker, hungrier. “But you won’t. Because part of you already knows—you’re mine. And I will never let you forget it."

 

Her hand slid from Sakura’s waist to her hip, gripping hard, anchoring her in place as though daring her to slip away. The other still fisted in her hair, pulling until Sakura’s eyes watered, until her throat was stretched bare.

 

“You’re mine,” Ino said, low and steady, the vow a brand. “Not theirs. Not the Senju’s. Not Tsunade’s. Mine.”

 

Sakura’s tears broke then, hot and furious, but her hands refused to let go. They fisted tighter in Ino’s shirt, dragging her closer even as her voice trembled with defiance. “You’re suffocating me…”

 

Ino kissed the tear that slipped free, slow and deliberate. “And yet you hold on.”

 

Her mouth trailed lower, teeth grazing the delicate skin at Sakura’s neck, biting just enough to leave heat, to leave mark. Sakura gasped, knees weakening, caught between fury and a terrible, aching relief that throbbed through her chest.

 

“Say it,” Ino demanded softly, her lips ghosting over Sakura’s pulse. “Say you’ll let me carry it. Say you’ll yield.”

 

Sakura’s breath hitched, her heart clawing at her ribs, her throat thick with unshed words. She should scream, she should fight, she should tear herself free—

 

But gods, she couldn’t.

 

Because Ino was right. Because she was so tired of the weight, so tired of the chains that threatened to bind her, so tired of pretending she could breathe through stone. And Ino was making it so easy—so easy to let go, to lean, to surrender.

 

The air between them thickened, almost humming with the press of Ino’s chakra. Her forehead still rested to Sakura’s, their breaths mingling, ragged and uneven—but Ino’s eyes were wide and wild, fevered with a claim she refused to loosen.

 

Her hand on Sakura’s waist slid lower, firm and possessive, while the other tangled deep in her hair, holding her head exactly where she wanted it. And then—her chakra surged.

 

It poured from her like wildfire, threading down her arm, sinking into the Mokuton deep in her veins, dragging with it the old Yamanaka sigil branded over Sakura’s chest.

 

The mark ignited.

 

A low, guttural sound tore from Sakura’s throat as her body arched against Ino’s, the glow of the sigil flaring bright between them. It wasn’t just heat—it was fire and ice, pain and ecstasy fused into one unbearable thrum that raced through her chest, down her limbs, burrowing into bone and blood until she couldn’t breathe.

 

Ino’s lips hovered at her ear, her voice breaking into a rasp that seared hotter than the chakra itself. “Do you feel it? My mark. My claim. The reminder that you are mine.”

 

Sakura’s cry fractured into a moan, the sound sharp and desperate, spilling helplessly as her head dropped against Ino’s shoulder. Her fists trembled against Ino’s chest but didn’t push her away—they clutched tighter, clung like drowning hands to the only anchor they trusted not to let go.

 

Ino’s grip on her hair tugged cruelly, pulling her head back just enough so she could press her lips to the glowing sigil seared through Sakura’s shirt. Her breath burned there, her words low and relentless. “Yield to it, Sakura. To me. Let it root in you, let it consume you. You don’t need their name, their chains, their burden. You need me.”

 

The glow pulsed again, sending another wave of searing chakra through Sakura’s body. She gasped, a sound torn between agony and release, her knees weakening beneath the surge. Ino caught her effortlessly, hauling her closer until there was no space left to breathe, only the crushing press of possession.

 

Her hand at Sakura’s waist splayed wider, almost bruising in its insistence. Her mouth brushed the edge of her jaw, whispering fever-bright against her skin. “Say it. Say you’ll yield. Say you’re mine and I’ll never have to remind you again.”

 

But even as she demanded it, the chakra flared sharper, traveling through the imprint on Sakura's chest deeper, as if Ino’s very soul was branding itself into Sakura’s body. The light bled between them, pulsing with Sakura’s frantic heartbeat.

 

And though tears spilled from Sakura’s eyes—hot, furious, helpless—her body leaned, trembling, against the woman who held her captive.

 

Ino kissed them away without pause, her voice breaking into a dark, possessive prayer against her skin. “Mine. Always mine. The world can take everything else, but not you. Never you.”

 

The sigil burned again, and Sakura’s moan fractured into a sob, muffled against Ino’s shoulder as she clung tighter, too undone to deny, too broken to fight.

 

And Ino only held her harder, eyes half-mad with devotion, whispering over and over like a mantra.

 

“Yield to me, Sakura. Yield.”

 

The glow of the sigil bathed them in a dim, unearthly light, pulsing with each frantic hammer of Sakura’s heart. Her body shook as though her very bones were splintering under the flood of chakra coursing through her, yet she did not pull away. It was all pleasurable and painful all at once—that she couldn't pull away.

 

Her fists remained twisted in Ino’s shirt, not pushing, not resisting—only holding on, trembling as though she were clinging to the last breath of air in a drowning sea. Her tears streamed hot down her cheeks, slipping onto Ino’s skin, dampening the blonde’s collar.

 

And Ino drank them in. She kissed each one gently, as if marking them, claiming even Sakura’s conflict and anguish as hers. Her voice pressed low and relentless into her ear, steady as the mantra she would carve into stone if it meant keeping Sakura tethered.

 

“Let me carry it. You don’t need to fight anymore, not with me. Never with me.”

 

Sakura trembled harder, her breath catching in broken, uneven gasps against Ino’s shoulder. The sound of her voice wouldn’t come. She tried—her throat convulsed with unshed words, with denial, with fury, with the desperate ache to scream that this was too much—but the words tangled in her chest.

 

Ino’s chakra pressed deeper, winding through the mark on her chest, a hot brand that seemed to sear the truth into her blood. And Sakura sagged, inch by inch, her weight collapsing into Ino’s arms, her forehead pressing into the curve of her neck as if hiding from the world that had stripped her bare.

 

Her silence was loud enough to make Ino’s breath falter. Not rejection, not the word that would have ended everything—only trembling, only tears, only that desperate clutching grip that refused to let her go.

 

Ino’s arms closed around her, crushing, desperate. “That’s it,” she whispered, voice raw, reverent, unhinged. “That’s it, Sakura. You don’t have to say a thing. I can feel it. I can feel you yielding to me.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted, a sharp sob clawing free of her throat. It broke the dam.

 

Her voice came ragged, cracked, barely more than a whisper against Ino’s shoulder. “You… you don’t let me breathe.” Her words shook, half-accusation, half-confession, as though she hated every syllable even as it poured out. “And gods help me… I don’t want you to stop.”

 

Ino froze for a heartbeat, the sound of those words tearing something wild open inside her chest. Then she laughed—low, broken, feverish—pressing her lips hard against Sakura’s temple, her jaw, the edge of her mouth, smothering her with the kind of reverence that came with obsession.

 

“Say it again,” Ino demanded, breath trembling, eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. Her hand pressed harder against the mark on Sakura’s chest, making the chakra flare bright once more. “Say it again and I’ll brand it deeper, I’ll never let them touch you again. You don’t need air, you don’t need them—you only need me.”

 

Sakura gasped at the surge, her body jolting against Ino’s. Her eyes squeezed shut, her fists twisting tighter in the fabric at Ino’s back as she finally let the truth fall, unshackled, unrestrained.

 

“I’m yours,” she whispered, voice breaking open like a wound. “I’m yours, Ino. I can’t fight it anymore.”

 

And Ino—Ino’s answering sound was nothing short of a vow, a cry torn from the depths of her soul, violent and possessive and desperate all at once. She kissed Sakura hard enough to bruise, her chakra spilling like wildfire through the bond until there was no longer a question, no longer a denial.

 

Only surrender.

 

Sakura sagged, every muscle trembling, every gasp a ragged scrape through her throat. The words—I’m yours—still rang in the air, raw and frayed, torn from her chest like confessions that had no undoing. She could barely keep upright, her knees buckling beneath her, but Ino refused to let her fall.

 

Arms like iron bands clutched her close, lifting her chin, forcing her hollow eyes to meet that fever-bright blue. Ino’s breath was harsh, her lips bruised and wet, her expression half-devotion, half-madness.

 

“No,” she rasped, pressing her thumb harder to the glowing mark thrumming between them. The chakra flared sharp, vicious, sparking through Sakura’s veins until her back arched. A strangled sound broke from her lips. “You don’t stop there. Not now. Not until my protection burns in the depths of your soul."

 

Sakura shook her head weakly, lips parted on a broken whimper. “Ino—"

 

Her protest was cut off by another surge. The mark seared bright as wildfire, chakra coursing down her ribs, her spine, flooding every nerve until her body convulsed against Ino’s. Her nails scraped desperately at Ino’s back, not pushing her away, only clinging, trembling, drowning in the unbearable storm of heat and ecstasy.

 

“You can,” Ino growled into her ear, her voice hot, merciless. “You will. Until your voice is gone, until your body doesn’t know how to be anything but mine.”

 

She crushed their mouths together, kissing her hard, relentless, devouring the broken sobs that tore free when Sakura tried to breathe. Every movement was claiming, every touch a demand. Her hand tangled cruelly in pink hair, wrenching her head back, forcing her throat bare, forcing every trembling gasp into Ino’s keeping.

 

“Say it again,” she ordered, low and jagged. Her teeth grazed the hollow of Sakura’s throat. “Say it until you can’t anymore.”

 

Sakura’s lips moved, trembling. The sound came ragged, little more than air. “Yours…”

 

The chakra flared again, another violent pulse that left her crying out, shattering against Ino’s hold.

 

“Louder.”

 

Her throat burned, her voice cracked to ruin, but she forced it out, sobbing through the words. “I’m yours—I’m yours—I’m yours—”

 

Each repetition was dragged from her by force, by flame, by Ino’s merciless insistence. She choked, her voice fracturing into silence, but her lips kept moving even when sound failed.

 

And Ino drank it in. She kissed the words from her mouth, bit them into her skin, pressed them into the glowing sigil that bound them. Every broken whisper only fueled her, only made her demand more.

 

“You’ll never stop,” Ino vowed, her forehead pressed to Sakura’s, eyes wide and wet and wild. “Even when your voice is gone, you’ll say it with your body. With your breath. With your heartbeat.”

 

The sigil burned hotter, pulsing with Sakura’s frantic rhythm, until her entire body convulsed in release. A sob tore free as pleasure crashed through her, unbearable and blinding, leaving her limp in Ino’s arms.

 

But Ino didn’t loosen her grip. Didn’t let her collapse.

 

Instead, she caught her, dragged her upright, lips at her ear, her words a vicious promise.

 

“Again.”

 

Sakura shook, too weak to stand, too undone to think—but Ino held her up, her chakra feeding mercilessly into the bond, igniting the sigil all over again.

 

Sakura screamed once more, a broken sound that dissolved into a moan, into a sob, into surrender. Her fists clutched at Ino’s shirt with the last of her strength, body giving way completely, wholly, devastatingly.

 

And Ino kissed the sound from her lips, her mantra spilling into her skin, fevered and absolute.

 

Sakura’s body trembled in Ino’s arms, wrung out and raw, every breath a ragged rasp against the blonde’s collar. Her voice was gone, cracked into silence, yet her lips still formed the word over and over, soundless but unbroken: yours.

 

Ino’s hand pressed harder to the glowing sigil, chakra spilling in steady pulses. She drank in the silence, the tremors, the stubborn clutch of Sakura’s fists in her shirt. Her eyes burned fever-bright, pupils wide, as though she could see every thread of Sakura’s soul unraveling and binding itself to her in turn.

 

“You’ve given me your body before,” Ino murmured, her lips brushing across the tears dampening Sakura’s skin. “Night after night. You’ve let me tie you down, strip you bare, push you until there was nothing left but surrender. You’ve always yielded to me in the dark.”

 

Her nails bit even deeper into Sakura’s hips as she pulled her up tighter once more, chest to chest, heart hammering wild against hers. “But this—” her voice cracked, sharp and raw, “—this is not play. This is not a game. This is me binding you through our bond, soul to soul. You know this. And you…” Her mouth found Sakura’s temple, her words searing. “You’re letting me.”

 

The sigil burned brighter, its light sinking beneath Sakura’s skin like molten metal poured into veins. She gasped, head tilting back, the sound a broken mix of pain and pleasure as her body arched into Ino’s hold.

 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Ino rasped, pressing her forehead to hers. Her breath came harsh, hot, uneven. “The roots burrowing deeper. My chakra winding through your marrow. My claim threading itself into every corner of you they tried to own.”

 

Sakura’s hands shook as she clung, too weak to push away, too unwilling to let go. Her tears streamed unchecked, her lips trembling around a hoarse whisper. “It’s… it’s too much…”

 

Ino’s laugh was low, cracked at the edges, both savage and tender. “It’s me. You’ve taken me into your body a hundred times before, begged for more, begged until you could barely breathe. This is no different—except now I’m deeper more than our bond had allowed.” Her hand tightened at Sakura’s throat, firm, not choking, but leaving no doubt of who held her. “This is me inside your name. Your soul.”

 

The words hit like a lash, hot and unbearable, and Sakura’s sob broke into something closer to a moan. Her body shook, her head shaking weakly as if to deny—but her hips shifted, her fists clutched tighter, dragging Ino closer still.

 

“Yes,” Ino hissed, seeing it, feeling it, devouring it. “That’s it. Even broken, even trembling, you’re still giving me more. Always more. Gods, Sakura—you were made for me.”

 

Her chakra surged again, flooding the mark until the light pulsed wild, spilling out between their bodies. It felt alive, almost sentient, wrapping around them both like a chain, like roots binding flesh to flesh, heart to heart.

 

Ino kissed her again, savage and reverent, tongue pressing deep, stealing the last of her breath. Her teeth grazed her lips, her jaw, her throat, leaving bruises like signatures on parchment. Every mark was a vow.

 

“You’ve always belonged to me,” she whispered between kisses, voice fierce and breaking. “But today, under this light—you become mine for eternity."

 

Sakura’s eyes fluttered open, glazed and wet, locking on the fever-bright blaze of Ino’s gaze. For one suspended breath, her body trembled—not from terror, but from something far more dangerous. Anticipation. Desire. The shiver of knowing this moment would change everything. Instead of recoiling, her chest ached forward, her lips parting in a breathless gasp as though she couldn’t help but reach for the fire. She knew the weight of what Ino was carving into her, knew how it would sear into bone and blood and soul alike. 

 

And gods help her—she wanted it. She wanted it enough that excitement thrummed in her veins, drowning out every protest, every warning, until the only thing she could feel was the fierce, terrible relief of giving in completely, of having Ino carry all her fears and burdens.

 

Sakura exhaled, soft and broken, her lips parting around the only words left in her.

 

“Then take it. Take all of me. Protect me. Own me. Please."

 

Ino’s breath caught, a strangled sound escaping her throat as if the world itself had tilted. Her chakra roared in answer, flooding the bond with heat and wild light, and the sigil on Sakura’s chest flared once more—only this time, it sank. Deep. Permanent.

 

Sakura cried out, a guttural sound torn from her lungs as her body convulsed in Ino’s arms, her soul dragged into the binding. She felt it sear through her—deeper than they did before, every nerve, every vein, every fragile crack in her spirit fully filled and claimed until there was no space left untouched.

 

Ino clutched her through it, mouth at her ear, whispering like prayer, like madness. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” Each repetition darker, deeper, more absolute.

 

And when it ended, when the glow dimmed into a faint ember beneath Sakura’s skin, she slumped in Ino’s arms—ruined, trembling, weeping, but still clinging with the stubborn devotion of someone who had no more fight left to give.

 

The vineyard was quiet again, save for the faint noise of insects and the slow creak of the vines bowing in the breeze. Sunlight spilled pale over the blanket beneath them, the half-forgotten picnic—teas tipped on their side, fruit scattered in the grass—an abandoned softness against the violence of what had just burned between them.

 

Sakura completely fell into Ino’s arms, every muscle vibrating with the aftermath, her throat raw from the scream that still lingered in the air like smoke. Her lips moved, soundless, the remnants of her plea lingering in the tremor of her breath. She tried—once—to shift, to lift herself, but her body betrayed her, too wrung out to obey.

