Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Konoha was a kingdom cradled in green. Tall oaks and slender birches hemmed the walls like silent sentinels, their leaves whispering when the wind stirred.

Beyond the forest, sunlight spilled across gentle hills where farms and orchards dotted the land, their thatched roofs and rows of tilled earth giving rhythm to the countryside. The air carried the clean scent of pine and soil, tinged with woodsmoke drifting from village hearths.

At the heart of it all stood the castle. Pale stone, softened by moss in its cracks, rose in a crown of towers and battlements. The fortress did not loom in menace; rather, it seemed to belong to the forest, its walls half-cloaked in ivy, its spires catching the light like watchful eyes.

Courtyards within rang with the clash of steel as squires trained, while the inner keep echoed with softer sounds: quills scratching parchment, the crackle of hearthfires, the occasional laughter of servants as they went about their work.

Within the capital, narrow lanes wound like veins between merchant stalls and timbered homes. The market square lay open and alive with color, woven cloth hung from wooden beams, baskets overflowed with apples and herbs, and hawkers called over one another with voices sharpened by long practice.

Children darted through the press of boots and skirts, their laughter mixing with the calls of blacksmiths at the forge and the clang of horses’ hooves against cobblestones.

Summer lingered over the land. The mornings were bright and tempered by the cool shade of the forest canopy, but afternoons grew heavy with warmth, lulling the air to stillness before evening breezes swept the kingdom back into comfort.

It was a season of abundance, and in Konoha there was a sense of quiet strength, of people at ease beneath the watch of their king and queen.

Sakura moved through the market at an easy pace, the hem of her simple healer’s gown brushing dust from the cobbles. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh herbs and baked bread, familiar comforts to her trained eye and restless mind.

Vendors greeted her as she passed. Some with nods of respect, others with warm words, they knew her skill well, for she had mended more than one of their families. She smiled back, though her thoughts drifted beyond the stalls, toward the castle’s pale towers gleaming above the rooftops.

It was there her true work awaited. The apothecary chambers, cool and fragrant with dried leaves, had long been her second home. Yet she never forgot that she was not born to stone halls or titles. She had been raised in them, shaped by them, and now belonged to both the village streets and the castle’s heart.

The afternoon sun pressed down, and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes as she paused at the foot of the hill leading to the keep. The forest murmured behind her, the castle loomed before her, and in between stood Sakura Haruno: healer, apprentice, and daughter of Konoha.

Her days followed a rhythm she knew by heart. Morning often found her among the village, tending to cuts, burns, or stubborn fevers with poultices of her own making. Afternoons drew her back to the castle, where her true training unfolded beneath Tsunade’s sharp gaze and steady hand.

On her way through the outer courtyard, she paused to greet the guard posted at the gate. “Good afternoon, Sakura,” he said with a grin, lowering his spear as though it were merely a walking stick. She returned his smile, Kakashi’s men were always kind to her, their easy respect still surprising at times.

Inside, the familiar sounds of the keep wrapped around her. Steel rang in the practice yard as squires clashed under Kakashi’s watch, their laughter breaking between blows. From a high window drifted the voice of Shikaku Nara lecturing a group of young pages, the slow cadence carrying like a hum.

She had grown up in these halls, though not as a noble child. Her parents, merchants once, had been lost on the road to bandits when she was barely old enough to remember their faces. Tsunade had taken her in, raising her first as an apprentice and then as something closer to kin. Konoha had become her family, and its castle, her shelter, her school, her cage.

Crossing the threshold of the apothecary wing, the air shifted. The cool scent of dried lavender and rosemary greeted her, jars of tinctures and bundles of roots lining the shelves in ordered rows. Here, in the quiet between stone walls and herbs, Sakura belonged more than anywhere else.

The apothecary doors creaked as Sakura stepped inside. Shizune was already there, sleeves rolled to the elbow as she pounded roots into a fine paste with the mortar and pestle. The younger woman glanced up, strands of dark hair falling across her cheek.

“You’re late,” Shizune teased, though her eyes softened as she said it.

“I was at the market,” Sakura replied, setting down the satchel of herbs she had gathered. “One of the bakers burned his arm on the oven door again.”

From the adjoining chamber came Tsunade’s voice, sharp as steel yet warm beneath. “That’s because half the kingdom doesn’t listen. Which is why we healers will never be out of work.”

Tsunade emerged a moment later, a linen bandage wrapped around one hand, as if she had ignored her own advice yet again. Golden hair framed her face, strands escaping their knot. Her eyes lingered on Sakura, and in them lay both appraisal and affection.

“You’ve been busy,” Tsunade said, nodding to the satchel. “Show me what you found.”

Sakura knelt by the long oak table, spreading bundles of thyme, rosemary, and comfrey across its surface. Each herb had its place, each leaf familiar as the back of her own hand. Tsunade leaned over, her injured hand resting on the table edge.

“You’ve a good eye for quality,” Tsunade murmured, her tone softening. “Better than I did at your age.”

Shizune glanced between them, lips quirking. “Better at listening too. You didn’t nearly poison yourself on foxglove in your first year, did you, Sakura?”

Sakura shook her head, smiling faintly. “Not yet.”

The laughter between them was easy, threaded with the kind of comfort that came from years spent side by side. To others, Tsunade was the formidable royal physician, Shizune her diligent assistant. But to Sakura, they were more: mentor, sister, mother, all bound into the same small space where she had learned to carve her place in the world.

Here, in the chamber thick with the scent of herbs and the warmth of shared labor, Sakura’s past and present intertwined. Whatever else the day might bring, this was her constant.

Tsunade lowered herself onto the bench with a grunt, flexing her bandaged hand. “Shizune, write down the stores. We’ll need to know what’s running low before winter.”

Shizune set aside the mortar and wiped her hands. She moved easily to the ledger on the shelf, quill scratching against parchment. Her focus was unshakable, but her voice carried lightness. “At this rate, we’ll run out of comfrey again before the month is over. That soldier with the sprained ankle keeps sneaking back to training.”

“That fool will undo my work in a week,” Tsunade muttered. Then her eyes cut to Sakura. “Keep an eye on him. Wrap it tighter if he insists on hobbling around.”

Sakura nodded. “I’ll speak to him tomorrow morning.”

Moments like these felt ordinary, yet Sakura cherished them. The rhythm of their tasks, the ease of their banter, it was a quiet reminder of belonging. Shizune teased without cruelty, Tsunade commanded with gruff affection, and Sakura was trusted to carry the weight of both their teachings.

Shizune glanced at her with a sly smile. “Careful though, Sakura. If you do your work too well, Tsunade might actually take a rest day.”

Tsunade snorted, lifting her cup of watered wine with her uninjured hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ve no plans of stepping aside for either of you yet.” But her gaze lingered on Sakura a heartbeat longer, pride unspoken but clear.

It struck Sakura, as it often did in these moments, how unlikely her place here had been. She had no noble name, no inheritance. Only Tsunade’s choice to take in a merchant’s orphan, and Shizune’s patient guidance when grief had made learning difficult. Together, they had shaped her into something stronger than she might have ever become on her own.

The apothecary hummed with life, quills scratching, herbs being sorted, low laughter filling the gaps.

Finally Tsunade rose from the bench with a decisive motion, brushing crumbs of dried herbs from her sleeve. “Enough chatter. Sakura, take this list to the kitchens. The cooks keep hoarding honey and barley when I need it for remedies.”

She pressed the folded parchment into Sakura’s hand before she could argue. “Tell them if they want their burns and coughs treated this winter, they’ll share.”

Shizune smirked from behind the ledger. “And if they don’t, threaten to let Tsunade treat them herself.”

“That’s not a threat,” Tsunade muttered, though the twitch of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Sakura tucked the list into her satchel and turned toward the door. The errand was simple enough, but the castle kitchens were never quiet, especially not on the eve of a feast. She could already imagine the clatter of pots and the sharp voices of cooks barking orders at one another.

Sure enough, as she stepped into the corridor, a familiar voice rang down the hall before she even reached the stairs.

“Sakura! Wait up!”

Naruto barreled toward her, golden hair a tousled mess, his tunic half-untied as though he’d dressed while running. A wide grin split his face, and he nearly bowled over a passing servant before catching himself.

Naruto skidded to a stop in front of her, breathless but grinning as if the world itself were a game. “You’re hard to catch, you know that?”

