Chapter Text
Present
“My name is Haruno Sakura. I like kenjutsu and sweets made of rice. I dislike pointless violence. As for my dreams for the future…” the girl trails off, eyes distant.
When she looks at Kakashi and answers, it is with the same calm tone, but she smiles with teeth.
“...if I can, I would like to become a Sword Saint.”
The pink haired girl said, with the tone of discussing the weather, looking at him with the eyes of a starving wolf.
Haruno Sakura, twelve years old, daughter of the Fire Temple priestess. Kunoichi Of The Year. Excels in theoretical work, middling taijutsu, great throwing aim, but pegged as a genjutsu type in the end. Her file detailed the relationship with the Yamanaka heiress, her quiet but friendly demeanor, and strong adherence to spiritual beliefs. As the daughter of the Fire Temple priestess, she was deemed politically significant, but expected to have the same potential as a shinobi as a civilian-born.
All that Hatake Kakashi thought though, as he had to dodge and deflect rather than block because his first kunai was cut apart, was that the conclusions of the files were a crock of shit.
There was nothing in the notes even remotely alluding to the fact that Haruno Sakura was a veritable kenjutsu prodigy. All of a sudden, her desire of becoming a Sword Saint does not seem so ridiculous anymore.
And it was proper kenjutsu alright. Not tanto, which for all its popularity and being greatly similar to its bigger siblings, the use of it could not be considered kenjutsu, as it was ultimately a dagger. Pinkie used a kodachi, which at her preteen size could be wielded like a full-length katana. She handled it like it was an extension of her body.
The real kicker came when he dropped a Hell-Viewing genjutsu on her. The girl fell for it by the thousand-yard stare she got, and broke out of it after a couple seconds, which was quick enough for a genin. Then her expression flattened as Kakashi felt a certain heaviness in the air that preceded a wave of killing intent. But the wave never came. Instead, the girl assumed a quickdraw stance, and drew.
In a perfect cross-cut, the kunai in Kakashi’s hand fell apart. There was a light slash mark on his flak jacket where the tip of the sword grazed it as he stepped back.
Was…was that sword intent just now?
Killing intent was, at its core, saturating the air around you with emotionally charged chakra weaponized. It was called sword intent when directed through a blade, projecting an edge many times sharper than the physical edge. Sharper than the usual method of channeling chakra through a blade. The trick was that, when triggered by an emotional response, it took great amounts of chakra- and self control to both be angry and channel the killing intent-laden chakra somewhere else. Kakashi had faced it before when dealing with kiri-nin, and they always had a good portion of their killing intent leaking all over.
For Pinkie- no, Sakura, she had earned that much- to not leak a single drop of it? Bloody terrifying.
It was just in the brief moment when he was being slashed at that he could feel the actual intent. There was no nuance of suffocating pressure, blood and pain that the killing intent of experienced shinobi alludes to. There was only the sharp certainty of inevitable death , like suddenly realizing you’ve stepped into empty air at the edge of a cliff and you can’t find anything to hold on to. You’ve messed up and you’re going to die.
In the privacy of his own mind, Kakashi let out a beleaguered whine. She was supposed to be the normal one!
Long, long ago...
“I hereby condemn the last immortal.”
The loyal shinobi draws the otherworldly blade radiating death , and raises it as he takes a last, fond look at the one laying before him. One who taught him so much - that kindness can be empowering, that there is worth in doing what is right for its own sake - even though he was yet a child. Even in his last moments of consciousness he was ready to give up his life for the sake of severing the ties of corrupt immortality.
Yet, he must disregard the Iron Code once more.
“May you live on, and learn what it means to be human.”
With these parting words, he raises the Mortal Blade to his own neck and-
The last immortal was no more.
Six Years Ago
Wolf’s world is a jumble of light, sound, sensations - interrupted by a wave of scorching rage reminding him of a
friend
demon he had slain - and a dreamlike trance, until a bell chimes, and it suddenly isn’t.
His first moment of clarity is of a straw-haired woman dangling a bell on a red string above his face, and lifting it away. Her mouth is pursed, but her eyes light up in fond exasperation.
“Now, Sakura-chan, I know the bell rings and you like it, but this one is Buddha’s because your mother offered it up for your sake, alright? You may have another one to play with later.”
Wolf stares.
The woman places the bell charm (back?) on the tray in front of the peaceful-faced Buddha statue Wolf now realizes he was standing nearby. She mumbles half a prayer, half an apology before turning back to him. Wolf still maintains the same stare, at which the woman smiles and softly brushes his cheek with the back of her fingers.
Then she picks him up.
Wolf squirms reflexively at the contact, but is instantly distracted by what he sees when the woman walks out of the shrine with him.
There were so many people. The only time Wolf has ever seen such a number of people was when an army passed by the area he was scavenging, before Owl took him under his wing. And it wasn’t merely the number that astounded him- it was the demeanor of the people and the town around them. Through all of Wolf’s life, everywhere he walked, war has left no settlement untouched. Only through his brief service at the Hirata estate he has seen something resembling a community living in peace, but even that paled in comparison to the bustling life he sees on the streets.
And gods, this entire time he’s been carried down the road and looked down on the intersections, the settlement just went on and on and on, with no change in the amount of people, shops and buildings which would indicate that it was merely the district of the rich.
From the healthy plump of their cheeks, the make of their clothes, the displays of shops, the sprawling buildings and the colors, Wolf soaks in the prosperity .