 

Ino gathered her tighter, refusing even the smallest escape. One hand cradled the back of her head, pressing Sakura’s damp hair to her shoulder, while the other slid down, securing her waist as though she might vanish if she wasn’t bound to her. Ino’s chest rose and fell sharply, uneven, as if her own body couldn’t contain the storm she had unleashed.

 

“Shh.” The sound was sharp at first, then softened, stroked against Sakura’s ear. Ino tilted her face, lips brushing damp lashes, then her temple, then the edge of her jaw with dark reverence. “No more words. You’ve given me everything. That’s enough.”

 

Sakura made a broken noise, part sob, part sigh, and her fingers twitched weakly in Ino’s shirt—seeking, clinging. Ino caught them, threading their hands together, then pinned them gently but firmly against Sakura’s chest, over the faint ember of the glowing mark.

 

“Feel it,” Ino murmured, her voice low, almost husky with exhaustion and obsession both. “That’s me inside you now. You don’t get to carry anything alone anymore. You’ll sleep, you’ll heal, because I say so. And I’ll hold it all. Every chain, every scar, every wound. Mine now.”

 

Sakura wanted to protest—her lips parted, throat straining—but no sound came out, only a rasp that collapsed into another trembling breath. Her body sagged, boneless, against the heat and restraint that was Ino.

 

Ino rocked her slightly, a slow rhythm that wasn’t comfort so much as possession made tender. She lowered herself with Sakura, pulling her down until they were both stretched on the blanket. The vines swayed above them, branches whispering against each other like an audience too afraid to breathe.

 

Her arms never loosened. Even when Sakura’s eyes fluttered, heavy and bruised with exhaustion, Ino only tightened her grip, her mouth brushing her lover’s crown with a final vow.

 

“You don’t get to disappear into desks and shadows anymore. You don’t get to hide from me. If you break, you break in my arms. If you rest, it’s because I hold you there. Understand? You’re mine to destroy, mine to keep whole, mine to guard. Always.”

 

Sakura’s lips twitched into the faintest, broken smile—ruined, wordless, but not resisting. Her body went slack at last, dragged under by exhaustion too heavy to fight.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I am still writing, editing—doing some changes to the last few chapters.

But anyway, I shall post them as soon as they're done.

Chapter 43

 

Ino carried Sakura through the empty halls of the Yamanaka Estate, each step careful, ensuring the slightest tremor of the girl in her arms did not falter. Sakura’s body was limp, drenched in sweat, every sigh and shiver a proof to the depth of what had just passed between them. Ino’s own pulse thrummed like a war drum beneath her ribs, a fierce, relentless rhythm that matched the bond glowing beneath Sakura’s skin.

 

The manor was hushed, servants long gone to their morning routines, leaving the pair alone in the private corridors. Ino’s arms were a cage and a cradle both, holding Sakura as though letting go for even a second would allow her to shatter, to disappear, to escape the claim they had forged together. She whispered soft reassurances into Sakura’s hair, but each word was threaded with ownership, an unyielding insistence.

 

Entering the bedroom, she laid Sakura gently on the bed, adjusting the covers over her trembling form. And yet, she did not leave her. She stayed kneeling, hands lightly bracing Sakura’s waist, shoulders, hair—anchoring her to the bed, to herself, to this reality.

 

Her eyes roamed over the girl’s sleeping face, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the faint ember of the new sigil glowing beneath her skin. That mark… that mark was beyond the bond they had shared before. The first imprint had tethered them, yes—had allowed them to sense, to feel, to reach each other across mind and soul. But this one was absolute. This one burrowed deeper, threaded itself through all of her, through her very essence.

 

It was Ino’s control, yes, but more than that: it was responsibility, possession, protection, obsession. She owned every fragment of Sakura’s pain now, every pressure that once threatened to crush her, every fear too sharp to bear alone. Wherever Sakura went, whatever she faced, Ino would be there in the depths of her being, the pulse of her veins, the tether of her soul. She was utterly inseparable.

 

A shiver ran through Sakura as she muttered something unintelligible in sleep, a whisper of discomfort that would have once made Ino hesitate. Now, she simply leaned closer, letting her lips brush the girl’s temple. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to carry any of it. Not alone. Not ever again. All of it—every ounce—is mine to hold now.”

 

She pressed her hand over the faintly glowing sigil, letting chakra flow in steady, gentle pulses. Not enough to overwhelm, not enough to ignite—but enough to anchor, enough to remind. The mark was more than a bond. It was a leash. It was a promise. It was control. And it was perfect.

 

Ino’s eyes lingered on Sakura, the softness of sleep belying the potency of what had been etched into her very being. She imagined every step the girl would take in the days to come, every shiver of fatigue, every pang of overburdened responsibility, every flicker of anxiety. She would carry it all. Every unspoken scream, every fragment of strain, every silent collapse—they were hers now to cradle, to endure, to contain.

 

A faint, dark smile tugged at her lips. “Mine,” she whispered again, almost to herself. “All of you. Every bit. Forever.”

 

She shifted slightly, lowering herself onto the bed beside Sakura, curling around her like a shadow, a predator, a guardian, a cage, an anchor. Her fingers trailed along the curve of Sakura’s shoulder, brushing against hair, cheek, neck—holding, tethering, asserting. She pressed a final kiss to the crown of her head, whispering through the faint rasp of her own exhausted breath, “Sleep, and know that nothing, not a single thing, can ever touch you without me."

 

And with that, she let herself sink into watchfulness, the slow, obsession of her pulse syncing with Sakura’s soft, uneven breathing, the sigil glowing faintly between them—a permanent reminder of the ownership, deep into the bond that would never be broken.

 

 

---

 

 

Sakura stirred, lashes fluttering against the haze of exhaustion. Her throat was dry, lips cracked, muscles heavy and sore as though she had been wrung out and remade. The weight of blankets clung to her, damp with sweat, but it wasn’t what woke her.

 

It was the bond.

 

It pulsed inside her like a second heartbeat, heavier than her own, flooding her veins with warmth that verged on fire. Her skin prickled, her temples throbbed, and for a suspended moment she couldn’t tell if the heat belonged to her fever or to Ino’s chakra still seared into her core.

 

Her medic’s mind tried to cut through the haze, cataloguing symptoms with trained accuracy. Elevated temperature. Tachycardia. Weakness. Excessive perspiration. She shifted her fingers against the sheets, noting the tremor in her hand, the heaviness of her joints. Fever. Burnout. Post-chakra exhaustion.

 

Except… it wasn’t only that.

 

This wasn’t the usual crash after overextension, nor the clean ache of muscles pushed too far. This was deeper. The bond itself was alive, humming, pressing against her from the inside, tugging at her nerves with every breath. She felt it in her chest, where the sigil smoldered faintly beneath her skin, each pulse of it radiating through her ribs. She felt it in her throat, where words caught before they could form. She felt it in her bones, as though they had been hollowed and refilled with something not entirely her own.

 

And under it all—she felt Ino.

 

Not just the vague sense of her presence like before, but inside. Heavy. Constant. Like a hand against her spine, steadying, pressing, reminding. Her own body betrayed her with each labored breath, leaning toward that presence, tethered to it as though survival itself depended on the closeness.

 

Her lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping. “...Ino.” It came out hoarse, cracked, half plea, half instinct.

 

The sound of her own voice startled her. She hadn’t meant to call out, hadn’t chosen to—but the bond had carried it out of her anyway, demanding connection.

 

The fever throbbed harder, sweat rolling down her temple, catching in her hairline. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and tried again, weaker this time, “Ino…”

 

She sat still for a moment, eyes half-closed, listening not to the ticking clock on the wall but to the thrum inside her. It pulsed through her veins, steady, insistent, stronger than before. The old tether had always been like a thread—warm, grounding, enough to sense Ino across distance. But this… this was everywhere.

 

Her breath caught. She could feel her. Ino. Not beside her, not touching her, not even in the room. And yet—inside her. A presence, a pulse, a steady hand resting over her heart without needing to be there at all. Sakura swallowed hard, torn between awe and unease.

 

It was suffocating, and it was comforting. Both at once.

 

Her body remembered the way she sank into Ino’s arms, the press of her lips, the cage of her hold. And now—even without her there—Sakura could not escape it. Ino’s pulse was threaded into hers, her will vibrating in the marrow of her bones. Every flicker of thought, every surge of emotion felt… answered. As though she no longer existed in solitude.

 

She turned her head slightly, staring at the empty chair near the bed, at the folded blanket that smelled faintly of jasmine and earth. Ino wasn’t there—but her absence wasn’t real. She was still here. She would always be here.

 

Sakura curled her fingers against the sheets, her chest tightening with the realization. This wasn’t just closeness anymore. This was permanence. This was surrender.

 

She whispered, hoarse and broken still, into the still air, “Ino…”

 

The response wasn’t verbal, but it was there. A flare of warmth in her chest, a subtle tightening along the bond, like arms wrapping around her from the inside. The sensation made her exhale sharply, a shiver running through her limbs. She could feel reassurance, protection—possession. Ino’s obsession didn’t need words anymore.

 

Sakura pressed her palm against the mark glowing faintly beneath her skin and closed her eyes, letting it wash over her. She’s in me. The thought was terrifying, and it was everything she’d needed. Her burdens didn’t feel quite as crushing, her chest not quite as heavy. She could still feel the pressure of responsibility, but Ino was carrying it, siphoning it, locking it away into herself.

 

The wall clock ticked to two, and Sakura realized hours had passed since she’d collapsed into unconsciousness. Her body ached, but not in the way she expected. She didn’t feel broken. She felt… claimed.

 

She lay back against the pillows, a slow, shaky smile tugging at her lips despite the unease. Her whisper barely stirred the silence of the room.

 

“Forever, huh?"

 

And in the depths of her soul, the bond pulsed once—dark, certain, unyielding.

 

Yes.

 

The door opened with barely a sound, the faint scrape of wood against its frame breaking the silence that had cocooned the room. Sakura’s fevered eyes fluttered toward it, sluggish and half-lidded, but she didn’t need to see who entered. The bond told her before her body could. That steady pressure filled her chest, a coolness against the blaze in her blood, and her lips parted instinctively as though to call out—only for the sound to die, unnecessary.

 

Ino stepped in, tray in hand. The faint steam of broth curled into the air, mixing with the earthy scent of herbs and the sharper tang of prepared medicine. Her movements were quiet, but every step seemed to radiate authority. She didn’t glance at the tray, or at the way it threatened to tremble from the weight. Her eyes were only for Sakura.

 

Ino's gaze swept over her—sweat-stained sheets, trembling hands, fever-bright eyes. Relief flickered there, but it was buried beneath something heavier, sharper. Possession.

 

“You’re awake.” Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but threaded with something that left no room for denial. She crossed the room in three strides, set the tray on the table, and was at Sakura’s side before the girl could muster a reply.

 

Sakura swallowed, her throat rasping in protest. “Ino…” The name came out more like a confession than a greeting, her body leaning toward her before she could stop it.

 

“Shh.” Ino pressed cool fingers to her forehead, brushing back damp pink hair that clung stubbornly to her skin. The contact alone was enough to pull a shiver from Sakura’s body, relief flaring down the bond like a draught of water against drought.

 

“You’re burning.” Ino’s lips barely moved, her voice lowered to something intimate, close. She lifted a damp cloth from the tray, wrung it out, and pressed it gently to Sakura’s brow.

 

Sakura hissed at the shock of coolness, then melted beneath it, her muscles loosening before she could even think to resist. The mark pulsed beneath her skin, answering Ino’s touch with a wave of relief so strong she nearly whimpered.

 

Her mind clawed for grounding, for the clarity of her training. “It’s just… fever,” she murmured, trying to sound clinical, detached. But her voice cracked, betraying how much she leaned into the cooling cloth, how much her body craved the relief only Ino could give.

 

“No,” Ino corrected softly, firmly, brushing her thumb against Sakura’s temple. “It’s more than that. Your body is fighting. You’re carrying something that isn’t entirely your own now.” Her hand drifted lower, pressing flat against Sakura’s sternum, directly above the glowing sigil. “My chakra is sinking into you. It’s digging deep, wrapping around your soul. That fever is your body learning to adjust."

 

The words hit harder than they should have, and Sakura felt her heart stutter in response, not just to the explanation but of Ino’s certainty. The bond pulsed with agreement, as if it wanted her to accept it, to stop questioning and simply sink.

 

Ino leaned closer, her breath warm against Sakura’s ear. “And you’ll feel it—this need. To listen. To obey. To lean on me until nothing else matters. That’s the bond settling.”

 

Sakura’s lashes fluttered. “And… it’ll pass?”

 

Ino’s smile curved, unseen but heavy in the air. “It might,” she allowed. “When your soul finally accepts what mine already has. But until then—every order, every touch, every word from me will feel like gravity. You’ll follow, even when you think you don’t want to.”

 

The shiver that went through Sakura then wasn’t entirely fever. She tried to look away, to summon the remnants of resistance, but the mark burned faintly in her chest, dragging her back to the press of Ino’s palm. “That sounds…” She swallowed hard, voice failing. Dangerous. Safe. Both.

 

Ino tilted her chin gently, forcing Sakura’s gaze back to her. “It sounds inevitable.”

 

She shifted then, reaching for the small cup of medicine on the tray. Bitter liquid sloshed against porcelain as she poured it into a smaller vessel. Then, without asking, without hesitating, she brought it to Sakura’s lips.

 

“Drink.”

 

It wasn't even a command, but it struck through her like a jutsu, her body responding before her mind could object. Her lips parted, throat working as the bitterness coated her tongue. The instinct to gag rose, but Ino’s hand was there, steady at her jaw, guiding her, making her swallow every drop. Relief followed, the bond answering with coolness where heat had burned.

 

Ino set the empty medicine cup aside and reached for the small bowl of broth she’d brought. Steam curled up, carrying the scent of herbs and chicken, sharp and earthy at once. She stirred it slowly, letting it cool, her movements deliberate.

 

Sakura watched her through fever-bright eyes, her lashes heavy, lips parted slightly as though she wanted to protest but couldn’t quite summon the will. The mark pulsed faintly beneath her skin, tugging at her, urging her to accept.

 

Ino dipped the spoon, lifted it, and brought it to Sakura’s lips. “Eat.”

 

The command was plain, direct. But this time—Sakura hesitated.

 

Her lips pressed together, faintly trembling. She turned her face just slightly, as though the refusal were small enough to be overlooked, excused by weakness. A medic, a shinobi—she was used to choosing when to give in, when to endure, but her throat worked with the effort of denial as she rebelled.

 

Ino stilled. For a breath, her hand hung suspended, spoon gleaming in the light. Then she set the bowl carefully back down, not a drop spilled, her gaze never leaving Sakura’s face.

 

“So,” she murmured, soft and low, “you want to test it.”

 

The words weren’t accusation, but amusement. She reached out, fingers sliding beneath Sakura’s chin, guiding her face back toward her own. The touch was gentle, but there was no escape from it.

 

Sakura’s breath quickened. The bond tugged insistently at her chest, urging her to yield, but still she tried—her lips parting as though to form a protest, her body twitching faintly as though she might sit up, pull away. The blanket rustled, her trembling hand pressing weakly into the mattress for leverage.

 

But Ino’s palm pressed against her sternum, directly over the sigil.

 

The bond flared, hot and irresistible, sinking through every nerve in her chest. The effort to rise vanished as quickly as it sparked, her body falling back into the pillow with a shaky exhale. The heat of her fever cracked, replaced by the cool certainty of Ino’s presence pressing deeper into her veins.

 

“That’s better,” Ino whispered, her breath brushing Sakura’s ear. She picked up the spoon again, this time holding it steady just a breath away from her lips. “Open.”

 

Sakura hesitated again—but the resistance faltered, weaker this time. Her lips parted slowly, reluctantly, as though the act belonged to someone else. The broth slid over her tongue, salty and warm, and her throat swallowed before she could stop it.

 

The bond pulsed, relief rushing through her like water dousing fire. She shivered.

 

Ino’s smile was soft, almost tender, but her eyes gleamed with something sharper. She stroked her thumb against Sakura’s cheek, steady, reassuring. “Good girl.”