Sakura arched a brow, clutching the satchel at her side. “Maybe because I wasn’t trying to be caught.”

He laughed, unbothered, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Fair. But if I didn’t chase you down, you’d hide in the apothecary all day. I was starting to think Tsunade locked you in there.”

“She nearly does,” Sakura replied dryly, though a smile tugged at her lips. “And it keeps me from tripping over nobles who forget how to breathe whenever a ball is announced.”

Naruto groaned, throwing his head back. “Don’t remind me. Mother’s been on me for weeks about tonight. Dance lessons, speeches, ‘hold yourself like a prince,’ all of it.” He gave an exaggerated bow that nearly tipped him into a passing maid’s basket.

Sakura caught his arm before he toppled. “You’re hopeless.”

“And you’re the only one who’ll say it to my face,” Naruto shot back, straightening with a grin that reached his blue eyes. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

She shook her head, walking toward the stairs with him falling into step beside her. It had always been this way, Naruto bounding ahead with reckless energy, Sakura tempering it with steady words. In the balance between them lay a bond as old as their shared childhood in the castle halls.

As they started down the stairwell, Naruto bounded two steps at a time, hands shoved into his belt as if he had nothing better to do. “You know,” he said, glancing sideways at her, “you haven’t trained with me and Kakashi in forever.”

Sakura adjusted the satchel against her hip. “That’s because I’m usually elbows-deep in herbs or patching up the fools who train with you.”

“That’s not the same,” Naruto protested, his voice echoing against the stone walls. “Kakashi keeps saying you’ve got better aim than half his squires. You could still spar a little. Just once in a while. For me?”

She shot him a sidelong look. “And risk bruising the royal heir before his grand ball? I’d rather not be the reason Tsunade has to explain to your mother why you’re limping through your opening dance.”

Naruto barked a laugh, nearly colliding with a servant carrying a tray of pears. He muttered an apology over his shoulder before lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Fine, then after the ball. No excuses. You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”

Sakura smirked faintly. “You’d break before I did.”

That only made him grin wider, the competitive spark in his eyes shining as brightly as when he sparred in the yard. “We’ll see about that.”

The stairwell opened into a wide hall that carried the warm, bustling scents of the kitchens below. Smoke and spice drifted upward, mixing with the earthy tang of stone. From here the castle felt alive, pulsing with footsteps, shouted orders, and the steady rhythm of a place forever in motion.

Naruto walked beside her with that restless energy that never seemed to dim, hands gesturing as he spoke. “I mean it, Sakura. After the ball you’re training with me. No slipping off to bury yourself in herbs. Kakashi says if you’d just-”

“-focus on swordplay instead of tonics, I’d be dangerous?” Sakura finished for him, smirking. “He’s been saying the same thing for years. And yet, every time one of his squires comes to me with a dislocated shoulder, he thanks me for putting them back together. So perhaps we’ve both found our places.”

Naruto groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re reckless,” she countered, lips quirking.

They turned the last corner toward the kitchens, where heat and noise rolled out like a tide. Servants hurried past with baskets of bread and trays of meats, their faces flushed from the ovens’ fires. The shouts of cooks rang sharp as hammers on anvils, blending into the clang of pots and pans. It was the heart of the castle, and even Naruto had to slow his stride.

A voice cut through the clamor. “Your Highness!”

Both turned as a steward hurried down the hall, bowing low before straightening with a nervous smile. “Prince Naruto, your father requests your presence. There are matters for tonight’s celebration that require your approval.”

Naruto groaned again, more dramatically this time, shoulders slumping. “Of course he does. Always when I’m having fun.” He cast Sakura a crooked grin, stepping backward a few paces. “Looks like you’re spared…for now.”

Sakura folded her arms. “Go. Before he sends someone less polite than a steward to drag you by the ear.”

That earned her a laugh as he turned to follow the man down the opposite corridor. “We’ll finish this later, Sakura! Don’t think you’re escaping me.”

His voice lingered even after he disappeared around the bend, leaving her alone in the warm chaos of the kitchen hall.

Sakura pressed forward into the kitchens, where the heat rose in waves and the air was thick with spice, smoke, and steam. The clatter of ladles against pots competed with the scrape of knives on chopping boards. Servants moved like a well-rehearsed dance, weaving between each other with trays balanced on arms and baskets hooked over shoulders.

At the center of it all stood Choza Akimichi, larger than life in both frame and presence. His apron strained against his chest, streaked with flour and grease, and his ruddy cheeks glowed from the ovens. A cleaver rested easily in his hand as he directed the chaos with booming authority.

“More salt in that broth! Don’t skimp! We’re feeding a hall, not a bird!” he bellowed, before turning to swat a younger cook’s hand away from a tray of sugared figs. “Those are for the ball, not for sneaking. You’ll have your share after.”

Sakura slipped through the throng until she stood at his side. “Master Choza,” she said, raising her voice just enough to cut through the noise.

He turned, surprise giving way to a wide grin. “Sakura! I thought Tsunade kept you chained to the apothecary. What brings you down here?”

She held up the folded parchment. “Tsunade’s orders. She says you’ve been hoarding honey and barley again.”

Choza’s laughter boomed, shaking his broad shoulders. “Hoarding? Nonsense. I’m guarding it. You healers use it all up on salves and poultices before I can even sweeten a loaf.”

Sakura tilted her head, unimpressed. “She says if you want your burns and coughs treated this winter, you’ll share.”

That earned another laugh, but this time he reached for the list. His eyes scanned the page, brow furrowing for a moment before he handed it back. “Tell Tsunade I’ll send a boy up with what she needs. Not because she threatened me, mind you, because you asked.”

She allowed herself a small smile. “I’ll let her think otherwise. It’ll make my life easier.”

Choza chuckled, already turning back to bark new orders. “Clever girl. Now get out of here before you’re trampled. These fools barely know their left from their right without me.”

Sakura stepped aside as a tray of bread loaves swept past her, nearly knocking the satchel from her shoulder. The noise, the heat, the hurried steps, it was overwhelming to some, but to her it was simply another rhythm of the castle she called home. She tucked the list back into her satchel and made her way toward the door, Choza’s laughter still rumbling in the background.

She slipped out of the kitchens, grateful for the cooler air of the corridor. The warmth of roasting meats clung to her clothes, but the quiet beyond the heavy doors gave her a moment to breathe. She adjusted the strap of her satchel and started the climb back toward the apothecary wing.

The castle was buzzing in ways it normally did not. Everywhere she turned, preparations for the evening’s ball spilled into the halls. Servants carried stacks of polished masks wrapped in cloth; some carved of wood, some hammered from thin sheets of brass, others painted with bright pigments that caught the light. Animal shapes, foxes, stags, owls, hounds, stared back at her from open baskets as though the castle itself had grown wild eyes.

It was tradition. For Naruto’s birthday, the ball was never an ordinary feast. The prince’s coming-of-age years had turned it into something grander, each celebration an excuse for spectacle.

This year, Minato and Kushina had decreed it an animal masque, guests cloaked in velvet, their faces hidden behind beasts of feather and fur. It would be as much theater as festivity, meant to dazzle allies and remind rivals that Konoha’s wealth and imagination ran deep.

Sakura, of course, had no mask yet.

She sighed at the thought, her steps quickening along the familiar stone path. Ino had promised to help her with it, a task that had quickly grown into designing an entire dress as well. Ino Yamanaka could never resist such things. Best friend, sometime rival, and full-time critic, Ino would sooner die than let Sakura show up at the royal ball in her plain healer’s gowns.

The thought brought the ghost of a smile to Sakura’s lips. She could already hear Ino’s voice in her head: “You may live with herbs and dust, Forehead, but for one night you’re going to shine.”

The corridor narrowed as she turned into the apothecary wing again, the familiar scent of dried herbs pulling her back to steadiness. The ball, the masks, the swirling currents of nobles and politics, it all seemed distant here. Yet by nightfall, she knew she would be drawn into the crowd, face hidden behind some chosen beast, her place in the kingdom on display for all to see.

She pushed the apothecary doors open, parchment in hand, ready to face Tsunade once more.

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By early afternoon, Sakura was weaving through the Yamanaka estate, where the air was thick with the fragrance of blossoms. The family’s flower business had made them one of the most valued in the kingdom; every hall overflowed with vases of orchids, roses, and lilies, each arranged as if for royalty. The scent clung to her with every step.

“Ino?” Sakura called, passing a pair of servants carrying crates of fresh blooms toward the storefront.

“In here!” came the bright reply.

She followed the voice into a back chamber usually meant for arranging bouquets, now overtaken by bolts of cloth, scattered sketches, and a mannequin standing like a sentinel in the center. Ino was already there, radiant even in a simple robe, blonde hair spilling loose around her shoulders. She turned with a flourish, one hand on her hip and the other pointing proudly toward her creation.

“There you are.”

Sakura’s gaze landed on the gown, and her steps faltered. White fabric cascaded down in layers, embroidered with silver threads that gleamed like frost. A jeweled brooch sat at the neckline, and from the back spread a pair of feathered wings, folded neatly yet so finely made they seemed ready to lift in the next breeze.

“Ino…” Sakura breathed, fingers brushing the hem of the skirt. “It’s beautiful. But…” she hesitated, looking at her friend, “don’t you think it’s a little much?”

“Much?” Ino scoffed, her laugh sharp and proud. She swept across the room to fuss with the mannequin, adjusting the tilt of the wings. “You forget, Forehead…this is Naruto’s birthday ball, and it isn’t just a feast. Everyone important will be there, draped in masks and silk, trying to outshine one another. You think I’d let you show up looking plain? Not when you’re Tsunade’s apprentice.”

Sakura shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Still. All this fabric…”

“From the surplus stock,” Ino said airily, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Leftover white cloth from the drapings we did for Lady Kushina’s garden party. Waste not, want not. Besides,” she leaned in with a sly grin,“when your family runs the most prized flower business in Konoha, you learn quickly: presentation is everything.”

Sakura turned back to the gown, the silver catching the sunlight. Her chest tightened with something between awe and nerves. “You always know how to make an entrance, Ino.”

“And now,” Ino said, eyes gleaming, “so will you.”

Sakura tore her eyes from the gleaming white gown, blinking back her awe. “If this is what you’ve made for me… what about you? You’re not going to outshine me in my own dress, are you?”

Ino smirked, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, please. As if I’d ever let myself look anything less than unforgettable.” She crossed the room to a chair draped with fabric, and with a dramatic flick of her hand, lifted the covering.

Beneath lay her own gown, sleek black silk embroidered with silver vines that shimmered like moonlight on water. The bodice was cut to flatter her figure, the skirt layered in sweeping folds that promised grace with every movement. Resting beside it was a mask shaped like a cat’s face, pointed ears already lacquered to shine.

Sakura let out a low whistle. “Ino… that’s bold.”

“Bold?” Ino preened, gathering the skirt in her hands to let it spill through her fingers. “It’s perfection. A cat for cunning, mystery, allure. And besides, black and silver set off my hair beautifully.” She tossed her long blonde locks back as if to prove the point.

Sakura shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re going to have half the men in the hall clawing for a dance.”

“Of course I will,” Ino said, matter-of-fact, then jabbed a finger toward Sakura. “And so will you. Don’t think you’ll fade into the crowd. Between us, we’ll own that ballroom.”

Sakura glanced back at her own gown, its soft white folds catching the sunlight beside Ino’s dark elegance. Two opposites: night and day, cat and bird, yet both gleaming in their own right. She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Ino’s grin turned smug, though her voice softened. “Naturally. That’s what best friends are for.”

Ino circled the mannequin like a predator admiring her prize. “Well? Don’t just stare at it. Try it on!”

Sakura blinked, taken aback. “Now?”

“Of course now,” Ino said, exasperated. “How else will we know if I need to adjust the wings? They have to sit just right, Forehead. You can’t float into a ballroom with crooked feathers.”

Sakura’s gaze lingered on the gown, her stomach tightening with nerves. She lifted her hand, catching sight of the faint smudge of earth still beneath her fingernails from sorting herbs earlier. The faint, clinging scent of rosemary and thyme followed her even here, stubborn reminders of her work.

Her shoulders sagged. “Ino… I can’t. Not yet. I’d ruin it just by touching it. Look at me, I still smell like the apothecary.”

Ino froze mid-step, her mouth parting as though to argue. Then she crossed her arms with a theatrical pout, tapping one slippered foot against the floor. “You’re impossible. Honestly, you act as though dirt will leap from your fingers and stain the fabric forever.”

Sakura gave her a sheepish smile. “Maybe it would.”

Ino’s pout softened into a sigh, though mischief still flickered in her eyes. “Fine. But you’re coming back two hours before the ball. No excuses, no herbs, no running errands for Tsunade. I’ll have the dress pressed, your hair set, and your mask waiting. If you don’t show, I’ll send half my family’s shop after you.”

Sakura laughed, the sound easing her nerves. “You’d do it, too.”

“Try me,” Ino said, lips curving into a victorious smile. She reached out, squeezing Sakura’s hand. “Trust me, Forehead. Tonight, you’re going to look like you were meant to soar.”

Sakura left the Yamanaka estate with the scent of flowers clinging to her hair and clothes, her mind still caught between awe and unease at the gown Ino had made for her. The afternoon sun spilled across the cobblestone streets, where villagers hurried about with baskets of goods and servants bustled to and from the castle gates. 

Everywhere she looked, Konoha seemed to hum with anticipation for the night ahead, lanterns being strung, carts rolling in with barrels of wine, laughter spilling from tavern doors as if the whole kingdom prepared to celebrate.

She adjusted the strap of her satchel and started the climb toward the castle. Thoughts of feathers, masks, and crowded halls pressed against the edges of her mind, clashing with the steady rhythm of her usual work. A healer belonged in quiet chambers with herbs, not swirling among nobles in silks.

“Shouldn’t you be buried in jars and bandages by now?”

The voice came from her left, smooth and dry as weathered stone. Sakura stopped mid-step and turned. Kakashi leaned against the low wall of the lane, arms folded across his chest, one eye visible above the cloth mask that covered the lower half of his face. His posture was lazy, but the way he watched her was not.

“Master-at-Arms,” Sakura said, recovering her composure with a faint smile. “Shouldn’t you be in the yard making squires cry?”

“One can only enjoy so much weeping in a day,” Kakashi replied, pushing off the wall to fall into step beside her. He didn’t hurry, but somehow she had to quicken her pace to match his long strides. “Besides, I’ve been sent to make sure certain people aren’t neglecting tonight’s festivities.”

Sakura narrowed her eyes. “Tsunade sent you, didn’t she?”

“Maybe.” His single visible eye crinkled in amusement. “Or maybe Naruto wouldn’t stop pestering me about whether you’d actually show up.”

Her lips twitched. “You can tell him I’ll be there. Ino would drag me by the hair if I tried to avoid it.”

Kakashi tilted his head, as though that amused him more than it should. “Good. Because if the prince has to survive another round of diplomatic speeches, he’ll need his closest ally nearby.”

Sakura glanced at him sidelong. “And what about you?”

“I’ll be hiding behind my mask, pretending to enjoy the music,” Kakashi said easily. His gaze flicked to her hands, still faintly stained with herbs.

Sakura gave a soft snort, but the truth of his words lingered as the castle gates loomed ahead.

They walked a few more paces in comfortable silence, the steady hum of the village fading as the castle walls drew closer.

Then Kakashi spoke, his tone deceptively casual. “Naruto isn’t wrong, you know.”

Sakura blinked. “About what?”

“Practice.” His hands slipped into his sleeves as he strolled, as though the topic hardly mattered. “You’ve been scarce on the training field. Used to hold your own better than half the squires. Now you vanish behind herbs and poultices.”

Sakura frowned, tucking a stray lock of pink hair behind her ear. “I’m a healer. That’s where I’m needed most.”

“True,” Kakashi allowed, eye curving with a faint smile. “But a sharp mind and steady hands won’t stop a blade if someone corners you outside the apothecary. Skill dulls when it isn’t used.”

She looked away, her steps slowing just slightly. He wasn’t wrong. Years ago, Tsunade had insisted she learn some defense alongside her studies, and Kakashi had honed her through countless sparring matches. But as the work of a healer grew heavier, she had let her practice slip.

“Maybe after the ball,” she said at last, voice low. “When things calm down.”

“After the ball, hm?” Kakashi drawled, clearly unconvinced. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He glanced down at her, his tone softening. “Don’t mistake me, Sakura. Konoha needs its healers. But it also needs them alive.”