 

The words struck harder than any jutsu. Praise—simple, intimate—sank into her through the bond, reverberating through her chest, her veins, her bones. It was everything. Her breath caught on a sob she didn’t expect, her fevered eyes burning with something far beyond exhaustion.

 

She swallowed again, trembling, lips parting as though waiting for more—more broth, more command, more praise.

 

Ino’s smirk curved, though her hand was steady as she brought the next spoonful to Sakura’s lips. “See? It’s easier when you listen.”

 

And though her pride clawed at her, Sakura leaned forward, opened her mouth, and obeyed. Because the bond made it feel not just right—but necessary.

 

And when Ino’s voice came again, low and certain, whispering against the fever heat of her skin—

 

“Good girl.”

 

—it was everything.

 

 

---

 

 

The fever never quite broke—it lingered like a low fire, heat thrumming through her veins, sweat dampening her hairline and collar each time she moved too quickly. But compared to those first hours of collapse, Sakura was recovering. Her body wasn’t wracked by shivers, her lungs weren’t clawing for breath. She could walk, slow and careful, through the estate’s quiet halls without needing Ino to steady her every step.

 

And yet—even when she walked alone, she had never felt more free. 

 

At first, Sakura thought it was just proximity—the aftershock of how deeply Ino’s chakra had carved itself into her. But it wasn’t proximity at all. It was something intimate. Ino didn’t need to touch the sigil on her chest, didn’t need to lace her fingers through Sakura’s hair, didn’t need to press her lips to her ear. She only needed to speak.

 

Not just speak—but speak with intent.

 

When Ino wanted her to listen, her words weren’t just words. They carried chakra—threaded subtly through the vibration of her vocal cords, a resonance carefully tuned to the very frequency the imprint had left inside Sakura’s network. Every syllable slipped through her ears, down her spine, sinking into her marrow. It was intentional, technical, devastating in its nature.

 

And it worked.

 

“Open.”

 

Her lips parted, and the spoon touched her tongue before she realized she’d obeyed.

 

“Hold.”

 

The cup was steadied in her hands, trembling less under the command than it had moments before.

 

“Rest.”

 

Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes brushing her cheeks, submission masquerading as peace.

 

The sensation of obeying wasn’t blankness, wasn’t hollow submission. It was release. Each command slipped beneath her conscious defenses, bypassing the tight coil of responsibility in her chest and leaving her free—lighter, safer, as though she could finally let someone else hold her burdens. And when the praise followed, low and certain—good girl—the bond pulsed with satisfaction so strong it felt like her body had been rewired to crave it.

 

She told herself it was small things. Just food. Just medicine. Just rest. Things she needed anyway. But every time she obeyed, she felt it dig deeper—like a groove being carved into her spirit, repetition shaping instinct into inevitability.

 

And every time, Ino reinforced it.

 

Not always with words. Sometimes it was a flare of warmth in her chest, sometimes a gentle pressure against her sternum through the bond, sometimes nothing more than the steady reassurance of Ino’s presence pulsing through her like a second heartbeat. It was a different kind of chakra mastery—this was no accidental tether. Ino was using the bond, bending it, refining it, shaping it into a tool of command as much as comfort.

 

Of course, Sakura could force herself to resist. Ino knew that too.

 

The thought circled her mind late at night when the fever made her restless, when she lay awake watching the faint shadows shift across the ceiling. She could disrupt the tether, flood her network with chakra in a way that severed the flow of Ino’s voice-command before it reached her. She had the training. She had the knowledge. Theoretically, it would take only a breath of defiance, a flare of willpower.

 

But when the moment came—when Ino’s voice laced through the bond again, soft but intentional—her body never chose to fight.

 

Because why should it?

 

Obedience brought contentment. Praise brought safety. And for the first time in years, Sakura didn’t feel crushed beneath the weight of her own strength. She didn’t feel like she had to hold the entire world together with bleeding hands. She could just… breathe. Because Ino was there, carrying it for her.

 

For the first time in years, she wasn’t staggering under the full weight of her responsibilities. The endless demands, the crushing expectations—they no longer gnawed at her ribs like hunger. Something had shifted. The bond had taken the sharpest edges away, dispersing them into Ino’s waiting hands. Her steps felt lighter, her lungs less burdened.

 

But as she let that weight slip from her, a quiet unease stirred beneath the relief. Was this freedom… or something else? She hadn’t abandoned her responsibilities, not really. They had simply been absorbed, stored into Ino’s presence inside her, a constant thrum in her chest that would not let her forget she wasn’t walking alone—not ever again.

 

And maybe that was the question. Was she truly liberated… or merely ensnared in a softer kind of cage? A captivity she did not want to escape from? The thought unsettled her—and yet, the tremor it sent down her spine was not fear. It was craving.

 

Because even if it was captivity, it was sweet. It was warm. It was Ino’s.

 

Her lips parted on a shaky breath, the word she didn’t dare say echoing in her head instead: mine. Not hers—never hers—but Ino’s. And that knowledge, that surrender, tasted like freedom all the same.

 

By the fourth day, her fever had dulled enough that Ino allowed her to roam the estate without her constant shadowing. It felt strange, wandering the sunlit corridors, hearing the faint scuff of servants in the distance, their muted murmur of behind the panels. The air smelled of polished wood and late-autumn withers drifting in from the gardens. For the first time since collapsing, she wasn’t confined to her bed.

 

But she still wasn’t alone.

 

Ino was in her study, she could feel her through the bond. She was called in for an emergency meeting almost hour ago, an online transmission. She knew it was about the island. About the disaster that had drawn them both into the eye of politics. 

 

She should have been worried. She should have pressed closer to the door, listened with medic’s accuracy, already running strategies through her mind. That was who she had always been—the one who carried every weight before it could crush someone else.

 

But before the worry could swell, before her lungs could tighten with the familiar anxiety, the bond pulsed.

 

A single flare of presence, cool and steady, flushing reassurance through her veins. She felt Ino’s certainty wash over her like a tide, as if saying everything was already being handled. Not words exactly, but intent, delivered directly into her marrow, and just like that, the anxiety bled away, leaving only a soft ache in her chest and the calm of acceptance.

 

Sakura pressed her palm against the wall outside as she walked through the corridor, eyes closing. Her pride whispered that she should resist, that she should tear herself out of this haze and reclaim her agency. But her body betrayed her with every breath, loosening, softening, leaning into Ino’s control.

 

She could stop it. She knew she could.

 

But gods help her—she didn’t want to.

 

Because this version of Ino—the one who commanded, who carried, who filled every hollow space inside her—was terrifying, perfect.

 

And Sakura let herself want it.

 

 

 

Chapter 44

 

The study was dark except for the pale blue glow of the hologram array, its chakra-fed light bending Kakashi’s figure into sharp lines and shadows. His face was uncovered for once, visible beneath the distortion of transmission, which only made the tightness around his mouth and the narrowed angle of his eye more apparent.

 

Ino leaned back in the carved chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, every inch of her posture relaxed even as the air between them vibrated with his simmering irritation.

 

“Ino,” Kakashi said, voice level but clipped at the edges, “tell me this is a mistake.”

 

The projection flickered, but there was no mistaking the weight behind his words.

 

Ino smiled faintly, tilting her chin. “Which part?”

 

His brow furrowed, patience fraying. “Don’t play coy with me. The Yamanaka Clan doesn’t just buy an island. Not without Council approval. Not without notifying me, and certainly not under the Senju name. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

 

Ino’s eyes narrowed, her chin tilting in a way that carried both defiance and calmness. She didn’t flinch under the sharpness in Kakashi’s tone, didn’t bother softening her words. The hologram shimmered faintly between them, but her voice cut through it, unyielding.

 

“So when Sakura bought Fuyunomi Island under the guise of medical expansion, everyone was okay,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that wasn’t kind. “Because suddenly, the Senju heiress began making her moves. She was finally claiming her birthright, and no one dared object to that. They applauded it. Welcomed it. Pretended it was destiny.”

 

Her fingers tapped lightly against the desk before her, each rhythm deliberate, her chakra pulsing faintly in sync with the movement. “But the second I purchase the island from Sakura, transfer the ownership, the projects, the expansion under my name—now everybody’s panicking. Now it’s reckless. Dangerous. Unacceptable.”

 

Her gaze sharpened, icy blue catching the light. “Tell me, Hokage… is it truly the Yamanaka name they’re afraid of? Or is it the fact that Sakura entrusted it to me—entrusted herself to me—and not to them?”

 

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of her accusation. Ino leaned forward slightly, her smile fading into something darker, colder.

 

“They wanted a Senju banner. What they got instead… was me.”

 

The warmth of the bond pulsed faintly against her chest, Sakura’s presence brushing at the edges of her awareness from down the hall. Fever-tinged, restless, but soothed by the tether. Ino let her eyes soften, though the gesture wasn’t for Kakashi. 

 

She’s calming again. Good.

 

Kakashi’s lone visible eye hardened, the easy calm that so often masked his intent stripped away. His voice lost its usual drawl—what remained was clipped, sharp, almost cutting.

 

“Ino.” He rarely said her name with weight, but now it landed like a stone. “Don’t manipulate this into some game of symbols. You know what this means. You know how it looks. A Clan Head with a growing national influence consolidating an international property property of that scale—under circumstances that blur Senju, Yamanaka, and international law? That isn’t just bold. It’s provocation.”

 

His gaze sharpened, steady through the hologram, the lazy façade of the Copy Ninja nowhere to be found. “And you—of all people—should know what happens when the world thinks Konoha is stockpiling power again. They’ll whisper. Then they’ll doubt. And eventually, they’ll strike. We barely held the alliance together after the war. You’re putting all of it on the line.”

 

He exhaled, but it wasn’t weary—it was deliberate, controlled. “You think you’re protecting Sakura by carrying the weight for her. But tell me—when every village council from Suna to Kumo comes demanding answers, when the Daimyō himself asks why the Yamanaka Clan is moving in the Senju’s shadow… do you think they’ll see devotion?” His eye narrowed further, steel in his voice. “Or will they see a usurper?”

 

The word hung between them like a blade.

 

Ino’s smile didn’t falter. She leaned back further, letting the carved chair cradle her with the ease of someone accustomed to command. Her fingers tapped lightly against the polished surface of the desk, deliberate and rhythmic, though the pressure carried a faint undertone of restrained power, almost imperceptible. The glow of the hologram cast the sharp angles of her face into relief, emphasizing the cold clarity in her eyes.

 

“Oh, Hokage,” she began, voice exasperated, “let’s not confuse panic with prudence. You speak of provocation—but power is only dangerous when it’s mismanaged, and I manage it. Every asset, every title, every expansion… every risk I take, it is measured. Calculated. Controlled.”

 

Her gaze flicked briefly to the faint pulse of the bond pressing against her chest, a tether of reassurance threaded through Sakura’s presence. Not for him, she reminded herself; the hint of possessiveness behind her words needed no explanation. It was enough that it existed.

 

“The world applauded when Sakura claimed her inheritance, yes,” Ino continued, voice even, calm. “They saw her ascend under the Senju banner, heralded it as destiny. But look closer—she alone cannot move mountains in this game, especially not with her own Clan treating her like a political bait. Her name alone does not stabilize projects, secure international ties, or safeguard the people who depend on her. That requires someone who will act where hesitation could cost lives. That requires me.”

 

Her lips curved into a faint, sharper smile. “So yes, you call it reckless. Dangerous. A provocation. But I call it strategy. Every Council, every Daimyō, every political whisper—they will see only results. And Sakura… she will remain untouched by the turbulence swirling around her. The world can try to strike, to judge, to interfere… but they won’t touch her.”

 

She leaned forward slightly, eyes locking onto the hologram. The words weren’t threats—they were inevitabilities. Each syllable carried the weight of someone who had measured every consequence and decided it was acceptable. “Let them whisper, Kakashi. Let them doubt. Let them calculate every possible repercussion. I will adjust, counter, absorb whatever comes. It is already accounted for. Already contained.”

 

A faint pulse of chakra traced beneath her palm against the desk, subtle. It wasn’t Sakura she was addressing now—but the thought of the girl, vulnerable and fevered just down the hall, fueled the unspoken edge behind her words. Every gesture, every calculated tone, carried an assertion of control, a silent vow that nothing would harm what she had claimed.

 

“And,” Ino added, tilting her head slightly, eyes narrowing, “if anyone attempts to interfere with what has been secured… I assure you, they will find themselves far more constrained by reality than by expectation.”

 

She leaned back again, letting her calm mask settle into place. The bond thrummed faintly against her chest, a reminder that the center of all this—Sakura—was safely tethered, hidden in plain sight beneath the pulse of her control. The possessiveness wasn’t spoken, didn’t need to be; it was laced through every word, every inflection, every pause that left Kakashi waiting for a reply he didn’t want to give.

 

Kakashi shook his head, the hologram trembling slightly with his frustration. “You had no right to act without orders. Any of you. You bypassed every protocol, sidestepped my authority, and did as you pleased.”

 

“Kakashi,” she said, voice smooth, controlled, almost dangerous. “You’re missing the point. This isn’t just about appearances. That island… what it holds, it's dangerous. Unstable. If anyone—anyone—had stumbled upon it before we moved, before we sealed it… the fallout would have been catastrophic. Lives, reputations, entire alliances—you’d be staring at ruin.”

 

Her gaze sharpened, cutting through the flicker of his hologram. “Which is precisely why my team went first. We sealed it. Before the Council. Before the Elders. Before Konoha could even dream of acknowledging its existence. And yet here you are, questioning me, fretting over protocol, when the truth is far simpler—you should be grateful that the danger is contained before anyone else could even sniff at it.”

 

She leaned back, letting her calm mask settle, but her tone remained sharp, icy. “Not even the Elders could be trusted. They forged my authentication on documents, let fake envoys slip into Konoha, and yet filing a case afterward? It would have been more trouble than it’s worth—and you know it. The village cannot always be relied on to manage threats that require foresight, decisiveness… ruthlessness.”

 

A faint pulse of chakra traced beneath her palm, subtle, deliberate, an almost imperceptible hum of power that underlined her words. “Go ahead and call it whatever you want. But look at the facts, Kakashi. The island is secure. The relic is sealed. Konoha remains untouched. The threads of calamity—cut before they could ever reach us."

 

Her gaze narrowed, unflinching. “You think I acted for the Clan, for politics, for some abstract principle of duty. Perhaps. But you—Hokage—you should understand that when someone has the means, the foresight, the nerve… and acts before catastrophe can even be imagined, that is a service. To the village. To the people. And yes, even to you.”

 

Ino’s lips curved into a faint, tight smile, sharp as a blade. “So before you chastise me again, remember what would have happened if we hadn’t acted. Remember that you owe me—not because I asked, not because I wanted recognition, but because I delivered. I contained the danger. I preserved the order."

 

Her tone remained unrelenting, icy, her words laced with an almost imperceptible hint of crazed fervor lurking beneath the calm.

 

She leaned back fully, crossing her legs, letting the weight of her words hang in the air. The faint pulse of her chakra and the subtle presence of the bond to Sakura reminded her that she had staked control and claimed authority in ways no one else dared.

 

Finally, her lips curved into a thin, cutting smile. “Before you worry another moment over protocol or consequences, Kakashi… perhaps consider the favor you’ve already been given. The only question left…” She paused, tilting her head, letting the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes mask the steel beneath, “…is whether you’ll admit it.”

 

Her voice dropped to a low, cold whisper, perfectly weighted. “You’re welcome, Hokage.”

 

Ino exhaled sharply, cutting the call without a word, the faint static of the hologram dying into silence. The room was still for a heartbeat, but the pulse of the bond at her chest reminded her immediately of what awaited her just down the hall. 

 

She rose from her chair, her steps silent, her mind already tethered to the sound of Sakura’s heartbeat. The bond guided her now, no words necessary—just the faint pulse that threaded through the air and into her consciousness, a map of vulnerability and need.

 

The hallway felt impossibly long, yet each step was guided by the invisible pull of the connection. Her lips curved faintly, a smile tight with satisfaction. So small, so fragile, and yet so willingly… mine, she thought, savoring the sensation. She could feel Sakura’s fevered warmth, the restless pulse of energy beneath her skin, and it ignited a current in Ino that was equal parts possessive, protective, and unreasonably delighted.