They reached the base of the keep, where banners were already being unfurled from the battlements and servants hurried past with arms full of garlands and lanterns. Kakashi slowed, scanning the activity with the watchful ease of a man who noticed everything and admitted nothing.

“Looks like my cue,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Protection detail for tonight. Nobles love their speeches, but they also love making trouble.”

Sakura glanced up at him, but he was already turning away, vanishing into the throng of servants and guards with that uncanny, unhurried stride of his.

She shook her head softly and made her way through the stone halls until the familiar scent of dried herbs reached her nose. The apothecary wing was quieter than the rest of the castle, until she pushed the door open.

Tsunade stood inside, hands braced against the worktable, shoulders taut with anger. Papers were scattered across the surface, a jar of dried mint knocked onto its side, spilling leaves across the floor. Shizune hovered nearby, pale and uneasy, as though she had tried and failed to soothe the storm.

Sakura stopped in the doorway. “Tsunade?”

The royal physician’s head snapped up, golden hair spilling from its tie, eyes flashing. “You’re back,” she said, voice tight. “Good."

She slapped a parchment flat against the table, the crack echoing off the stone walls.

Sakura stepped forward, pulse quickening. “What’s wrong?”

Tsunade’s hand pressed flat against the parchment, her knuckles whitening. “This,” she spat, “was delivered not an hour ago.”

Sakura moved closer, her eyes flicking to the seal broken across the page, but Tsunade shifted her arm just enough to block the words. Her mentor’s jaw was tight, her breath sharp through her nose, the controlled fury that usually meant disaster.

Shizune stepped in, her voice careful. “It’s… troubling news, Sakura. Something we’ll have to address soon.”

Sakura’s brows drew together. “What sort of news?”

Tsunade snapped the parchment up again, folding it sharply in half as if the words themselves burned. “Not now. Not today.” Her eyes cut to Sakura, fierce enough to still any protest. “Tonight is Naruto’s ball. We’ll not spoil it with this.”

The words fell like a command, heavy and final.

Shizune gave Sakura an apologetic glance, hands twisting in her sleeves. “There’ll be time to discuss it later. For now… just focus on the preparations.”

Sakura swallowed her questions, though unease stirred in her chest. She knew better than to press when Tsunade’s temper flared like this. Whatever the letter carried, it would not stay buried long.

Tsunade shoved the folded parchment into her sleeve and turned back to the scattered herbs. Sakura forced her thoughts away from the folded letter still tucked in Tsunade’s sleeve. Whatever news it carried, she could do nothing about it now. Better to keep her hands busy than let her mind wander.

Tsunade straightened, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off her anger. “Enough of this. We’ve got more immediate problems. By tomorrow morning, half this castle will be sprawled in the halls, moaning like the dead.”

Shizune blinked. “From what?”

“From wine, of course,” Tsunade snapped, as though it were obvious. “It’s a ball. And if we don’t prepare, I’ll be dragged out of bed to cure every noble who thinks they can drink like an Akimichi.”

She swept a pile of jars toward Sakura with one bandaged hand. “We’re mass-producing hangover tonics. Willow bark, milk thistle, honey, start brewing.”

Sakura caught the jars before they toppled, stifling a laugh. “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.”

Tsunade shot her a flat look that only made Shizune press her lips together to hide a smile.

Within moments, the apothecary was alive with motion again. Shizune measured herbs with her usual precision, Sakura crushed dried bark beneath the mortar, and Tsunade dictated proportions as if commanding soldiers on a battlefield. The air filled with the sharp bite of bitter roots and the faint sweetness of honey, a strange perfume of preparation.

Sakura focused on her work, grinding herbs, letting the repetition drown out the memory of Tsunade’s clenched fists and folded letter. For now, it was enough to keep busy.

By the time the shelves were lined with neat rows of cloudy vials, the sun had already dipped low, staining the apothecary windows with gold. The air was thick with the mingled scents of honey and bitter herbs, and Sakura’s arms ached from grinding and stirring.

She wiped her hands on a rag and glanced at Tsunade. “Is that enough for half the castle?”

“It’ll have to be,” Tsunade muttered, tugging at the bandage around her hand. “Go on, then. You’ll need time to make yourself presentable. Don’t keep Ino waiting, or she’ll storm in here and drag you off herself.”

Shizune gave a small smile, nodding toward the door. “Go on, Sakura. We’ll finish the clean-up.”

Sakura hesitated, but the look Tsunade shot her brooked no argument. With a quick bow of thanks, she slipped out into the hall.

Her chambers were quiet, tucked away in one of the castle’s smaller wings. She lit a taper and let the steam of the waiting bath rise around her, sinking into the water with a sigh.

The warmth chased the ache from her arms, though not the unease that lingered in her chest. She scrubbed her fingers until the last of the dirt and herb-stains faded, the clinging scent of rosemary and thyme finally replaced with lavender soap.

When she stepped out, she bound her damp hair loosely at the nape of her neck and wrapped herself in a simple gown. It was not meant to dazzle, only to keep her decent until she could get to Ino.

By the time Sakura reached the Yamanaka estate, the last of the daylight had melted into twilight. Lanterns glowed in the windows, casting golden light across the flower-lined path to the door. She knocked once before Ino’s voice rang out from within.

“Come in! Hurry, Forehead, we don’t have all night!”

Sakura stepped inside to find Ino already half-dressed in her black-and-silver gown, hair pinned into an elegant cascade that gleamed against the dark silk. She stood before a tall mirror, adjusting the angle of her lacquered cat mask before catching Sakura’s reflection in the glass.

“You’re late,” Ino said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her excitement. “Quickly. Dress. We’ve got work to do.”

Before Sakura could protest, Ino was at her side, pushing the gown into her arms and ushering her behind a folding screen. “And be careful, that fabric cost me two headaches and three pinpricks.”

Sakura slipped into the dress, the cool fabric sliding like water over her skin. She smoothed the bodice down, fingers trembling just slightly as the silver embroidery caught the light. When she stepped out from behind the screen, Ino clapped her hands together with a triumphant laugh.

“Ha! I knew it. You look like you’ve stepped out of a dream.”

Sakura tugged nervously at the skirt. “It feels… a little much.”

“Not at all.” Ino circled her like a hawk, tugging here, pinning there, straightening the fall of the gown with deft hands. “A few alterations and it’ll be perfect. Lift your arms--yes, just like that. Stop fidgeting.”

Sakura obeyed, cheeks warming as Ino worked. When the last pin was set, Ino turned her toward the mirror. “There. See?”

The gown shimmered, pale as new snow, the silver threads curling like frost across her bodice. Sakura swallowed, uncertain of the stranger looking back at her.

“Sit,” Ino ordered, guiding her to a stool. She tugged the tie from Sakura’s damp hair, letting the pink strands spill loose. With quick, practiced fingers, she began weaving and pinning, braiding a crown across the top before curling the rest into soft waves.

Powder brushed Sakura’s cheeks, a hint of color touched her lips, and before long her reflection was no longer the weary healer but someone otherworldly.

Finally, Ino reached for the wings. The feathered fabric gleamed faintly in the lamplight as she fastened them carefully into place at Sakura’s back. She stepped away, satisfaction bright in her eyes.

“There,” Ino said softly, her usual sharpness giving way to something more tender. “My snow owl. Ready to fly.”

Sakura rose, testing the weight of the wings as they shifted behind her. For the first time that day, awe replaced doubt.

“Ino…” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll enjoy yourself tonight,” Ino replied briskly, though her smile was warm. “And say you’ll remember who made you the most stunning woman in the room.”

Sakura laughed, the sound unsteady but genuine. “That part won’t be hard.”

The streets leading back toward the castle were already alive with music and lantern light. Nobles in silks and servants in finer clothes than usual passed by in groups, masks tucked under arms or already tied in place. The city itself seemed to hum, every window glowing, every corner alive with voices.

Sakura and Ino walked side by side, their gowns sweeping against the cobblestones. Sakura held her mask carefully in her hand, the white owl’s face painted in soft strokes of silver, while Ino strutted proudly in her black-and-silver cat’s gown, mask tilted jauntily in her hair for now.

“You’ll like this,” Ino said suddenly, lips curving into a sly grin. “Naruto’s theme tonight? He and Lady Kushina are going as foxes. Matching, of course.”

Sakura blinked, then laughed. “Matching his mother? That sounds exactly like something she’d force him into.”