 

Ino found her in her personal study, hunched over the stack of medical reports. The soft glow of the light from the large windows behind illuminated her features: hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed, eyes slightly tired but burning with that stubborn fire Ino had come to know so intimately. 

 

Even in her weakened state, in fever and fatigue, Sakura was breathtaking—every line of her face, every curve of her body, every small motion of her hands over the papers drew Ino in, made her pulse thrum with a heady mix of admiration and possessive hunger.

 

Her hand reached out almost instinctively, brushing against Sakura’s forehead. Hot. Fever-hot. Ino didn’t need the bond to tell her what it meant; she could feel it in every thrum of Sakura’s pulse. Yet the touch wasn’t meant to diagnose. Sakura’s eyes flicked up, fully acknowledging Ino's presence but before she could speak, Ino’s voice cut softly, darkly.

 

“You shouldn’t be working,” she murmured, voice low, almost dangerous. “You’ve had enough room to wander, and what’s the first thing you do the moment you’re out of bed? You bury yourself in reports. Tell me… whose orders are you obeying?”

 

Sakura hesitated, lips parting, a faint flush rising even higher in her cheeks. She opened her mouth to protest, but the subtle pressure of the bond at Ino’s chest tightened, threading into her nerves, making hesitation impossible. Every instinct to argue, to claim control, was folded under the invisible pressure of Ino’s will.

 

Ino’s chest lifted, a thrill of satisfaction running through her as Sakura’s resistance waned. She reveled in it—the quiet surrender, the way Sakura’s body seemed to lean forward ever so slightly, instinctively seeking the anchor she’d given. To see her submit, not out of fear but because she chose to let go, ignited a sensation in Ino that was intoxicating, almost primal. She could feel the entirety of Sakura’s energy, her warmth, her pulse, her subtle struggles—all bending, all yielding, and gods it was all perfect.

 

Ino stepped closer, closing the distance until her fingers rested against the nape of Sakura’s neck, wrapping around it lightly but possessively. The gesture wasn’t just proximity; it was control, a tether reinforcing her dominance. She felt Sakura’s slight shiver, and it made her chest tighten with something dark and beautiful, something possessive.

 

“Shh,” Ino murmured, leaning slightly so that Sakura’s forehead pressed against her stomach. The heat radiating off her chest and torso was deliberate, comforting, binding. “You don’t need to argue. You don’t need to resist."

 

Sakura exhaled, shoulders trembling, her small weight pressing against Ino. The scent of her hair, the faint warmth of her fever, the softness of her frame—it all pressed into Ino, overwhelming her senses. She could feel Sakura’s heart racing, the subtle twitch of every muscle, and it filled her with an almost unhinged satisfaction, a thrill that pulsed straight to the center of her chest.

 

How beautiful she is like this, Ino thought, her dark gaze sweeping over the younger woman. Every flush of heat on her cheeks, every trembling hand, every feeble attempt to assert control only magnified the truth: Sakura belonged here, to her, connected in body and soul, and she reveled in it. It was more than possession—it was worship, adoration, and control wrapped into one perfect, deliciously intoxicating moment.

 

She pressed her fingers more firmly against the nape of Sakura’s neck, guiding her closer, letting her rest entirely against her. Ino’s eyes closed for a fraction of a second, drinking in the sight of her surrender. Every fiber of Sakura’s being bent to her will, yet every breath and heartbeat whispered resistance—the tiniest flickers that made Ino ache with the desire to push further, to test limits, to see how far this submission could stretch.

 

And yet, there was no cruelty in it—not truly. Ino’s possession was dark, yes, bordering on obsessive, but it was also protective. Every tether, every careful adjustment, every pulse of the bond reinforced her unspoken promise: that while she commanded, while she claimed, while she tested, Sakura would never be harmed. She would never be abandoned. She would never be left to face the world alone.

 

Ino’s lips curved faintly, almost to herself, as she exhaled slowly. “So beautiful,” she murmured, voice low, almost trembling in its intensity. “So stubborn. So defiant. And yet… so utterly mine.”

 

The words were almost silent, a dark chant for her own satisfaction, a celebration of the absolute control she had over Sakura’s surrender. Her fingers tightened slightly, just enough to remind, just enough to claim, and Sakura’s faint shiver pressed her closer—a permission to continue.

 

Ino let her fingers trail through Sakura’s hair, the soft weight of it brushing against her palm, curling between her fingers. Her hold at the nape of Sakura’s neck was gentle enough not to hurt, but firm enough to keep the younger woman tethered, leaning, pressed close. The heat radiating off Sakura’s fevered body made the proximity almost unbearable in the best way, her pulse a steady drum beneath Ino’s palm.

 

Her voice was low, almost a growl, threaded with something dangerously soft. “Sakura…” she murmured, letting the syllable roll across her tongue as if tasting it. “Tell me something. Tell me you wouldn’t defy me… even if it cost you everything you’ve built. Even if it went against what you know is… safe.”

 

Sakura’s hazed green eyes lifted, soft and fever-bright, and for a heartbeat, Ino imagined she might refuse. But the gaze that met hers was anything but meek—there was a spark, a fire burning faintly beneath the haze, daring her, teasing her. “Order me then,” Sakura whispered, her voice steady despite the weakness that flickered through her frame. “You know you can.”

 

The words were a jolt, a delicious mix of challenge and surrender, and Ino’s chest tightened. The heat in her veins spiked, an almost unhinged thrill crawling through her senses. She could feel it—the bond thrumming against her chest, each pulse a reminder that the control was real, that it existed because Sakura allowed it, craved it even, and yet could shatter it in a heartbeat if she chose.

 

A smile curved faintly across Ino’s lips, tight, sharp, dark. She leaned closer, pressing her forehead lightly against Sakura’s, letting the heat of their bodies mingle, pressing subtle possession into the space between them. Her hand tightened at the nape of Sakura’s neck, guiding her just slightly forward, a tethering motion that was more instinct than thought, and yet deliberate in its intent.

 

“Answer me,” Ino said softly, dangerously, the edge in her voice enough to make the air between them quiver. “I don’t want games. Not now. Not with this. Tell me… if I told you to destroy everything—everything you’ve worked for, every report, every file, every trace of your efforts—would you do it?”

 

Sakura’s lips curved into the faintest, almost mischievous smirk, and the laugh that followed was quiet but tinged with something wild, almost unhinged. It rattled Ino in the most delicious way, reminding her that the real power didn’t reside in the fingers around the nape of her neck, nor in the pulse of chakra threading between them. No—the power existed because Sakura allowed it, knowing she could always push back, always break free… and yet she didn’t. She had no reason to.

 

“You know I can,” Sakura murmured, letting her voice hold that dangerous edge, daring Ino to press, to test, to demand. “You already do. So why ask?”

 

Ino’s breath caught. She felt the thrill of it, the unhinged hunger that had been building for days, threading through every pulse of her chakra. Every fiber of her body responded, tethered to the smaller, fevered form pressed against her, and yet, every shred of reason—the careful, calculating Ino—fought to sharpen her control, to make the moment last, to savor it fully.

 

She tightened her hold slightly at the neck, just enough to remind Sakura of her possession, to press her pulse into the bond between them. Her fingers moved through hair again, tugging lightly, forcing Sakura’s gaze to meet hers. “Answer the question,” she said again, voice low and deliberate, a dangerous whisper that promised consequences and rewards in equal measure.

 

Sakura’s laugh came again, quieter now, laced with a tremor, teasing and bold. She leaned forward slightly, letting her body press more fully against Ino’s, chin brushing against her chest. “You know I can,” she murmured again, the same exact words, but voice softer, intimate, almost taunting. “You already do.”

 

Ino’s pulse spiked. The thrill, the unhinged rush of command, the certainty of control… it crashed over her in waves, and she let herself sink into it, into the dark satisfaction of absolute claim. Everything that was Sakura's all fed the rush of authority that pulsed through Ino like wildfire.

 

And still, she pressed. Her fingers tightened again, guiding. Her eyes bore into Sakura’s, now icy. “Answer. Now.”

 

Sakura’s gaze softened, but the fire lingered—flickers of defiance through the haze, teasing the edges of the surrender she had already offered. She inhaled slowly, trembling slightly against Ino’s chest, and yet the pull of the bond held her entirely in place. Every instinct to resist, to assert, to rebel—folded into the force of surrender that was, at once, maddeningly intoxicating.

 

Finally, she whispered the word, each syllable weighted with both submission and desire: “Yes.”

 

Ino’s lips curved into a thin, sharp smile, her eyes dark with unrestrained satisfaction. The bond pulsed faintly in her veins, and she let herself exhale, letting the tremor of unhinged triumph flow through her. 

 

Ino’s hand, still resting against the nape of Sakura’s neck, tightened suddenly—fingers threading firmly into the pink strands before yanking back. Sakura’s breath hitched as her head snapped upward, emerald eyes locking with icy blue, her throat bared in the rough angle of control.

 

A sharp little gasp left her lips, but her gaze didn’t break. If anything, her pupils widened, fever-bright, daring.

 

Ino’s lips curved into a smile that wasn’t kind. “Good girl,” she murmured, low and dark, the words brushing like velvet over the iron edge of her grip. She tilted Sakura’s head just slightly more, forcing her chin higher until the tension in her neck made her tremble.

 

The bond pulsed, carrying Sakura’s defiance straight into Ino’s chest—sharp and hot, a flicker of rebellion that made her heart thrum harder. She felt Sakura’s instinctive resistance, the subtle pushback, the way her chakra whispered not yet, not fully.

 

And Ino absolutely reveled in it.

 

“You think you can keep teasing me with that look,” Ino murmured, her voice sliding into something softer but infinitely darker, “and not expect me to push further?” Her free hand came up, fingers brushing Sakura’s cheek, deceptively gentle even as her grip in her hair kept her pinned, gaze locked upward. “Say it again. Say you’d do anything I told you to.”

 

Sakura’s lips parted, breath warm against the space between them. For a heartbeat, her silence was defiance—the spark in her eyes challenging Ino to force the words out, daring her to pull harder, to make her bend.

 

Ino’s smirk deepened. The bond pulsed again, harder now, and she tugged Sakura’s hair sharply, forcing a soft sound from her throat. She leaned down until their noses nearly touched, her voice a growl. “Say it.”

 

Sakura’s chest heaved, her body arching slightly with the tension, but her eyes still burned with that mischievous fire. The sound that slipped from her was half-laugh, half-gasp. “Make me.”

 

Ino’s pulse spiked, the words setting her blood alight. She tugged again—harder this time, forcing Sakura’s head back until her throat stretched bare beneath the glow of the study lamps. Her lips hovered against the curve of her jaw, her breath hot and controlled, every word pressed directly into her skin.

 

“Oh, Sakura…” Ino whispered, voice trembling with restrained hunger. “You don’t understand what you’ve just invited.”

 

Ino didn’t give her time to smirk again. Her hand fisted tighter into Sakura’s hair and wrenched her upward from the chair in one smooth, merciless pull. The wheels screeched as the swivel chair spun back and slammed against the wall, abandoned. Sakura staggered on her knees for half a step, a sharp gasp torn from her as Ino dragged her forward by the hair, every ounce of resistance burning like fuel in the bond.

 

The desk caught Sakura in the hips before she could find balance. Her palms slapped against the surface, papers and neatly stacked reports scattering across the polished wood before sliding to the floor in fluttering clusters. Ino pressed in hard from behind, forcing her forward until her chest hit the desk’s edge, her breath stuttering against the cool grain.

 

Mokuton answered without hesitation. Thick, vein-like roots burst from the chair’s legs and the baseboards of the walls, snaking up to wind around Sakura’s wrists. They yanked her arms cruelly behind her back and bound them tight, wood grinding against bone until her shoulders strained. A sharp hiss of defiance left Sakura’s lips—but Ino smothered it instantly, dragging her head back by the hair again, throat bared and spine arched over the desk.

 

The bond thrummed hot, flooding with Sakura’s rebellion and Ino’s answering surge of dominance.

 

 

 

Chapter 45

Notes:

Mind the tags please.

 

Mokuton answered the pulse of Ino’s chakra like it was sentient. Roots burst from the baseboards and floorboards in snarling tangles, snapping around Sakura’s wrists and yanking them cruelly behind her back until her shoulders strained with the angle. More coiled around her thighs, pinning her against the desk’s edge, forcing her to arch forward under their grip. A thicker vine slithered up and looped tight around her throat, rough bark biting into her skin as it pulled snug.

 

Sakura coughed against the sudden choke, her spine jerking as the bond flared sharp with resistance. The surge of her chakra was white-hot, threatening to splinter the bindings with raw force—until Ino pushed back through the link, flooding her with the weight of dominance, drowning her resistance in dark, possessive command.

 

“You thought ‘make me’ was clever,” Ino rasped, jerking her hair again, slamming her cheek harder into the desk. The hollow crack echoed, followed by the sound of more reports sliding off the edge to scatter across the carpet. “So I will.”

 

Ino yanked her upright by the hair once more, then twisted her head sharply to the side, forcing her throat bare. The vine around her neck tightened with the movement, turning her gasp into a strangled whimper as her pulse throbbed hard against the bark.

 

Ino bent close, lips brushing the shell of Sakura’s ear as she ground her cheek harder into the desk. Her voice, a razor drawn soft. “Do you remember your safeword?”

 

Sakura’s chest heaved against the wood, the vine choking a moan out of her. “Y-yes…”

 

“Say it.”

 

Her lips trembled against the grain of the desk, voice husky and broken but clear. “Sage.”

 

Ino’s grip tightened in her hair, but her voice shifted, a dangerous velvet. “Good girl.” The words were praise, but edged like a knife.

 

Then the softness ended.

 

The Mokuton constricted in answer to Ino’s pulse—roots twisting tighter around wrists, bark biting in until Sakura’s knuckles whitened uselessly behind her back. A second coil slithered higher, snaring her jaw, forcing her head to one side so her cheek pressed into the unforgiving wood. Each breath came thin, harsh, stolen only when Ino allowed the vines to loosen by a fraction.

 

The bond burned, molten with a false defiance, every shallow twitch of Sakura’s chakra a tease rather than a fight. She wasn’t trying to break free—Ino could feel it in the softness of her pushback, the deliberate way her strength faltered just shy of real. It was a game, a provocation, every pulse of resistance a dare for Ino to bear down harder, to prove again that Sakura would yield only to her. And Ino knew—knew with absolute certainty—that if Sakura wanted, the Mokuton would crumble like paper. But she didn’t. She let it hold, let it bite, practically begging with the faint, taunting tremor of her chakra: more.

 

The swivel chair, abandoned and crooked by the wall, rattled as more roots burst from its base, creeping across the carpet like serpents. They lashed around Sakura’s ankles, wrenching them apart, pinning her stance wide against the desk. A guttural sound tore from Sakura’s throat—part laugh, part groan, unsteady in the choke of the vine at her neck.

 

Ino leaned over her, breath ragged and hot against the shell of her ear. “Color,” she demanded, voice like steel dragged across stone. The word wasn’t a question—it was a test, a snarl of command. “Tell me, Sakura.”

 

Sakura’s chest heaved against the desk, ribs aching under the unrelenting pressure. Her voice came cracked, strangled, but threaded with something wild—something reckless that made Ino’s stomach coil tight. “G-green.”

 

Not just green. The word broke out of her like a scream half-swallowed, a confession sharpened to a knife.

 

Ino froze for half a heartbeat, blood roaring in her ears. Green. Not yellow, not red. Not caution, not stop. Green. Even through the choke, through the slam of bone and desk, through the biting vines, Sakura was saying more.

 

The Mokuton slackened without warning, releasing in sharp, splintering cracks as if the roots themselves had been cut loose from Ino’s will. Sakura gasped as her arms were freed, the sudden drop of tension making her shoulders jolt. Before she could gather herself, Ino wrenched her back by the hair again, dragging her down off the desk in a single, merciless pull.

 

Sakura stumbled, knees hitting the carpet hard, papers fluttering around her like discarded piles. Ino’s pulse surged at the sight. Kneeling. Just like before. She had seen Sakura this way countless times—obedient, desperate, need carved into every line of her body. And yet now, with the bond thrumming hotter, sharper, amplified to something unbearable, it struck Ino like fire through the veins.

 

Her Sakura. On her knees. Not stripped, not undone by anything but Ino’s will. Still clothed, still powerful—yet choosing to kneel. The sight was ruinous. Ino’s hunger surged, dark and aching, as if she could keep Sakura there forever, frozen in this perfect submission, looking up at her as though she were the only thing that mattered.

 

Ino’s chest rose and fell too fast, every nerve lit. She crouched before her, hand snapping to Sakura’s jaw. Fingers dug into soft flesh as she pried her mouth open, the sharpness of the motion leaving no space for hesitation.

 

Her gaze burned icy, unblinking. “Open.”

 

Sakura obeyed instantly, lips parting under Ino’s grip, breath warm and uneven against her skin. The bond pulsed with it—obedience not dulled, but laced with challenge, daring Ino to take more, to make her prove it.

 

Ino slid two fingers past her lips without pause, pressing against her tongue, forcing her jaw wider. Her breath stuttered at the heat of Sakura’s mouth around her skin, at the slick pull of her tongue as if instinct had taken over.

 

“Good,” Ino rasped, voice roughened by the hitch of her breathing. “Now suck.”

 

The command fell heavy between them, saturated with possession, with hunger sharpened to violence and Sakura obeyed—closing her lips around Ino’s fingers, hollowing her cheeks with deliberate slowness, eyes still locked upward.

 

Ino’s pulse spiked so hard it rattled her chest. Watching Sakura kneel there, bound by nothing but choice, sucking at her command—it was almost too much. Her thighs clenched, breath catching in a way that was not careful, not controlled. She could feel the bond surge in response, amplifying everything until even the faint scrape of teeth against her skin sent her reeling.

 

Ino’s fingers pressed deeper, filling Sakura’s mouth, stretching her jaw until it ached. The heat of her tongue slick against her skin nearly undid her, but Ino forced her breathing steady, riding the jagged edge of hunger. This wasn’t about release, not about full pleasure. This was a trial, a test of how far their boundaries could go. 

 

Her icy gaze didn’t waver from Sakura’s emeralds—wide, fever-bright, defiant in the way that only made Ino’s blood sing. She curled her fingers against her tongue, rough, forcing her gag reflex to twitch. A muffled sound broke out of Sakura, half-cough, half-moan, but her eyes never dropped.

 

Ino’s free hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back even as her fingers filled her mouth. She leaned close, voice dark. “Color.”

 

Sakura’s throat convulsed around her fingers, the word torn ragged but clear. “Green.”

 

Ino’s heart slammed. She withdrew her hand suddenly, watching spit string between her fingers and Sakura’s lips before snapping away. Her chest heaved at the sight of Sakura—on her knees, chin wet, gaze locked on her like there was no other gravity in the world.

 

She didn’t let her recover.

 

Mokuton surged again, roots exploding from the carpet to lash around Sakura’s arms, pinning them to her sides. Another wrapped cruelly around her middle, locking her spine straight as Ino shoved her shoulder. Sakura toppled sideways, landing hard against the floorboards, cheek pressing into the rug.

 

Ino’s foot pressed into her ribs, firm but not crushing. She leaned into the weight just enough to make Sakura gasp. “Color,” she said again, colder this time.

 

Sakura’s chest rose shallow under her sandal, but her voice came fierce, almost wild. “Green.”

 

Ino’s breath hitched. Every time, green. Every time, more.

 

She ground her heel slightly, just enough for Sakura’s breath to break into another sharp gasp. Then she pulled back suddenly, crouching low. Her fingers grabbed Sakura’s jaw again, dragging her face upward until emerald eyes met hers.

 

“Do you understand what you’re asking me for?” Ino whispered, words trembling with barely contained hunger. “Every time you say green, you’re feeding me. You’re telling me to go further. To tear you apart until there’s nothing left but what I make of you.”

 

Sakura’s lips curved, faint, a tremor threading her smirk. “Good. Then you understand.”

 

The words detonated inside Ino, dark and scorching. For a moment she thought she’d lose control, that she’d snap the line between testing and taking. But she forced herself back, clinging to discipline by her fingernails.

 

Instead, she snapped her fingers, and the vines around Sakura’s arms hauled her upright into a kneel again. Ino stood over her this time, gaze sharp as a blade. One hand pressed to the crown of Sakura’s head, fingers tight into pink hair, pushing her down until her forehead touched the floor.

 

The posture was humiliating, absolute.

 

“Color.” The word cracked through the quiet like a whip.

 

Sakura’s voice was muffled against the rug, her shoulders trembling with the force of submission. “Green.”

 

Ino’s pulse nearly buckled her knees.

 

She let the silence stretch, let the weight of the moment sear into them both. Then, softer, almost reverent: “I’ll remember every green you give me, Sakura. Every single one, and when we take this further…” She tugged her head back just enough to make her look up again, her own lips curving into a feral smile. “You’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

 

Suddenly, Ino’s hand whipped out, palm cracking sharply against Sakura’s cheek. The sound reverberated in the room, followed by the sharp bloom of red across her pale skin.

 

Sakura’s head snapped sideways from the blow, a muffled gasp torn from her throat—but she didn’t resist, didn’t recoil. Instead she trembled, her chakra brushing against Ino, daring her to do it again.

 

Ino’s hand lingered, thumb stroking Sakura's cheek. “Color?”

 

Sakura turned her head slowly back toward her, lips curling into a feral smile. “Green.”

 

The coil of heat in Ino’s gut twisted tighter, restraint stretched like glass ready to splinter. She wants more. She’s daring me.

 

Sakura’s expression shifted—less sharp, more sincerity. Her smile softened, and when she spoke her voice carried warmth that cut straight through Ino’s doubt. “I can take harder, Ino."

 

Ino’s breath caught, fingers stiffening against her skin. “Sakura—” The name came out strained, warning and worry tangled together. “If I push too far—”

 

But Sakura leaned into her touch, cheek pressing against the very hand that had struck her. She smiled again, gentle this time, eyes steady. “You’ll never lose me. You know that.” She let her lashes lower, the faintest hint of vulnerability breaking through her smirk. “And if it does get too much… I’ll tell you. I promise. Always.”

 

Ino’s chest constricted. Her Mokuton quivered at the edges, hungry to answer the storm, but her heart ached at the trust shining raw in Sakura’s gaze.

 

Sakura tilted her head into her palm like it was the safest place in the world, even as her skin burned crimson beneath the mark of Ino’s strike. “So don’t hold back because you’re afraid of me breaking. I need this, Ino, and if I want you to stop, I’ll say it.”

 

For a moment, Ino couldn’t breathe. Her hand tightened against that flushed cheek, caught between the sting of violence and the tenderness of devotion.

 

Her voice dropped, low and jagged. “You’re playing with fire, Sakura.”

 

Sakura’s lips curved into a soft, brave smile. “Then burn me.”

 

Ino’s nails pressed faintly into the heat of Sakura’s cheek, thumb trembling with the storm in her veins. The words then burn me lit through her blood like lightning.

 

She didn’t hesitate.

 

The Mokuton roared alive once more—roots bursting through the cracks of the floorboards, writhing across the carpet, lashing tight around Sakura’s arms and dragging them cruelly behind her back. Bark scraped skin, her shoulders bowing against the angle until her spine arched sharp. Another vine wrapped around her waist and thighs, locking her posture rigid on her knees before Ino like a prisoner before a queen.

 

Sakura gasped at the sudden force, breath hissing between her teeth, but her chakra brushed eager and bright against Ino’s through the bond. Not breaking. Not resisting. Begging.

 

Ino rose to her feet, gaze sharp and merciless. She circled slowly, every step a deliberate coil of dominance until she stood behind Sakura. Her hand came down across her shoulder, then her cheek again, snapping her head sideways with the strike. The sound cracked in the air, followed swiftly by another—harder, sharper, ringing through the office like a whip.

 

Sakura shuddered, breath spilling ragged and hot through swollen lips.

 

“Color,” Ino demanded, voice like ice splintering glass.

 

“Green,” Sakura rasped, her voice hoarse but steady, eyes blazing upward through damp lashes.

 

Ino’s blood pounded harder. She gripped Sakura’s hair in a fist and yanked her backward, arching her spine until her throat stretched bare. Another slap landed across the opposite cheek, then again, and again—the rhythm brutal, unrelenting. Sakura’s cries fractured against the choke of the vine, gasps breaking into muffled sounds that trembled between pain and pleasure.

 

The bond flared hotter, each pulse from Sakura wild with ecstasy.

 

“Color,” Ino hissed again.

 

Sakura coughed, crimson blooming brighter across her cheeks, hair sticking damp to her temples. “G-green.”

 

Ino’s chest heaved. She raised her hand again, palm stinging from the strikes, and delivered another crack—harder this time, her whole body behind it. The blow rocked Sakura’s head to the side, the snap echoing like thunder.

 

Sakura jolted, vines creaking as her body strained against them, a cry breaking raw from her throat.

 

And still, she whispered: “Green.”

 

Ino’s stomach twisted, teetering on the knife’s edge between ecstasy and terror. She struck again.

 

This one was sharper, crueler, an explosion of sound that rattled her own bones. Sakura’s cry fractured into silence this time, her body trembling, face pressed against the carpet, red blooming fierce across pale skin.

 

For a heartbeat, there was only the rasp of breath. The bond pulsed, wild, fraying at the edges. Ino’s heart seized, her throat closing around the demand before it even formed. Color.

 

Sakura’s lips parted, voice rough and broken. “…Yellow.”

 

The word stopped Ino cold.

 

Yellow. Not red. Not stop. Not collapse. Yellow. The line. The boundary. The razor-edge where pain no longer fed the fire but threatened to snuff it. It was the slow down sign, a pause.

 

Ino’s Mokuton slackened instantly, roots splitting away in sharp cracks, loosening their choke until Sakura could slump forward, gasping shallow and fast. Ino dropped to her knees beside her, catching her before she fell fully, arms tight and shaking as they held the trembling body close.

 

Her voice cracked, jagged with desperation. “Yellow,” she repeated, forcing it into her chest like a command to herself. “I heard you."

 

Sakura coughed softly against Ino’s shoulder, breath still ragged but steadier now. Then, to Ino’s shock, a chuckle vibrated through her chest. Low, hoarse, but undeniably amused.

 

Ino pulled back, frowning hard. “What—”

 

“I only said yellow because you looked like you were about to break,” Sakura rasped, a wry grin tugging at her lips. Her voice was rough from the strain, but her eyes burned with clarity. “You weren’t just testing me today, Ino. You were testing yourself.”

 

Ino froze, words catching sharp in her throat.

 

“This boundary test isn’t only mine,” Sakura continued, softer now, tilting her bruised face upward into Ino’s hands. “It’s yours too. You have to tell me what you’re comfortable with—what you can stand to give. Because this is both of us.”

 

Ino’s grip tightened on her, trembling. For a long moment she said nothing, her lips parting but no sound coming out. Finally, after the silence stretched taut between them, she let the words slip out in a whisper.

 

“…The second to last,” she admitted. “That’s where I draw the line. I won’t go harder than that. Not ever.”

 

Sakura’s lips softened into something warmer, gentler, even through the red blooming across her cheeks. She lifted one bound hand as the Mokuton receded fully, taking Ino’s palm into her own and pressing a tender kiss against the skin that had just struck her raw.

 

“Okay. No force further than that,” Sakura murmured against her hand. "Thank you for telling me. I trust you."

 

Ino’s breath shuddered, eyes burning. She wanted to argue, to protest, to demand why Sakura gave her so much faith when she felt like she’d nearly gone too far—but the words wouldn’t come.

 

Instead, Sakura leaned her forehead against hers, voice barely a whisper. “Do you still want to continue? Another test?"

 

The bond between them thrummed hot, alive, poised on the knife’s edge again—yet steadier now, anchored in the knowledge that neither of them stood there alone.

 

Ino’s breath was still ragged against Sakura’s temple, the sting of her last strikes echoing in her own palm. She hadn’t expected to be the one shaken, undone. But Sakura’s words—you weren’t just testing me, you were testing yourself—gnawed at her, made her chest constrict in a way that wasn’t just from arousal.

 

She pulled back slowly, studying Sakura’s flushed face, the raw bloom of red across her skin, the tremor in her chest as she breathed, and then the idea surfaced. The one test she had never dared. The one that was darkest, sharpest, most dangerous of all.

 

Her pulse spiked with the thought. Her hand rose, hovering near Sakura’s throat.

 

Sakura saw it. She always saw. Her lashes lowered, a flicker of recognition sparking in her emerald eyes. She licked her lips, voice hoarse but certain. “You want to try it, don’t you?”

 

Ino swallowed hard. “It’s different. It’s not like before. If I do this… you won’t be able to say it.” Her voice cracked, as if the word itself was poison. “You won’t be able to say Sage nor will I be able to check for colors."

 

Sakura’s smile curved, faint but steady. “Then I’ll make you stop another way.”

 

Ino’s brows furrowed. “How?”

 

“Through the bond. If it’s too much, I’ll flare my chakra—hard, sharp. You’ll feel it. You won’t mistake it.”

 

Ino’s heart twisted, torn between fear and desire. “Sakura…”

 

But Sakura leaned forward, pressing her bruised cheek into Ino’s palm as if the same hand hadn’t just struck her raw. Her voice was soft, but her words burned like steel. “You said it yourself. You’ll never lose me. So trust me. Trust us.”

 

The vines stirred faintly at Ino’s feet, like the Mokuton was encouraging her. She let out a sharp breath, eyes closing for a heartbeat. When she opened them again, they were hard, cold, decided.

 

She shifted, guiding Sakura back against the carpet, palms firm on her shoulders until she lay flat on the rug. Papers rustled around them, the scent of ink and wood thick in the air. Ino straddled her hips, pinning her there with the weight of her body alone.

 

Her hand hovered once more above Sakura’s throat, trembling. “Last warning,” she rasped. “You flare if it’s too much. Promise me.”

 

Sakura’s gaze didn’t waver. “I promise.”

 

That was all it took.

 

Ino’s hand closed around her throat.

 

At first, it was gentle, just pressure. Familiar. A shadow of what they’d done before. But then Ino’s grip tightened, her fingers sinking in until Sakura’s breath hitched sharp in her chest. The sound sent a shiver down Ino’s spine, the first crackle of danger singing in her blood.

 

She squeezed harder.

 

Sakura’s chest rose in a stuttering inhale, then stilled. Her lips parted, pulling faintly at the last scraps of air, but none came. Ino felt it in the flutter of her pulse, the wild staccato thrum against her palm.

 

The bond flared white-hot. Sakura’s chakra pulsed against hers, not in panic but in defiance, in thrill. She wasn’t fighting—she was savoring it, letting her body quake under the pressure, surrendering to the void that opened behind her eyes.

 

Ino’s breath came shallow, her own pulse racing. Her eyes narrowed, watching the heat in Sakura's emerald gaze flicker, dim, blaze again. Seconds stretched long, endless.

 

Sakura’s body strained, her shoulders jerking against the carpet, legs kicking faintly as her lungs screamed. Ino’s hand stayed tight, immovable, the strength in her fingers iron-hard. She felt the tremor run through Sakura’s chest, the desperate arch of her spine as instinct clawed for air.

 

Ino’s heart thundered. She was right there, right on the precipice where desire blurred into terror. The question screamed inside her: Is this too much? Am I going too far?

 

Then, just as her vision began to blur, Sakura’s body moved—her nails dragging hard down Ino’s arm, not in panic, but in rhythm, deliberate, coaxing. Her lips parted around a broken gasp that couldn’t come, but her eyes locked on Ino’s, blazing defiance even as they dimmed at the edges.

 

No chakra. No words. Just the raw, physical plea in the scrape of her nails and the stubborn fire in her gaze.

 

Ino’s breath caught, hand trembling around her throat. Her instincts screamed—she’s slipping, let go—but the bond burned with something else entirely. She felt it in the tiny roll of Sakura’s hips, the press of her nails biting deeper, the faintest tilt of her chin as though straining up into the choke instead of away from it.