“Oh no, it was his idea,” Ino corrected with relish. “He told me himself. Said if he’s dressed like her, maybe it’ll scare off the gaggle of ladies lining up to throw themselves at him.”

Sakura stifled another laugh, shaking her head. “That’s… very Naruto.”

“He’s hopeless,” Ino agreed with a dramatic sigh. “Prince of Konoha, and his grand strategy to avoid marriage is hiding behind his mother’s skirts.” She shot Sakura a look out of the corner of her eye. “You’d think the ball was for him to choose a bride, not celebrate another year of surviving.”

Sakura adjusted the strap of her mask, the corners of her lips tugging upward despite herself. “If it keeps him happy, let him wear all the fox masks he wants. He’ll always find a way to make the night about fun instead of duty.”

Ino’s grin softened. “And you’ll be there to keep him grounded. You always are.”

The castle loomed ahead now, its towers ablaze with lantern light, the drawbridge open to welcome the flood of guests inside. Music drifted from the great hall, already alive with the murmur of voices and the promise of celebration.

“Ready?” Ino asked, slipping her mask into place.

Sakura lifted hers, the snow owl’s white feathers cool against her cheeks, and nodded.

Together, they stepped across the threshold into the glow of the ball.

---

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Chapter Text

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The great hall had been transformed into something unrecognizable.

Lanterns swayed high above, strung between the vaulted beams, their light softened by colored glass so the chamber glowed in warm shades of amber and gold. The stone walls were draped in velvet banners stitched with the crest of Konoha, but each corner had been dressed to resemble the forest outside; clusters of greenery woven with flowers, branches arching overhead as though guests walked beneath a woodland canopy.

Masks glittered in the lamplight, gleaming from every face. A stag with branching antlers swept past in conversation with a hawk. A woman in a wolf’s mask laughed behind her fan, while a cluster of deer and other animals moved together near the musicians. Strings and lutes filled the air with lilting notes, weaving through the hum of voices and the occasional peal of laughter.

The floor itself had been polished to a mirror shine. At its center, nobles and courtiers moved in sweeping arcs, their silks and velvets a river of shifting color. Feathers brushed shoulders, painted eyes flashed beneath carved wood, and everywhere, the air vibrated with the sense of spectacle, of masks hiding secrets, of the night belonging as much to mystery as to celebration.

Sakura paused just inside the doorway, the owl mask held lightly against her face, her breath catching. She had grown up in this castle, walked these halls all her life, but she had never seen them like this. Never so alive, so transformed.

Beside her, Ino adjusted her cat’s mask and gave a low whistle. “Well. If nothing else, they outdid themselves this year.” Her lips curved into a sly grin. “Now don’t just stand there gaping, Forehead. We’re here to make an entrance.”

As Sakura and Ino crossed the threshold into the hall, heads turned. A ripple of glances followed them, the sweep of silver-threaded wings catching the lamplight, the gleam of black silk gliding beside them. Murmurs stirred here and there, voices lowered behind feathered masks.

For a moment, Sakura felt the weight of it press against her chest. Ino, of course, basked in it, striding as if the floor itself had been laid out for her alone. Sakura kept her head high, forcing her steps to remain steady even as her palms prickled with nerves beneath the owl’s mask.

But then, as though on cue, the room shifted. The great doors at the far end swung open, and all eyes turned away.

Trumpets flared. The herald’s voice rang out over the music, commanding the hall to silence. “Their Majesties, King Minato and Queen Kushina of Konoha, with His Highness, Prince Naruto.”

The crowd parted like water. Minato strode forward in golden finery, his fox mask gleaming, the calm authority in his bearing unmistakable. At his side, Kushina swept into the hall with her flame-red hair tumbling over her shoulders, her own fox mask a striking twin to Naruto’s.

And Naruto, bright-eyed and grinning beneath his mask, matched his mother step for step. His tunic flared with scarlet and gold, the tails of his cloak stitched to mimic a fox’s brush. He raised a hand in greeting to the crowd, and a cheer broke out that echoed through the vaulted beams above.

Sakura felt Ino lean close, her voice sharp with amusement. “See? Matching foxes. He’s utterly hopeless.”

Sakura’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but her gaze lingered on the three figures at the center of the hall. The royal family moved as though the night itself belonged to them, and for this moment, it did.

The herald’s voice faded, and King Minato stepped forward to the dais at the head of the hall. He lifted his fox mask just enough for his voice to carry clearly.

“My friends, my allies,” he began, his tone calm but warm, “on behalf of the royal house of Konoha, I thank you for joining us on this night. We gather not only to celebrate the birth of my son, but to honor the strength of the bonds that make this kingdom thrive. May the wine be sweet, the music endless, and may you all find joy beneath the masks you wear this evening.”

A cheer swept through the hall, glasses lifted high as the musicians struck up a livelier tune. The crowd stirred again, conversations blooming as dancers began to take their places on the gleaming floor.

It wasn’t long before a tall man in a stag mask bowed low before Ino. “My lady,” he said smoothly, offering his hand. “Might I have the honor of the first dance?”

Ino’s lips curved into a pleased smile. She cast Sakura a quick, triumphant look before placing her hand in his. “Of course,” she said, allowing herself to be led into the crowd.

Sakura watched them disappear into the swirl of gowns and feathers, suddenly very aware of her own solitude. She adjusted the edge of her owl mask, her wings brushing softly behind her as she moved to the side, searching for a quiet corner to gather herself.

But before she could retreat, a figure stepped into her path. A wolf’s mask, sharp and pale beneath the lantern light, regarded her with a lazy tilt of the head.

“Lady Sakura,” came the low, familiar drawl. “Would you grant me a dance?”

Her eyes widened behind the mask. “Kakashi?”

He inclined his head, one gloved hand extended. “Who else?”

For a moment, she hesitated, healer, apprentice, out of place among the silks and games of court. But the wolf’s gaze held hers steadily, and something in her chest eased.

“Yes,” she said at last, slipping her hand into his. “I would.”

And with that, Kakashi led her onto the floor.

The musicians struck up a steady rhythm, strings and lutes weaving together in a lively tune. Kakashi guided Sakura easily into the steps, his hand steady at her waist, his other holding hers with a lightness that made the movements almost effortless.

Sakura tilted her head, eyeing him from beneath the curve of her mask. “I thought your plan was to pretend to enjoy the music from the sidelines. Hiding, wasn’t it?”

Beneath the wolf’s mask, his single visible eye curved, amused. “That was the plan.” His tone was dry as ever, but something about it carried an edge she didn’t miss. “Plans change.”

The words made her pause, her steps faltering for half a beat before he guided her smoothly back into rhythm. She narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Kakashi’s voice lowered, soft enough that it didn’t carry beyond the space between them. “It means your mentor is a stubborn woman who thinks shielding you will buy her time. That letter she snapped at you over earlier? It wasn’t just some minor complaint.”

Sakura’s chest tightened. “You know what it said?”

His gaze met hers, unflinching. “Reports of sickness. A spreading disease in Oto.”

The music swelled around them, laughter and voices echoing across the glittering hall, but for Sakura the air seemed to grow thin. She clung tighter to his hand without realizing it, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And Tsunade didn’t tell me?”

“She doesn’t want you distracted tonight,” Kakashi said simply. “But distraction won’t make the truth go away.”

He turned her in a graceful spin, the feathers of her wings brushing the light from the chandeliers, and drew her back close. His tone softened, but the weight in it remained. “Enjoy the ball while you can, Sakura. Tomorrow will be different.”

Sakura’s steps faltered again, her pulse quickening. She lifted her eyes to the sharp lines of the wolf’s mask. “What do you mean, different ? What’s going to happen?”

Kakashi’s hand tightened slightly at her waist, steadying her as the music shifted to a slower turn. His voice dropped low, meant for her ears alone. “Word is, Oto is sending delegates. They’ll arrive within days to ask for aid. To discuss terms.”

Her breath caught. “Delegates?”

“Yes.” He guided her through a turn, his tone as smooth as the practiced steps of the dance. “Two of them, if the rumors are true. One is Shisui Uchiha, sharp, silver-tongued, and likely the one to do most of the talking.”

“And the other?” she pressed, her voice barely a whisper beneath the swell of music.

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed faintly behind the mask. “Madara.”

The name seemed to linger in the air like a shadow, heavy and unsettling.