 

Seconds dragged. Sakura’s chest hitched once, twice, her breaths shallow, ragged, breaking apart under the weight of Ino’s hold. Her lashes fluttered, her lips quivered, yet the fire in her eyes never dulled. Even drowning, even trembling, she clung to the edge of consciousness with stubborn, reckless pride—smiling faintly through the haze as if to say, is that all you’ve got?

 

Ino froze, heart slamming against her ribs, torn between the terror that she’d gone too far and the molten ache curling low in her gut. Her grip slackened—just for a breath, just enough for air to brush Sakura’s lips—before she caught herself, fingers clenching again with a sharp jolt of will.

 

Sakura’s body jerked, seizing on that sliver of air, but her nails raked insistently across Ino’s arm again, harder this time, almost desperate—don’t you dare stop now.

 

Ino swallowed hard, her throat thick, sweat prickling down her spine. She’d never seen anything so ruinous, so beautiful, as Sakura crumbling beneath her and still demanding more.

 

Ino’s pulse thundered in her ears, every second stretching cruel and endless. Her hand was iron around Sakura’s throat, the vines tightening to match the tremor in her veins. She could feel every falter of Sakura’s body—the weakening shudder of her lungs, the sluggish throb of her pulse beneath her palm, the slackening weight of her limbs.

 

And yet… still those nails dragged down her arm, slower now but deliberate, leaving faint lines in her skin as if carving the words into her flesh.

 

Don’t stop.

 

Sakura’s head tipped back, lips parted in a silent gasp, lashes fluttering with each flicker of dwindling breath. The fire in her eyes wavered but didn’t die; it smoldered, dim but unbroken, a green flame burning stubborn even as the darkness licked at its edges.

 

Ino’s chest ached with the force of her own restraint. She wanted to let go. She should let go. But the bond pulsed like a heartbeat not her own, feeding her Sakura’s desire as much as her pain. Every brush of defiance, every shiver of surrender, tangled together until Ino could no longer tell which belonged to whom.

 

Sakura’s body jerked once—sharp, almost violent. Her nails faltered, grip slipping, but the faintest trace of a smirk ghosted across her lips. Even now, her pride screamed louder than her failing lungs: you still haven’t broken me.

 

That was the knife’s edge. The heartbeat where Ino’s terror threatened to drown her desire.

 

With a gasp of her own, she wrenched her hands away. The vines that were reinforcing the pressure of her hold, split and recoiled in sharp cracks, snapping free from Sakura’s neck.

 

Air rushed back into Sakura’s chest like fire, her body collapsing. She coughed, a ragged, wrenching sound that tore through the silence, her whole frame trembling against Ino’s as if she were shattering from the inside.

 

Ino froze above her, eyes wide, chest heaving. She thought she’d feel relief. Instead she felt hunger, molten and ruinous. Watching Sakura gasp for breath, face flushed, eyes glassy and alive—it was the most devastatingly beautiful thing she had ever seen.

 

Ino pulled her up into her arms, wide-eyed, breathless, her palm still tingling with the echo of the choke. “Sakura—” she started, voice breaking.

 

But before fear could take root, Sakura tilted her head just enough, coughing once, twice, then dragged her gaze back to Ino’s. Her lips curled, cracked and trembling, but unmistakably hunger. 

 

“Green,” she rasped, voice shredded but strong.

 

Ino nearly broke.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Sakura's a Sage, a war veteran. Her pain tolerance is extremely high from all the training and battles she survived. Making this chapter is funny, because it's like Ino's just realizing that now.

Chapter 46

 

Ino’s arms tightened around her almost desperately, pulling Sakura in until their chests pressed together, until there was no space left to breathe between them. Her whole body shook, the phantom feel of Sakura’s pulse—or the absence of it—still reverberating in her palm.

 

Her voice was hoarse, broken, each word scraped raw out of her throat. “I can’t… I can’t take it farther than that. Not one second more. If I’d held on—if I’d pushed just a little harder—” She swallowed, the tremor in her voice betraying the fear she rarely showed. “It wouldn’t have been control anymore. It would have been violence, and I won’t—”

 

Sakura’s hand rose, shaky but steady enough to cup Ino’s cheek. Her thumb stroked the damp corner of her eye, grounding her. “Ino.” Her voice was ragged from coughing, low and torn, but it carried a clarity that cut through the haze. “You stopped. That’s what matters. You stopped.”

 

Ino shook her head, pressing her forehead hard into Sakura’s shoulder, clinging tighter as though afraid she’d slip through her grip. “I didn’t want to. That’s what terrifies me. I felt you… wanting more, and I almost—” Her breath hitched, the words nearly collapsing into a sob. “I almost gave it to you, and if I had—”

 

Sakura hushed her with a quiet sound, pressing her lips to Ino’s hair, the kiss as gentle as her shaking body would allow. “But you didn’t. You chose to let go. Even when every part of me was begging you not to, you made the call. That’s not violence, Ino. That’s control.”

 

The words sank into Ino’s chest like balm, but the ache didn’t ease fully. She clutched Sakura tighter, as if to reassure herself that she was still warm, still breathing. “You scared me,” she admitted in a whisper, softer than a confession, rawer than a plea.

 

Sakura smiled faintly, worn but warm, brushing her nose against Ino’s temple. “Good,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the raggedness of her breath. “Because now you understand how much trust this takes. It’s not just me trusting you to hold the line. It’s you trusting yourself not to cross it.”

 

Ino lifted her head, eyes glassy but burning with something fierce, and Sakura kissed her palm—the same one that had struck her, the same one that had choked her—as if sealing the truth of it into her skin.

 

Ino coaxed her gently to the couch, her arm firm around Sakura’s waist until she was sure she was steady on her feet. Sakura let herself be guided, her body still trembling faintly, her throat raw from both fever and what they had just put it through. The cushions gave under her weight as she sank down, leaning back with a soft exhale.

 

Ino didn’t sit. She lingered only long enough to squeeze Sakura’s hand once before moving across the study, her steps brisk and uneven. She filled a glass from the dispenser, water sloshing slightly against the rim from the shake in her hands, and returned quickly.

 

She knelt, lifting the glass to Sakura’s lips, watching as she sipped. Only when the glass was set aside did Ino press her palm to Sakura’s forehead, sweeping damp strands of pink hair aside. The heat lingered there, sharp against her skin, but Ino sighed in quiet relief. “It’s not worse than the first day,” she murmured, thumb brushing along her temple. “Still burning, but stable.”

 

Sakura leaned into her touch, her lashes low, green eyes softened by fever. “I'm fine, Ino," she said, her voice rasping but faintly amused. 

 

“I still worry anyway,” Ino answered without hesitation, sitting on the edge of the couch. Her arm curled around Sakura again, protective, as though she might vanish if left unattended. “And I don’t trust myself not to push it too far.”

 

Sakura tilted her head against her shoulder, quiet for a moment. Then, gently: “You already said that, and I told you—you stopped. That’s what matters.”

 

Ino exhaled through her nose, brushing her lips against her temple. “It’s not just about choking you, Sakura.” Her voice was low, almost raw. “It’s everything. These last four days… sometimes I catch myself using it. My voice. Sometimes, not even consciously. It just—slips out, laced with chakra. My soul wants you to obey, and before I even realize it, I’m resonating into you and every time I do, I feel so intoxicated I don't want to stop."

 

Sakura blinked, her gaze lifting slowly to meet hers. “You're not the only one feeling so intoxicated here, Ino.”

 

Ino stilled, searching her eyes.

 

Sakura’s lips curved into the faintest smile, worn but clear. “I feel it every time. Like a current humming under my skin. Like I can breathe easier if I follow. It makes me want to give in. Makes me crave your orders, and when you praise me after, it’s—” She swallowed, her voice dropping low, confessing. “It’s like my body melts. Like I’ve done something right, and nothing else matters.”

 

Ino’s breath caught, pride and heat colliding low in her chest. “That’s exactly what terrifies me,” she whispered. “That I’ll keep using it without thinking. That I’ll get drunk on the way you respond, and you’ll lose the chance to say no.”

 

Sakura reached up, her hand steady this time as it cupped Ino’s cheek. Her thumb brushed across her skin, grounding her. “Then listen closely." Her eyes, hazy with fever, sharpened with clarity. “If it ever gets too much, if the resonance pulls me in deeper than I can handle, I’ll cut it off.”

 

“You know I can,” Sakura continued, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s my body. My chakra. I can silence that bond whenever I choose. I haven’t these past days, not once, because I don’t want to. Because I crave the way you command me, Ino. You know this. I want you to use it. To feel me respond. But if I ever need to—if it ever threatens me instead of grounding me—I’ll stop it. I promise.”

 

Her words lingered like a seal, simple and absolute.

 

Ino’s throat worked, her heart clenching tight as her fingers trembled against Sakura’s skin. “How can you trust me after everything?” She whispered.

 

Ino’s throat worked, her heart clenching tight as her fingers trembled against Sakura’s skin. “How can you trust me after everything?” Her voice cracked low, the words tumbling out in a rush she couldn’t stop. “I authenticated a purchase of your property without your knowledge and transferred it to my name. I’ve taken your choices, Sakura. I’ve kept you captive from things you should have been free to decide. And even now—” She broke off, shutting her eyes tight, as if the shame itself burned. “Even now, a part of me wants to keep you here, locked against me, forever. How can you put your trust in someone like that?”

 

Sakura didn’t flinch. She held Ino’s face steady between her hands, her thumbs brushing against damp skin where tears threatened. Her fevered body leaned forward, her weight settling into Ino like a quiet anchor. “Because it’s you,” she said simply, voice still rough from the strain but carrying no hesitation.

 

Ino’s eyes snapped open, glassy and wide, searching her.

 

“You’ve taken things, yes,” Sakura continued softly, her breath warm against Ino’s cheek. “But you’ve also given. You gave me safety when the politics burned through me. Your resonance gave me steadiness when everything else outside made me tremble. You gave me your restraint—when it would’ve been so easy to take more. Everything you’ve done, Ino… even the mistakes… you’ve done them because your heart is mine.” She paused, her lips brushing the corner of Ino’s jaw, a kiss more grounding than tender. “And I’ve never wanted to be anywhere else.”

 

Ino let out a shuddering breath, her chest tight. “But Sakura—”

 

“No,” Sakura interrupted, firmer this time. “Listen to me. You think you’ve caged me, but don’t you see? I could cut off the resonance right now. I could sever the hum that makes my body want to obey. I could walk out the door. But I haven’t. I stay, I follow, I yield—because I want to. Because it makes me feel closer to you.” She drew back just enough to meet her eyes fully, her fever-glazed green steady with conviction. “That’s not captivity, Ino. That’s choice. My choice.”

 

The words struck deep, undoing the knots in Ino’s chest and twisting them tighter all at once. Her hands trembled where they cupped Sakura’s waist, torn between guilt and fierce relief. “You make it sound so easy,” she whispered, almost broken. “Like all I have to do is believe you." 

 

“I’m telling you to believe in us,” Sakura corrected softly. “This bond isn’t one-sided, Ino. You don’t carry it alone. I choose every second to stay open to it. To let you in. Because I want you there.”

 

Ino’s eyes burned hot, her control fraying under the weight of relief and fear and devotion all tangled together. She lowered her head, pressing her lips to Sakura’s fevered forehead. “You’re insane,” she muttered against her skin. “Letting me have that much of you. You have no idea how badly I want to drown you in it.”

 

Sakura’s hand slid up, fingers pressing through Ino's hair, tugging gently until Ino met her gaze again. “Then drown me,” she said simply. “I’ll tell you when to stop. That’s the line. That’s the trust.”

 

Ino broke then, folding around her, gathering her into her lap as though her arms alone could shield her from the weight of everything they’d just laid bare. She pressed her face to Sakura’s neck, breathing her in, clutching her as though to anchor them both.

 

Sakura leaned into her without hesitation, her voice soft but steady. “We’ll find the boundaries together. We’ll test them, we’ll learn them, we’ll redraw them as we need to. That’s what makes it ours. Not the bond. Not the sigil. Us.”

 

For the first time since the fever had begun, Ino’s chest loosened, the ache of fear giving way to something steadier, heavier, but grounding. 

 

Trust.

 

She tightened her arms, her lips brushing Sakura’s hair. “Then promise me again. Promise me you’ll cut me off if it ever becomes too much.”

 

“I promise,” Sakura whispered without hesitation. Her smile warmed against Ino’s throat. “And until then… you’re allowed to use it. Because I love giving myself to you, Ino. Completely.”

 

For a long moment, they stayed like that, foreheads pressed, breath mingling in the space of the study. Outside, sunlight slanted through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. The world went on—midday, nearly lunch—but for them, time slowed, contained in the hush of pulse and breath and bond.

 

Finally, Sakura’s lips curved faintly. “Besides,” she whispered, her voice dipping lower, conspiratorial even through the rasp, “you’re forgetting something.”

 

Ino blinked, still reeling. “What?”

 

Sakura’s thumb stroked across her cheek, her smile soft but sly. “You’re not the only one who enjoys being dangerous.”

 

Ino blinked, caught off guard by the sly curve of Sakura’s lips, then let out a shaky chuckle that melted into something low and genuine. Her forehead still rested against Sakura’s, but her shoulders finally eased, the tension unspooling into laughter she hadn’t thought possible only minutes ago.

 

“Gods,” she murmured, brushing her nose against Sakura’s cheek. “I’ve always known you were a little freak, forehead. But I never thought you’d be this kinky.” She drew back just enough to meet those fever-bright green eyes, her own glinting with a mix of relief and exasperated fondness. “You pushed me for more every damn time. Gave me green light after green light—until I was the one calling it off.”

 

 

Sakura’s lashes fluttered, a blush ghosting faint across her cheeks, though she didn’t look away. “Maybe I like seeing how far you’ll go,” she whispered, her smile curling at the edges. “Maybe I like knowing you’ll stop even when I won’t.”

 

Ino huffed, half amused, half wrecked by how much that undid her. She cradled Sakura’s jaw, thumb stroking the flushed skin there. “Do you even realize how twisted that sounds? You get off on me slamming the brakes?”

 

“Not the brakes,” Sakura corrected softly, lips quirking as her hand traced the line of Ino’s collarbone. “The trust. The edge. Knowing you can take me right to the line and I’ll still be safe. Knowing you’ll catch me.” Her eyes softened, earnest beneath the teasing. “That’s what I crave, Ino. Not just the intensity. You.”

 

The words knocked the air out of Ino more thoroughly than any blow ever could. She stared at her, momentarily speechless, before a crooked, helpless smile tugged at her lips. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”

 

“Not before you kill me first.” Sakura leaned into her touch, smirking faintly despite the rasp in her voice. “And you know,” Sakura murmured, her voice husky with fever but threaded with mischief, “I find that I really don’t actually mind when you manhandle me. It’s kind of… hot.”

 

The blush on Ino’s cheeks turned into something that made her ears burn. She dragged a hand down her face, muttering into her palm, “Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable.”

 

“What?” Sakura prodded. “You’re telling me you didn’t notice how much I liked pain?” 

 

Ino froze for half a heartbeat, then drew back enough to gape at her. Another rush of heat shot through her chest and straight into her core below. “Sakura Haruno,” she hissed, scandalized.

 

Sakura smirked, green eyes hazy but sharp. “It’s true. I never even knew until we added more spice to our sex life. Plus, you’re strong, I trust you, and—” she tilted her head, her lips curving with the barest wickedness “—I kind of like seeing how desperate you get.”

 

The tips of Ino’s ears went crimson. She shoved a hand through her hair, muttering curses under her breath. “You’re so unbelievable. Do you want me to lose my mind?”

 

“Maybe.” Sakura’s smile turned into a laugh that dissolved into a soft cough, though she waved off Ino’s instant fussing. “Relax, Ino. I’m just saying… you don’t have to hold back so much.”

 

Ino narrowed her eyes, but her grin betrayed her. “Careful, forehead. Keep talking like that and next time I won’t stop at a little manhandling. I’ll tie you down for hours. No breaks, no release, nothing but you begging me to stop.”