Sakura swallowed hard, the rhythm of the dance suddenly a fragile thing she had to fight to keep. “So this is what Tsunade didn’t want me to know.”

“Likely,” Kakashi admitted. His gaze softened a fraction as he leaned closer, enough that only she could hear. “But secrets don’t stay hidden for long. And whatever comes of this, Sakura, you’ll be in the middle of it.”

The final notes of the song rang out, the dancers pausing as the music shifted. Kakashi released her hand, stepping back with a slight bow that was half courtesy, half dismissal.

“Enjoy the night while it’s still yours,” he murmured, before fading back into the crowd.

Sakura stepped away from the dance floor, her breath uneven beneath the owl’s mask. The swirl of colors and masks around her pressed too close, the air too thick.

She wove through the throng toward the edge of the hall, her gaze sweeping over the crowd in search of Tsunade. Surely her mentor would still be lurking somewhere near the dais, glass in hand, glaring at anyone who dared to interrupt her thoughts.

But as Sakura moved, she felt it, that subtle prickle at the back of her neck. The sense of eyes on her.

She glanced over her shoulder. The crowd was a riot of feathers and horns, laughter spilling like wine, masks glinting in the lantern light. Nothing out of place.

And yet.

Among them, half-hidden near the shadow of a column, stood a figure stiller than the rest. Their mask was carved in dark lines, sharp and predatory, an animal she could not place at first glance. They did not move, did not mingle, only watched.

The moment Sakura’s gaze brushed over them, the figure shifted just enough to melt back into the crowd, vanishing between a cluster of stags and doves.

Sakura exhaled, shaking her head. Paranoia. Just nerves. She drew her shoulders back and pressed on, focusing once more on finding Tsunade.

But behind her, unseen, the watcher’s eyes lingered. Hidden beneath the mask, sharp and intent, they followed the sway of her white feathers through the crowd. What began as curiosity curled into something sharper, more possessive.

And though Sakura did not know it yet, her presence had already taken root in a mind that would not let her go.

Sakura pushed her way through the crowd until at last she caught sight of golden hair gleaming in the lantern light. Tsunade stood near one of the long tables, goblet in hand, glaring down at some poor servant who had clearly made the mistake of hovering too close. Shizune lingered a step behind her, hands folded neatly but her eyes darting everywhere like a hawk’s.

Sakura quickened her pace, weaving between masked couples until she reached them. “Tsunade,” she said softly, low enough not to draw the attention of those nearby.

Her mentor’s sharp eyes flicked up, narrowing the moment she caught sight of Sakura’s expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?”

Sakura hesitated, breath catching. The music and laughter pressed around her, but Kakashi’s words still rang in her ears. “Kakashi told me about the letter. About Oto. That delegates are coming to discuss terms for help.”

For a moment, Tsunade didn’t speak. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her goblet until her knuckles whitened. Then, with a sharp breath through her nose, she set the cup down on the table with a soft clink .

“Not here,” she said, voice low and clipped. She cast a quick glance at the crowd, then jerked her chin toward a side corridor. “Come with me. If you’re going to hear it, you’ll hear it somewhere private.”

Shizune’s brow furrowed, but she gave a quick nod, already slipping into step behind them as Tsunade turned on her heel.

Sakura followed, her wings brushing the shoulders of passing guests as the three of them slipped away from the music and the lantern light into the quieter shadows of the hall.

The corridor muffled the music behind them, each step carrying them further from the laughter and swirling masks of the hall. Tsunade pushed open the heavy door to a side chamber, a smaller room, lined with shelves of old ledgers and maps, its only light the glow of a single wall sconce. She swept inside, Shizune closing the door firmly behind them.

Sakura tugged off her owl mask, the feathers brushing her cheek as she lowered it to her side. “Tell me the truth. What’s happening?”

Tsunade faced her squarely, her expression carved in stone. “The letter came from Oto. They’re dealing with an illness, spreading, from what little their messenger described. They’re asking for aid.”

Sakura’s stomach tightened. “Illness? How bad?”

“Bad enough they’re sending delegates themselves,” Tsunade said sharply. “And not just anyone. Shisui and Madara Uchiha will arrive within days to bargain for our help.”

The name hung in the air like a weight. Sakura’s mind flashed with what she knew of Oto, a kingdom of hard mountains and colder politics, the Uchiha family its iron core. Neighbors, but never friends.

“They’ve never been our allies,” Shizune added softly. “At best, uneasy neighbors. At worst…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking toward Tsunade.

“Enemies without the declaration,” Tsunade finished flatly. “And now they come asking for what they cannot manage alone.”

Sakura’s throat felt dry. “And what does this have to do with me?”

Tsunade stepped closer, her gaze sharp. “Because I intend to send you, Sakura. When the time comes, you’ll go to Oto in my stead. Shizune and I will stay here, there are too many depending on us within Konoha. But you…” She paused, her voice softening. “You have the skill. And you have the heart to see through whatever game they’ll try to play.”

Sakura’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest rose and fell, the echo of the music from the ballroom pressing faintly against the silence of the chamber.

“I know it’s a burden,” Tsunade said, lowering her voice. “But if their people are sick, if Lady Mikoto herself is sick, then Konoha cannot afford to ignore it. This could change everything, for them, and for us.”

Sakura’s breath caught in her throat. “You want me to go to Oto? Alone?”

“Not alone,” Tsunade said firmly. “You’ll have an escort. But yes, it will be you they look to for answers. And you’re more than capable.”

“I…” Sakura faltered, her pulse quickening. “I’ve studied, I’ve healed villagers, soldiers… but this? A whole kingdom? And the Uchiha, of all people…”

Her mentor cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Enough. Doubt won’t serve you here. You’re stronger than you believe, Sakura. You’ve proven that a hundred times over.”

The words should have steadied her, but they only burned hotter in her chest. Stronger than she believed, yet not strong enough to be told the truth until she stumbled into it herself.

Her jaw tightened. “You should have told me sooner.”

Tsunade’s expression flickered, then softened, the steel in her voice easing. “I know. But tonight is for Konoha to celebrate, and for you to breathe before the burden falls. I only meant to give you that much.”

The reassurance did little to cool the restless churn of emotions twisting in Sakura’s stomach. She gave a short bow, more stiff than graceful. “With respect, I need air.”

Before either Tsunade or Shizune could answer, Sakura turned and slipped back into the corridor. The muffled swell of music pressed against her ears again, and she pushed her way through another door, out into the cool night.

The gardens stretched before her, lanterns strung through the trees and flowerbeds so they glowed like stars scattered across the earth. The hum of the ball was distant here, softened by the rustle of leaves and the trickle of a fountain.

Sakura drew a breath, clutching the owl mask against her chest. Shock still trembled in her limbs, mingling with doubt, mingling with something hotter, sharper…annoyance at being sheltered when she should have been trusted.

She walked slowly along the gravel path, trying to steady her heartbeat against the quiet of the night.

A soft crunch of gravel sounded behind her. Instinct prickled across her skin, the same feeling she’d had in the ballroom when she’d noticed that still figure by the column.

Sakura turned sharply, one hand tightening around the mask at her chest.

He stood a few paces away, half in shadow, tall, cloaked, the sharp lines of his animal mask catching the lamplight. The dark ridges of it gave the impression of something predatory, a wolf or hound perhaps, though it was carved with such severity it was hard to place. He did not move closer, but the weight of his gaze was unmistakable.

“You,” Sakura said softly, wary. “You were watching me earlier.”

The man inclined his head in acknowledgment, his voice low and steady beneath the mask. “You noticed.”

Her pulse quickened. She shifted her stance subtly, ready to retreat if she had to. “Why?”

He stepped forward once, the gravel crunching softly underfoot, though he kept a careful distance. “Curiosity.” A pause. “You stand out.”

Sakura frowned, feathers of her wings rustling faintly as she drew herself taller. “There are dozens of women in gowns tonight. You chose me to stare at?”

“Not chose,” the masked man corrected quietly. “Drawn.”

The word hung between them, heavy in the night air. His tone was neither mocking nor flirtatious, more like a statement of fact, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Sakura’s unease deepened. She turned slightly, keeping him in her periphery as she glanced back toward the glowing hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I should return inside.”

The man didn’t follow, but she could feel his eyes lingering, tracing the line of her feathers as she walked back toward the music.

Unseen behind the mask, his lips curved faintly, as though he’d just confirmed something he already suspected.