 

Sakura’s breath caught, and her blush bloomed hot against her fevered cheeks. But instead of shying away, she gave Ino that stubborn little half-smile that always undid her. “Hours, huh? Sounds like a long training session. Think you’ve got the stamina for it?”

 

Ino groaned and buried her face back into Sakura’s shoulder, half laughing, half cursing. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

 

“Good thing I’m a medic, then,” Sakura teased, stroking her hair. “I’ll patch you up after.”

 

Ino pulled back just enough to glare at her, though her blush was still bright and impossible to hide. “You’re insufferable. But fine—we’ll set boundaries like this, then. No silence. No secrets. And apparently… no shame, either.”

 

Sakura chuckled, tilting her head to press a kiss to Ino’s temple. “Deal.”

 

For a while, they stayed there, the fever’s heat and Ino’s stubborn grip binding them together. But when Sakura’s stomach gave a faint growl, Ino shot her a look that was all exasperation and hidden fondness.

 

“You didn’t eat, did you?”

 

Sakura blinked innocently. “…I forgot.”

 

“You forgot?” Ino echoed, incredulous. She stood with a groan, stretching her stiff legs. “Of course you did. Always so busy being a martyr. Stay here—I’ll get you something.”

 

Ino eventually tore herself away from the couch with a muttered curse about “stupid pink-haired temptresses” and “reckless medics who don’t eat.” Sakura only smirked at her retreating back, her fever-flushed face resting against the cushions as she listened to Ino’s footsteps fade out of the room.

 

A few minutes later, she returned with a tray balanced neatly in her hands. The sight of her—hair mussed from their closeness, cheeks still flushed from their teasing, yet moving with brisk precision—made something warm unfurl low in Sakura’s chest.

 

“Eat,” Ino ordered, setting the tray across her lap with a firmness that brokered no argument. A bowl of congee steamed in the center, soft broth glistening, accompanied by tea and a small plate of sliced fruit. “And don’t even think about not finishing the meal. I’ll spoon-feed you myself if I have to.”

 

Sakura smirked faintly, lifting her spoon. “Kinky,” she murmured, only for Ino to narrow her eyes.

 

“One more word out of you and I will really tie you down, forehead. Not for fun, but because you’re too stubborn to sit still.”

 

Sakura chuckled but obediently took a sip. The warmth of the food eased down her throat, soothing her raw voice. Ino hovered close, watching with that hawk-like vigilance that was so uniquely her—equal parts friend, lover, protector, and jailor, all tangled into one.

 

When the bowl of congee and the glass of water were empty, Ino set it aside with careful hands, then reached into the tray’s corner. She retrieved a small porcelain jar, unscrewing its lid. The faint scent of cooling herbs drifted up—camphor, lavender, a touch of mint. Her fingers dipped inside, and when she turned back, Sakura saw the tiny tremor in her hands, though her expression was schooled into focus.

 

“Lean back,” Ino murmured, voice soft but carrying that same undercurrent of command that made Sakura’s body obey before her mind could argue.

 

Sakura reclined against the couch's cushion, tilting her chin as Ino settled beside her. The first touch of ointment was cool, spreading across the bruises mottled along her jaw and cheek. Ino’s fingers moved slow, featherlight yet reverent, as though each mark carried more weight than flesh should hold.

 

“We shouldn’t have done this while you’re sick,” Ino muttered, her thumb smoothing the balm along the tender red bloom of a slap mark. 

 

Sakura’s lips curved faintly. “Funny,” she rasped, voice low. “I don’t remember you complaining when we did those tests.”

 

Ino froze, then gave her a look that could have withered a forest. But her blush betrayed her. “That’s not the point. You’ve still got a fever, Sakura. I shouldn’t have even touched you like that, not while you’re like this.”

 

Sakura tilted her head slightly into her touch, letting her fingers spread the balm along her throat now, tracing over the faint purple ring where Ino’s hand had pressed too hard. She exhaled, shivering at the cool relief, but not from pain.

 

“I like it when you take care of me,” she admitted softly, green eyes half-lidded as they fixed on Ino’s face.

 

“You could heal yourself in seconds,” Ino countered, her voice sharper now, though her fingers remained unbearably gentle. She rubbed the ointment in slow circles, easing the ache away. “You could erase these bruises like they never existed. But instead, you sit here and let me…”

 

“Let you worry,” Sakura finished for her, a smile curving at the edges of her lips.

 

Ino paused, blinking down at her. Sakura’s smile softened, her fever-flush painting her cheeks pinker than usual.

 

“I could heal them, yes. But then you’d lose this. The way your brows furrow when you think I don’t notice. The way your hands are so careful, so protective, even when you’re pretending you’re angry at me. The way you look like the world might collapse if I so much as flinch.” Her lashes lowered, voice softening into confession. “I love that, Ino. I love you like this. Fussing, overprotective, furious because you care too much. It reminds me that you don’t just want to control me. You want to keep me safe. That’s why I always never heal the marks you leave.”

 

Her words lingered, heavy and tender.

 

Ino’s hand stilled against her throat, the balm glistening faintly under her touch. Her chest rose and fell sharply, eyes locked on Sakura’s.

 

“You’re insane,” she whispered, though her voice cracked with the weight of it. “Letting me leave these on you. You should hate me for it.”

 

Sakura shook her head faintly, her hand rising to catch Ino’s wrist and hold it against her neck. “How could I hate the proof of how much you love me? Even if it looks twisted to anyone else… it’s ours, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Her eyes then softened, green irises glowing faintly against the fever’s haze. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you like this?”

 

Ino swallowed hard, her throat tight, but she managed a hoarse, “What?”

 

Sakura’s lips curved into a smile, her thumb stroking lightly over Ino’s skin. “I see the girl who’s been by my side since childhood. The girl who stood between me and the world when I had nothing. The girl who looks at me like I’m worth more than nations, more than her own self-control.” Her gaze softened even further, earnest in its fever-bright clarity. “I see the woman I love, Ino. No matter how twisted our love has become, I’ve never felt safer than when I’m here with you.”

 

Ino’s breath hitched, her hand still cradling Sakura’s throat as if she couldn’t bear to let go. Her voice was low, shaking, but threaded with that dark honesty she could never hide from Sakura.

 

“Even when I’m like this?” She whispered, her eyes burning into green. “Possessive? So utterly obsessed with you I can’t think straight? Sakura, I’ve destroyed people for less than what I imagine when I think someone might take you away from me. I don’t even recognize myself when it comes to you. It’s dark—” her fingers tightened faintly against her pulse, not to choke but to feel it thrum steady beneath her touch— “I’m dark, when it comes to you.”

 

Sakura’s fever-flushed lips curved, the sound that left her throat soft and startlingly amused. A quiet chuckle, low and warm, that made Ino’s chest twist.

 

“Oh, Ino,” she murmured, tilting her head just enough for her nose to brush along Ino’s jaw. Her voice dropped, mischievous even through its rasp. “You really don’t know, do you?”

 

Ino blinked, stunned by the sly curve of her smile. “…Don’t know what?”

 

Sakura leaned in, her lips ghosting just at the corner of Ino’s mouth, her smirk wicked beneath the softness. “You think you’re the dark one here? You think your obsession is worse? Gods, Ino—you don’t know how bad I am.”

 

Sakura’s lips curved into a faint, almost sweet smile, but the calm in her expression belied the storm beneath. Her hand slid along Ino’s side, curling around her hip, anchoring her in place as if letting go would rip something vital away. “You only see what I let you see,” she murmured, voice soft, intimate, like a lullaby that twists in the dark. 

 

“But I’m in every corner of your life, Ino. In every quiet moment, every shadow, every thought you think you’ve hidden—I’m there. Waiting. Watching. Learning. Loving. And if you ever tried to escape me…” Her thumb traced a slow, deliberate line over Ino’s waist, leaving a shiver in its wake. “…you’d find that I’ve already burrowed inside you. Inside your mind, inside your skin, inside your blood. I’d be there before you even knew you were alone.”

 

She leaned closer, her forehead brushing Ino’s shoulder, breath warm against her neck. “I won’t just follow you. I’ll be inescapable. Gentle, yes—but suffocating, too. Soft enough to lull you, patient enough to wait… and inevitable enough that the moment you breathe without me, you’ll feel the emptiness, the pull, and the ache of every second we aren’t together. I don’t just love you, Ino. I consume you, and I want to. All of you. Everything you hide, everything you fear, everything you think is private—it belongs to me. Every piece, every shadow. I’ll take it. I’ll keep it. I’ll cradle it all so tightly that even you won’t be able to breathe without me knowing.”

 

Her gaze lifted to meet Ino’s, fevered and unblinking, with a tenderness so intense it bordered on terrifying. “I don't burn villages, or topple thrones… I won't destroy the world like you would."

 

"But I will dismantle the walls between us. Piece by piece. Softly. Patiently. Relentlessly. Until every inch of you exists only with me, and there’s no space left for anyone—or anything—else, and if that feels… dark… good." Sakura smiled, sincere despite the grimness of her words. "You should feel it. Because I would follow you into every shadow, every madness, every dangerous, twisted thing you are… and I’d do it willingly. Because it’s you. And I… I can’t stop.”

 

Ino’s heart skipped, the look of intense devotion in Sakura’s eyes was beautiful—frighteningly beautiful. Every unspoken word, every hidden longing she had never fully noticed, now lay bare before her, raw and undeniable. Ino’s hands stilled, fingertips grazing Sakura’s cheek as a shiver ran through her, part awe, part something far more dangerous. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 47

 

Ino’s breath hitched sharply, and then, without warning, she closed the distance. Her lips crashed against Sakura’s, fierce and claiming, teeth grazing, tongue pressing—a kiss that wasn’t gentle, but utterly consuming. Sakura gasped, heat and fever twisting her senses, and Ino’s hands were everywhere at once, strong, relentless, bold—fingers threading into hair, pressing against shoulders, anchoring her in place.

 

Sakura’s hands went to Ino’s waist, gripping, tugging her impossibly closer, her own body arching into the touch. The faint tremor of her fever blended with the tremor of desire, creating a pulse that ran between them, rapid and unrelenting. “Ino…” she rasped, but it wasn’t a plea—it was a tether, a lifeline, an invitation.

 

Ino didn’t hesitate. One knee pressed between Sakura’s legs, straddling her as her hips ground slowly, deliberately, pressing Sakura to the cushions with every ounce of her strength. Her hands roamed, claiming, memorizing every inch of fevered skin, and yet, despite the wildness, there was care beneath the chaos—an understanding of fragility that made every touch sharper, more intimate.

 

“You… you’re just like me,” Ino growled against Sakura’s lips, her voice rough, low, and full of awe. “Do you know that? You are chaos. You’re dark. Obsessed. Insane. And I… I love it. I love you, like this, fevered, reckless, burning inside and out. I love that I can feel you trying to consume me from the inside, and I don’t… I don’t want to stop it. I want it all, Sakura. I want every bit of you. I want you."

 

Sakura’s head tilted back, lips brushing Ino’s jaw, her voice soft but fevered, unrelenting: “I’ve always been yours, Ino. I don’t need the world, I don’t need anyone else. Just… you.”

 

Ino’s hands tightened slightly, pressing into her sides as if she could fuse them together, feeling the rapid pulse beneath Sakura’s skin. Her lips left a trail down Sakura’s neck, brushing, biting lightly, teasing. “And you’ll never escape me, either,” she whispered, teeth grazing the soft spot beneath her ear. “You’re mine, Sakura. I stake my claim on every inch of you."

 

Sakura let out a soft laugh, tremulous and dark, her hands sliding over Ino’s shoulders, down her back. “I wouldn’t want to escape,” she murmured, breath hitching. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to… I’d be lost without you. I need you. All of you. Every dangerous, mad, beautiful piece of you.”

 

Ino groaned, the sound vibrating between them, raw, untamed, and somehow worshipful. She pressed harder, straddling her fully now, weight and warmth pressing, claiming, making escape impossible, every move radiating possession.

 

Then her lips curved into a dark, wicked smile against the crown of Sakura’s head, her chest pressing flush against hers. “Perfect,” she whispered, voice trembling, reverent, yet fierce. “Then stay with me. Stay here. Obsessed. Claustrophobic. I’ll take you. Every piece of you, and I’ll give you every piece of me. Every shadow. Every fire. Every madness. And we’ll—”

 

Her words broke off as their lips collided again, a desperate, consuming, claiming kiss, and the world outside ceased to exist. There was only heat, only fire, only suffocating closeness—their obsessions mirroring each other perfectly, one inward, one outward, both infinitely unhinged, impossible to disentangle.

 

Ino’s hands trailed along Sakura’s sides beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, fingers brushing over her ribs, memorizing the heat that radiated from her fevered skin. She squeezed her breast, breath hitched against Ino’s lips, soft gasps mingling with fever and desire. Sakura's hands clutched at Ino’s back, tugging her impossibly closer, drawing their bodies together so tightly that the space between them seemed nonexistent.

 

Then her hand traveled downwards, past the garter of her shorts, underneath the last layer of fabric protecting her core—and Ino claimed. Without warning, her digits entered Sakura's, rough and fast, pumping in and out while drowning Sakura's moans into messy, suffocating kisses. Sakura gave no warning when she came, and Ino did not relent still, didn't care as she built her lover up on another high. 

 

Again.

 

And again. 

 

Until Sakura, her breathing labored against Ino's lips, whispered. "I want it today. Give it to me. Please."

 

Ino almost froze, a contrast to the tidal heat that soaked her own core. Without saying anything, Ino shifted to the side, her back on the armrest of the couch as Sakura climbed between her legs, slowly untangling Ino's pants off her, along with the layer that clung to her most restricted area. Ino's chakra pulsed, her Mokuton regrowing another muscle mass between her legs—one that she's done before, one that should feel like routine but Sakura looked at it with awe, as if it was their first time all over again. 

 

Sakura did not wait. She immediately lowered her head, her mouth claiming the long member, her cheeks hallowing as she sucked. And Ino almost combusted, her hands gripping Sakura's hair, guiding her, as her lips let out sinful moans that echoed through the entire room. Ino, in her cruelty, did not let Sakura breathe. She pushed the younger girl's head forward as she released inside in her throat, Sakura moaning through it all. 

 

But Sakura wasn't satisfied, still wasn't done. She pushed herself up, spread her legs as she sank herself on Ino's so suddenly that both of them almost screamed at the sensation. It was feral, the way Sakura brought herseld up and down, Ino watching her with reverance as her hands roamed around Sakura's back, down her buttocks. Her fingers then found the front, flicking Sakura's bundle of nerves that, circling it like a vulture. The effect was immediate, Sakura screaming as she came once more. Even with overstimulation, Sakura did not pause to catch her breath, sinking herself even deeper, desperate to have Ino fill her.

 

"Protection," Ino rasped through her own labored breaths. "You forgot to place one, love."

 

Sakura groaned, not slowing down one bit. "Maybe because I don't want to."

 

Ino's eyes darkened even more, her thumb now working faster on Sakura's bundle. "No. Too soon."

 

"I don't mind, Ino—" Sakura cut herself off with a moan, as she came again, squeezing Ino tighter that almost made the blonde come. "Stop holding it in and give it to me."

 

"Sakura, you little minx—" Ino gasped as Sakura bit her neck, her teeth marking her flesh. 

 

"Inside, Ino—inside," she pleaded, choking on a sob as the overstimulation made her come again. "Fucking breed me if you have to."

 

That did it. 

 

Ino held Sakura’s hips firmly, anchoring her to herself as she released it all inside of her. Both of them shivered and gasped, caught in the wave of sensation that left reason behind. The intensity of their closeness—the heat, the pressure, the release—was almost too much to bear.

 

Ino’s voice broke through the heavy, charged air, a strangled moan that carried equal parts relief and obsession, her fingers digging gently into Sakura’s sides as if trying to fuse them together. Sakura clung tightly to her, arching and trembling, milking every release from Ino's extension as she took every single one of it.

 

The tremors of their release slowly ebbed, leaving a lingering warmth that pressed them together. Ino remained inside Sakura, her breathing still heavy, but each exhale carried a softer, reverent weight. Sakura, spent and fevered, collapsed against Ino’s shoulder, her forehead resting there as she shivered lightly, letting herself melt into the anchor that was Ino.

 

Ino’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close with a possessive gentleness that contrasted the chaos of before. One hand moved to comb through Sakura’s damp pink hair, smoothing stray strands, fingertips grazing the fevered skin at her neck and temples.

 

Ino held Sakura close, forehead resting against the younger girl’s, breathing still heavy but slowing. Her fingers combed through Sakura’s damp hair, brushing along her fevered skin, and for a moment, there was quiet between them—just the shared thrum of their hearts.

 

Then Ino let out a soft, exasperated laugh, the dark intensity of before giving way to something warmer, teasing. “Sakura… you’re insane,” she murmured, voice low but laced with mock scolding. “Saying things like that… it’s risky. Irresponsible. We can’t just… you know—”

 

Sakura’s laugh cut through her words, light and mischievous, still breathless from the haze of pleasure. “Oh, come on, Ino,” she teased, wiggling slightly against her. “Imagine a little mini me running around this estate. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

 

Ino froze, the image flashing vividly in her mind—Sakura’s words painting a scene both impossible and achingly real. She saw a little version of Sakura, cheeks rosy, hair a tangled mess just like her mother’s, a pink Yamanaka scampering around the estate with boundless energy. Tiny hands tugging at Ino’s sleeve, laughing when she caught them in a chase, tripping over plush rugs, and bouncing back up with that same unbreakable spirit.

 

The child’s eyes would mirror Sakura’s—fierce, mischievous, yet brimming with a love that refused to be contained. Ino could see herself kneeling, arms wide, scooping the little one up into an embrace that smelled of sun-warmed skin and flowers from the estate gardens. Nights would be filled with bedtime stories, whispered secrets, and soft lullabies in the dim glow of candlelight, while days were chaotic, joyous, filled with playful arguments, gentle scoldings, and the endless, unrelenting chaos that only someone like Sakura could create.

 

Her cheeks flushed deeper, heat blooming through her body, as her member throbbed in response. The thought of this tiny, irrepressible version of Sakura—so full of life, so intensely theirs—was almost too much. Ino let out what almost sounded like a whimper, pressing closer to the original, her pulse racing, and found herself trembling not just with desire, but with the weight of the life she could imagine sharing, the impossible, perfect chaos that might one day fill their home.

 

“Do… don’t even joke like that,” Ino murmured, fingers tightening possessively in Sakura’s hair. “You’re… you’re too young, Sakura. Tsunade would—she’d kill me if she knew I let you do something this reckless.”

 

Sakura only smirked, tilting her head to look up at Ino, eyes gleaming with playful defiance as she moaned, still feeling Ino buried deep inside her. “Then don’t move,” she whispered, closing her eyes through the sudden pleasure. "Otherwise you'll really get me pregnant."

 

"I wouldn't have to hold back if you set up protection," Ino glared, one without any bite to it. "You can still set it up now."

 

Sakura’s hips twitched suddenly, ignoring her words, pressing against Ino’s as she gave an experimental squeeze, eyes half-lidded with fever and mischief. “Mmm… you’re so tense, Ino,” she murmured, voice low, teasing. “I wonder… what happens if I just… squeeze a little more?”

 

Ino’s eyes went wide, a strangled groan ripping from her throat as her Mokuton pulsed in response. “S-Sakura! Stop it!” she rasped, hips jerking involuntarily. “I… I cannot… I—ugh! I will not get you pregnant right now! Keep still!”

 

Sakura gasped, flushed, leaning down to press her forehead to Ino’s shoulder. “Oh… don’t tell me what you won’t do,” she murmured, fingers teasing along Ino’s ribs. “I dare you… make me yours, Ino. Make me—”

 

“No!” Ino groaned, tightening her grip, pinning Sakura close, teeth gritted as if she could hold herself together with sheer will. “You are not… making me—fuck!—come again like this!”

 

Sakura whimpered, but her teasing grin remained. “Mmm… oh? Are you actually trying to resist me?" She purred, squeezing Ino into sensitivity again despite the warnings. “Come on… I dare you. I double dare you.”

 

Sakura's hips jerked up and down, a loud moan tearing from Ino's throat as her control snapped, fingers digging into Sakura’s sides, nails grazing the skin. “S-Sakura! You—ugh! You—you are going to kill me!”

 

Sakura’s teasing only fueled the fire burning between them. Her movements were precise, deliberate, testing the edges of Ino’s control, each grind and press of her hips sending shivers up the blonde’s spine. Ino’s hands tightened like iron around Sakura’s waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh, trying to anchor both of them as heat and desire threatened to consume her entirely.

 

Her breaths came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling erratically as her member pulsed inside of Sakura, responding to every subtle shift of her body. She tried to hold back, tried to maintain control, but the relentless rhythm of Sakura’s teasing and the intoxicating scent of her fevered skin was too much.

 

Sakura’s hands roamed over Ino’s shoulders and down her breasts, trailing along taut muscles, fingers brushing with a combination of mischief and insistence. Her lips found Ino’s neck, teeth grazing softly, eliciting a strangled moan that tore from her chest. “S-Sakura… you are going to regret this.” Ino rasped, voice breaking under the pressure, hips twitching involuntarily in response to Sakura’s relentless movements.

 

Sakura’s grin only widened, eyes glinting with defiance. “Oh, but you love it,” she whispered, voice low, sultry, breath hot against Ino’s ear. “You love that I can push you, make you lose it, make you come apart right here, right now. Inside of me."

 

The tension spiraled, each heartbeat, each thrust, each teasing press bringing them closer to a breaking point neither could deny. Ino’s arms shook, her fingers clutching at Sakura as if trying to fuse them together, hips jerking against her will, her sensitive extension thrumming with the pulse of raw desire.

 

“G-God, Sakura!” Ino groaned, voice ragged, almost a plea as she struggled against the pull of their shared madness. "Don't let me finish inside you."

 

Sakura whimpered, feeling her high building up as she bounced faster. “I… I want you to,” she murmured, voice husky with need, “I want all of you, Ino… all of it now.”

 

Ino’s head fell back, lips parting in a strangled scream as the final threads of her control unraveled. Every muscle, every pulse, every ounce of desire ignited in a shattering crescendo, her Mokuton flaring in response to the chaotic, consuming force that was Sakura who came around her, leaving them both trembling, gasping, and clinging to one another.

 

Ino’s eyes were wide, dark with awe and unrestrained desire as she watched Sakura shudder and writhe above her, her body trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. Every gasp, every shiver, every arching motion made Sakura seem impossibly radiant, almost ethereal in the haze of their heat.

 

Her pink hair clung to her flushed cheeks, damp with sweat, and her eyes, half-lidded and glimmering with the intensity of her release, were fixed on Ino as if she were the only thing in existence. The way her chest rose and fell, bouncing along the tremble of her hips, made Ino’s breath hitch again, heat pooling between her legs as she drank in the sight.

 

Sakura’s lips were parted, soft moans spilling from them like music, each one tugging at something raw and possessive in Ino. Her skin glowed with warmth, flushed from both fever and ecstasy.

 

Ino reached out, fingers tracing along Sakura’s spine, over the small of her back, trying to anchor herself to the living, breathing miracle above her. “You’re… so beautiful,” Ino murmured, voice low, almost reverent, catching her own breath. “Every part of you… especially this… you’re mine.”

 

Sakura’s head fell back slightly, a shaky laugh escaping her lips, eyes glimmering with both mischief and surrender. “I… I’m yours, Ino… always,” she whispered, body still trembling as she hovered above her, clinging to Ino as if she might dissolve without her touch.

 

Ino’s breath hitched, dark desire flaring once more as her hands gripped Sakura’s hips with possessive intensity. Without warning, she pushed Sakura's body down until she was beneath her, then drove her pulsing extension deeper, thrusting hard and fast, each motion fast and unrelenting. Sakura gasped, fingers clutching at Ino’s shoulders and back, her own body trembling from the force and speed of each movement.

 

The room filled with the sounds of their chaos—moans, gasps, the slick beat of flesh meeting flesh. Ino’s Mokuton pulsed subtly beneath her, her chakra flaring just enough to heighten the sensations, each thrust drawing a sharp, breathless cry from Sakura. The younger girl’s hair fell in damp strands around her flushed face, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, completely consumed by the intensity.

 

Ino’s gaze never left Sakura, drinking in every curve, every arch, every tremor that her body offered. “So beautiful… so perfect,” she groaned, voice rough, clipped with lust. Her thrusts quickened, harder, faster, driving them both closer to the edge again.

 

Sakura’s cries mingled with hers, body bouncing and rocking with every forceful movement, her hands clawing, fingers digging into Ino’s skin as if holding herself together. “Ino, Ino—fuck—” she moaned, breathless, fevered, lost in the unforgiving rhythm.

 

Ino’s chest tightened, a rush of fierce protectiveness and love flooding through her, and then one final, shuddering surge ripped through her as she released inside Sakura once more, chest heaving, Mokuton pulsing with heat, her hands clutching the younger girl like she could anchor them both to the couch.

 

Sakura collapsed beneath her, breathing ragged, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Mmm… that was… worth it,” she murmured, pressing closer, the heat of the release still lingering, her insides being stretched and filled to the brim. “Don’t… hide it from me, Ino. That felt so… so good.”

 

Ino groaned softly, dragging her fingers through Sakura’s damp hair, pushing her down slightly to regain control. Then, with a sharp flick of chakra, her Mokuton extension receded, disappearing entirely.

 

Sakura’s eyes went wide, cheeks still flushing. “H-Hey! Wait! That—that was so good!” She whined, hands pressing against Ino’s chest. “Why’d you take it away?”

 

Ino’s dark, exasperated laugh rumbled against her lips as she pressed a hand to Sakura’s forehead, shaking her head. “Irresponsible. That’s why,” she scolded, voice low but fierce. “We can’t just… do that. If you actually end up pregnant… Tsunade might declare civil war between our clans! So we'll check for a possible repercussion first thing tomorrow morning. Do you understand me, Sakura?”

 

Sakura groaned, collapsing into Ino’s arms, still flushed and feverish, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah,” she murmured, teasing lightly despite the scolding. “But… you’re mean for taking it away.”

 

Ino pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head, chest still heaving, eyes dark but full of warmth beneath the intensity. “I am responsible, unlike someone who keeps trying to make me lose control,” she murmured, voice low, possessive. “And you… you will stay right here, quiet… and behave.”

 

Sakura’s fingers traced lazily along Ino’s arm, her voice dropping to a teasing, playful lilt. “But… what if I did get pregnant, huh?” She murmured, tilting her head, lips curling into that mischievous smirk that always sent shivers down Ino’s spine.

 

Ino’s eyes widened slightly, and she gulped, the color in her cheeks deepening. But the warmth in her gaze hardened immediately, resolve flashing through the dark intensity she radiated. “Then… then I’ll take responsibility,” she said firmly, voice low and unwavering. “Every single thing. I… I won’t let anything happen to you—or the child. Not a single thing.”

 

Sakura laughed softly, breathless, teasing, but the blush creeping across her cheeks betrayed how flustered she actually was. “Wow… you’re so serious,” she said, eyes sparkling with amusement, lips brushing against Ino’s collarbone.

 

“I am serious!” Ino shot back, hands tightening slightly around Sakura’s waist, pressing her flush against her. “This isn’t… a game, Sakura. You… you’re mine, and I protect what’s mine."

 

Sakura’s grin softened, her laughter melding into a fond sigh as she pressed her forehead lightly against Ino’s shoulder. “Mm… I do. Don’t get me wrong, I like how serious you are about this,” she admitted, voice teasing but soft. “But… I’m a medic, Ino. I know my body. You won’t get me pregnant—not right now, anyway.” She paused, eyes glinting with a playful promise. “But… maybe… next week… we can see if you can.”

 

Ino’s dark eyes glimmered with a dangerous, possessive light. Slowly, deliberately, she pressed her hand against Sakura’s temple, letting their chakra bond pulse between them. The bond hummed, subtle but insistent, threading through Sakura’s mind, drawing out her obedience, quieting her playful defiance.

 

Sakura shivered at the pull, her breath hitching as a soft, reluctant whine escaped her lips. “I…okay, fine.” she murmured, voice small, acquiescent, her usual teasing lilt dampened by the chakra’s insistence. "No more talks about breeding me."

 

Ino’s lips curved into a triumphant smile, one part dark satisfaction, one part adoration. “Good girl,” she purred, letting the word roll over her like silk and iron both. Her thumb stroked lightly along Sakura’s cheek, feeling the tension in her surrender, savoring it. “That’s exactly it… you listen, you obey."

 

Sakura pressed closer, curling against her, the pull of the chakra bond threading through her limbs and mind. She opened her mouth to protest—maybe just a little—but the insistence of Ino’s presence, her control, made it impossible to push back. The words died on her lips as she exhaled a long, resigned sigh. “…Okay… I’ll… obey,” she admitted, the edge of frustration softened into submission.

 

Ino’s grin widened, eyes dark with triumph and affection. “So perfect,” she murmured, pressing her forehead against Sakura’s. “Now, because you were reckless… we’re going to have a little… punishment.” Her voice dropped low, teasing but firm. “No… sex… for the rest of the week. Understand?”

 

Sakura’s eyes went wide, a sharp protest bubbling up, but even as she tried to form words, the chakra bond held her firmly in line. Her body wanted to resist, but her mind was tethered, insistently whispering that she couldn’t.

 

Sakura’s lips trembled, and a small, breathless whine escaped her throat. “You’re… so cruel,” she murmured, voice half-protesting, half-desperate, her fingers twining weakly in Ino’s hair. “…But I… I can’t… resist you…”

 

The pull of their chakra bond hummed insistently through her, quieting her defiance even as her mind flared with playful frustration. Her body pressed closer, warmth and lingering heat mingling with the ache of wanting more, and yet she found herself utterly incapable of disobedience. “…I’ll behave. I promise,” she whispered, each word muffled against Ino’s chest.

 

Ino’s dark eyes softened, her fierce possessiveness folding into tenderness. She cradled Sakura’s head against her shoulder, letting her small, heated frame settle into the warmth of her embrace. One hand combed through the damp strands of pink hair, thumb brushing along her temple, the other arm wrapping around Sakura’s back, holding her securely.

 

“You’re such a good girl,” Ino murmured, voice low, warm, a soft rumble beneath the surface of her usual intensity. “Obedient, reckless… and all mine. Even when you think you want to fight me, you’re always… mine.”

 

Sakura let out a small, shivering sigh, nuzzling closer into Ino’s chest, heat and lingering desire simmering beneath her skin. “Mm... yours,” she breathed, voice barely audible, soft and contented, finally giving herself permission to just melt against her.

 

Ino pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there, her chest rising and falling with steady, comforting warmth. “I love you,” she whispered, voice almost tender, a rare softness through the possessiveness she radiated. 

 

Sakura's heartbeat slowed, her thoughts softened, and in the embrace of her lover, the storm of fever, desire, and chaos finally found its anchor.

 

Ino’s arms tightened gently around her, holding her close as if to ward off the entire world. “Sleep if you want,” she whispered, her voice a comforting rumble. “I’m right here. You're safe.”

 

Sakura’s eyes fluttered closed, a small, contented hum escaping her lips. And for the first time in hours—or maybe even days—she truly let go, letting the world fall away, letting herself be held completely. Here, in Ino’s arms, she was untouchable, cherished, and utterly safe.

 

Ino’s lips pressed to her hair one final time. “Sleep well, my love,” she whispered, the words heavy with both love and dominance. 

 

And with that, the two of them remained entwined, the noise outside forgotten, leaving only warmth, protection, and the undeniable bond of two souls who had established their refuge in each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

And that's it for this arc!

And yeah, they can both be unhinged. They perfectly mirror one another for that. I won't have them start an actual family soon though, they're still young and well, there are lot of things that need to happen first.

Like, they need therapy.

Am I actually going to have them sent to therapy though?

Maybe a different kind of therapy. Where they just slowly realize certain things as they experience lots of growth.

For anyone who has read this far, thank you!

I'll see you soon for more arcs.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Where the Cherry Falls, the Bloom Follows