When Sakura’s white feathers finally disappeared back into the lantern glow of the hall, he let out a quiet hum. His gloved hand brushed along the carved edge of his mask, lingering there as though testing its patience.

“She’ll do,” he murmured to the night.

The garden swallowed the words, leaving only the rustle of leaves in the dark.

The music swelled again as Sakura slipped back into the hall, the warmth of bodies and lantern light pressing close after the cool hush of the garden. She found Ino at the edge of the dance floor, laughing behind her cat’s mask as her stag-masked partner spun her into another turn. When the song ended, Ino broke away and hurried to Sakura’s side, her cheeks flushed from the dancing.

“There you are! I thought you’d vanished.” Her sharp eyes scanned Sakura’s face, narrowing slightly. “You look pale. What happened?”

Sakura shook her head quickly, forcing a faint smile. “Nothing. Just… too much noise, too much wine in the air. I think I’ll retire early.”

Ino’s brow furrowed, but she only sighed, brushing a strand of blonde hair back into place. “If you say so. I won’t prod. Just…don’t disappear without telling me next time, Forehead.”

Sakura gave her arm a gentle squeeze in thanks before turning toward the doors. The noise of the hall fell behind her as she slipped out into the cooler corridors.

She hadn’t made it far when a familiar voice called after her.

“Sakura!”

She turned, startled, to see Naruto striding toward her, his fox mask askew and his golden hair a tousled mess from too many rounds of dancing. Despite the grin plastered across his face, his eyes softened as he caught her arm.

“You’re leaving already?” he asked, his voice pitched lower, without the boisterous energy he’d shown to the crowd. “On my birthday?”

Sakura hesitated, caught between weariness and affection. “I just need some rest. It’s been a long day.”

Naruto tilted his head, studying her. The lively noise of the ballroom spilled faintly into the corridor behind them, but here it felt quieter, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Naruto didn’t let go of her arm right away. His grin softened into something smaller, more searching, and for once he wasn’t pretending.

“You’re not just tired,” he said quietly. “I can tell.”

Sakura blinked, startled by the weight in his voice. “Naruto…” Her throat tightened. She tried for a smile, but it felt thin even to her. “It’s nothing I can talk about right now.”

Naruto studied her for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “Okay. If you say so.” His hand squeezed her arm once before dropping away. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, Sakura. Not with me. You never do.”

The warmth in his words cut through her unease like sunlight, and for the first time that night her chest eased just slightly. She reached up and adjusted his mask for him, straightening it where it had gone crooked. “You’ll embarrass yourself if your mother sees you wearing it like that.”

That earned a laugh, boyish and bright, chasing away the heaviness between them.

Still, as she turned toward the quiet of the halls beyond, Naruto’s gaze lingered, concern flickering behind the mask even as he let her go.

The corridors were hushed by the time Sakura reached her chambers, the music from the ballroom fading into a distant hum. She pushed the door shut behind her and let her back rest against it for a moment, feathers drooping from her shoulders like tired wings.

She sat her mask gently on her writing desk where the candlelight glinted across its painted surface. Then the gown, folded as carefully as her weary limbs allowed before throwing on her slip. At last she sank onto her bed, the mattress cool beneath her as she drew the covers over herself.

But sleep did not come easily.

Her thoughts turned in restless circles. Tsunade’s words in the private chamber, Kakashi’s grave warning on the dance floor, the looming shadow of Oto. The idea of leaving Konoha, of stepping into a kingdom ruled by the Uchiha, twisted uneasily in her chest.

And yet, as her eyes grew heavier, it wasn’t the thought of Oto that lingered the strongest.

It was the garden. The stillness of lantern light swaying in the branches. The figure in the dark mask.

His voice, low, steady, unshaken.

Drawn.

Sakura turned onto her side, frowning into the quiet of her chambers. She told herself it was nerves, nothing more. That by morning, the unease would fade.

But as sleep finally pulled her under, the memory of those watching eyes remained.

---

---

A sharp knock rattled Sakura’s door. She stirred from sleep with a groan, sunlight spilling across her chambers through the narrow window. Her body still felt heavy from the night before, feathers and masks chasing through her dreams.

“Sakura,” came Tsunade’s voice from the other side, brisk and commanding.

Sakura rubbed her eyes and stumbled to the door, tugging it open. She blinked at the sight before her: Tsunade, already dressed in her finer robes, hair neatly bound, her bandaged hand tucked behind her back as if to hide it.

“Up,” Tsunade said without preamble. “And into something decent. Our guests have arrived.”

Sakura’s mind snapped awake. “The Uchiha? Already?”

Tsunade’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Earlier than expected. They rode through the gates not an hour ago. Shisui and Madara themselves. No chance to prepare the usual formalities.”

Sakura frowned, “The morning after a celebration? Isn’t that a little… pointed?”

“Probably intentional,” Tsunade said dryly, eyes narrowing. “Catch us off balance, see if we stumble. The Uchiha never miss a chance to press an advantage.”

Sakura hesitated, “And the court? They’ll all be exhausted--”

Tsunade cut her off with a sly smile. “They’ll survive. Thanks to us.” She nodded toward the apothecary wing. “Half the nobility was on their feet before sunrise, singing praises about those tonics we brewed. I swear, if they had any sense, they’d declare a feast every week just to keep me supplied with compliments.”

Despite herself, Sakura huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. The lightness didn’t erase the tension, but it eased it, if only a little.

“Dress quickly,” Tsunade said, her voice firm again. “We’ll meet them in the council chamber.”

And with that, she turned sharply on her heel, leaving Sakura to dress with her pulse racing.

Sakura closed the door behind Tsunade and leaned against it for a moment, her pulse drumming in her ears. Shisui and Madara Uchiha. Already here.

She moved quickly to her trunk, fingers brushing past her plainer gowns until she found one Ino had mended for her months ago: a deep green dress with modest embroidery at the sleeves and hem. Simple enough not to draw attention, but elegant enough to stand in the company of nobles.

As she pulled it over her head and tied the sash at her waist, her mind kept circling. The timing couldn’t be coincidence. The morning after a masque, when half the castle would still be sluggish, when the halls smelled of spilled wine and wax…of course the Uchiha would choose now. It was a move to test Konoha’s footing.

She sat at her mirror, running a comb quickly through her pink hair, taming it into a neat braid that fell over her shoulder. Her eyes lingered on the owl mask still resting on her desk, feathers catching the light. She frowned, pushing it aside. That night was gone. What lay ahead would demand more than masquerades.

Drawing a steadying breath, she slipped her shoes on and straightened. Her reflection looked composed enough, but doubt still lingered beneath her ribs.

Shisui and Madara Uchiha, she thought again, trying the names on her tongue as though that would blunt their weight.

When she finally stepped into the corridor, her heart was still unsteady, but her stride was firm. She would not let them see her hesitate.

The castle halls still bore the weight of the night before. Servants hurried with brooms and pails, scrubbing at wine stains on the flagstones, gathering up stray feathers and scraps of ribbon left behind.

A nobleman leaned wearily against a column, groaning softly into his handkerchief while a steward pressed a vial of tonic into his palm. The scent of spiced wine and extinguished wax lingered faintly in the air.

Sakura moved swiftly through it all, her green gown whispering against the floor. Though her braid was neat and her expression composed, her heartbeat drummed like a warning bell in her chest.

At the doors to the council chamber, she found Tsunade waiting. The royal physician’s fine robes gave her a sharp, commanding presence, but her eyes softened briefly as they landed on Sakura.

“Well,” Tsunade said, folding her arms. “Are you ready?”

Sakura drew in a breath, honest enough not to lie. “No.”

A smirk tugged at Tsunade’s lips, wry and unbothered. “Good. Means you’re smart. Only fools walk into a room with the Uchiha thinking they’re ready.”

She turned toward the double doors, her bandaged hand resting briefly on the iron handle. Then she glanced back at Sakura once more. “Stay close. Listen first, speak little. And whatever you do, don’t let them rattle you.”

Sakura nodded, squaring her shoulders.

Together, they pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The council chamber was a room built for intimidation.

Tall windows stretched high along the far wall, spilling pale morning light across the polished stone floor. Heavy banners bearing Konoha’s crest hung between them, their deep forest-green folds unmoving in the still air.

The long oak table dominated the center, its surface gleaming with fresh polish, surrounded by high-backed chairs carved with foxes and stags. Maps and scrolls lined the shelves along the walls, silent witnesses to decades of uneasy bargains struck in this very space.

A handful of Konoha’s advisors already sat at the table, some with quills ready, others still looking faint from the revelry of the night before. Shikaku Nara slouched in his chair at the far end, sharp eyes half-lidded though Sakura knew they missed nothing.

The murmur of voices quieted as Tsunade entered with Sakura at her side, every gaze shifting toward the doors.

But even the weight of her own kingdom’s stares was nothing compared to the sight waiting at the table’s opposite end.

The Uchiha.

Two men sat together, their presence commanding the room as though they had not merely entered it, but claimed it.

The younger of the pair wore his hair loose, dark strands brushing his shoulders. Shisui, if Sakura’s memory served. His expression was easy, a smile ghosting at his lips, his dark eyes keen and alive with sharp amusement.

He leaned back in his chair with the relaxed posture of someone utterly comfortable, as if the early hour and the wary stares of Konoha’s council were nothing more than a game.

Beside him sat his opposite.

Madara. His presence was heavier, darker. Long black hair framed his face, sharp as ink strokes, and his eyes, deep, unreadable, caught the light in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

Unlike Shisui, he did not lounge. He sat with the weight of iron, broad shoulders squared, hands resting still on the table as if he had been carved from stone. He did not smile. He did not need to. The silence that followed in his wake was enough.

Sakura’s stomach tightened, her steps slowing without meaning to. She had seen the Uchiha from a distance before, but never like this. Never with their attention angled toward her.

Shisui’s sharp gaze flicked briefly to hers, curious, before sliding back to Tsunade. Madara, however, did not look away.

For the briefest of moments, their eyes met across the chamber, hers uncertain, his dark and unblinking.

The council chamber, with all its grandeur and history, suddenly felt smaller.

Sakura forced herself to breathe evenly, though her pulse was a wild thing in her chest. She tried to look away, but Madara’s stare lingered, heavy as iron, dragging her thoughts back to the night before.

The garden. The mask carved in dark lines. That voice, steady and low.

Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her gown. There was something, something in the cut of his shoulders, the stillness of his presence, that felt too familiar. Too close to the figure she’d left in the shadows the night before.

Before she could follow the thought to its end, the chamber doors opened again.

“Announcing Their Majesties, King Minato and Queen Kushina.”

The words cut through the silence like a bell.

Minato entered first, regal in his golden robes, the calm authority in his expression unchanged from the night before. Kushina followed at his side, her red hair braided and draped over her shoulder, her presence commanding in a way that filled the chamber as surely as sunlight through the high windows.

All at once, every person in the room shifted. Chairs scraped softly, heads bowed in respect, the balance of the chamber tilting toward the rulers of Konoha.

Even the Uchiha rose to their feet. Shisui moved easily, with the fluid grace of a man who could charm a crowd. Madara stood slower, deliberate, but when he inclined his head it was enough to signal his acknowledgment of the crown’s authority.

Sakura lowered her gaze with the others, though her thoughts remained restless. Whatever resemblance she had seen in Madara, whatever memory had begun to take shape, was swept aside in the wake of Minato and Kushina’s arrival.

For now.

Minato stepped to the head of the table, Kushina at his side, and the chamber quieted until only the crackle of the sconces on the walls filled the air. His gaze swept the room, calm and measured, lingering briefly on the Uchiha before settling on his council.

“Lord Shisui. Lord Madara,” he said, his voice steady, carrying easily in the stone chamber. “Konoha welcomes you, though I must admit your arrival comes sooner than expected.”

Shisui’s lips curved faintly, his bow graceful and practiced. “We thought it best not to waste time, Your Majesty. Matters of health rarely wait on ceremony.”

Minato inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his expression gave nothing away. “So it seems. Still, you are our guests. I trust the ride was not overlong?”

“The road was the road,” Madara said at last, his voice low, deep enough that it seemed to settle into the very stone beneath them. There was no courtesy in the words, only a statement, the sound of iron scraping against silk.

Kushina’s sharp eyes flicked toward him, but Minato only clasped his hands behind his back, unshaken. “Very well. Then let us not delay. You have come with petition. Speak it plainly before my council.”

A ripple of unease moved through the chamber, advisors shifting in their chairs. Sakura felt it too, the air tightening, as if the first move in a game of blades had just been made.

Shisui leaned forward, his easy smile returning as though he’d been waiting for the cue. His dark eyes glimmered with practiced warmth as he inclined his head toward Minato and Kushina.

“Our kingdom comes to you not in pride, but in need,” he began smoothly. “A sickness has taken root in Oto. It spreads in ways we cannot contain, defying the efforts of our best physicians. We come to ask for your aid, your knowledge, your healers, and the goodwill of Konoha in this time of trial.”

His words flowed like silk, every phrase chosen with care. “In return, Oto offers friendship, trade, and the chance to strengthen bonds between our houses. We may not have always stood as allies, but perhaps necessity can teach us what pride has not.”

A murmur moved through the council chamber, cautious, curious. Shikaku sat straighter, the faintest crease forming at his brow. Sakura felt her breath catch. The words were reasonable, even noble, but beneath them she heard the hum of calculation.

For a moment, silence stretched. Minato regarded Shisui evenly, Kushina’s sharp eyes narrowing faintly as if weighing the sincerity behind the plea.

Then Madara shifted in his chair.

Enough of courtesy. His hand pressed flat against the oak, the sound sharp in the quiet.

“Spare us the velvet,” he said, his voice low but cutting. “Our people are dying. Your kingdom has the resources we lack. We require aid, and we require it swiftly. That is the truth beneath all Shisui’s pleasant words.”

His gaze swept the chamber, settling finally, unflinchingly, on Minato. “Do not mistake this for a choice dressed in finery, Your Majesty. It is necessity. We ask, but we do not beg.”

The air seemed to grow heavier, charged, as though the walls themselves held their breath.

Sakura’s pulse quickened. She could almost feel the weight of his words pressing into her ribs, colder and harder than anything Shisui’s diplomacy could veil.

At the head of the table, Minato’s expression did not change. But his silence stretched, deliberate, commanding, before he finally spoke.

“Konoha does not make decisions out of fear,” he said calmly. “If we are to help, it will be because it is right, not because you demand it.”

The silence after Minato’s words stretched like a drawn bowstring. Shisui’s smile thinned, though his posture remained graceful. Madara’s dark eyes burned, unblinking, but he leaned back in his chair once more, as if content to let the weight of his demand hang in the air.

It was Kushina who broke it.

Her voice cut cleanly through the tension, steady but edged like a honed blade. “You ride into our halls at dawn, the morning after a feast, demanding aid without warning or courtesy. You speak of necessity, but you wield it like a weapon.” Her eyes flicked between Shisui and Madara, sharp as steel. “Understand this, Konoha is not a pawn for Oto to move at its leisure.”

A ripple of agreement stirred down the line of Konoha’s advisors, though none dared add to her words aloud.

Sakura sat near the end of the chamber, hands folded tightly in her lap. The tension pressed on her like a physical weight, each word sharpened by the memory of Tsunade’s warning. Yet as her gaze drifted, she caught movement at the far wall.

Kakashi.

Half-hidden in the shadowed corner, mask in place, one hand resting lightly against the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t part of the council, not officially, but there he stood, watchful and still, the lone wolf at the edge of the pack. His visible eye met hers for a fraction of a heartbeat, steady and unreadable, before turning back to the table.

The sight grounded her more than any words could have. Whatever games were being played across that table, Kakashi was watching. And he missed nothing.

At the head of the chamber, Kushina leaned forward slightly, her red hair catching the light like fire. “If Oto seeks aid, it will ask it with respect. Not barge through our doors and toss its burdens at our feet.”

Shisui inclined his head, a sheen of apology smoothing over his expression. “Our haste was poorly judged, Your Grace. If offense was given, it was unmeant. We only wish to save lives.”

The chamber seemed to hum with tension, silence stretching taut after Kushina’s words. For a moment, Sakura thought Madara might rise to it, his jaw set, his gaze hard as stone.

But then Minato lifted a hand. The small gesture was enough to steady the room, to draw every gaze back to him.

“My queen speaks truly,” he said evenly, his voice measured and calm. “But we must also remember why we sit at this table. Oto comes in need, and though pride complicates their words, their plea is not one to dismiss outright.”

The air loosened slightly, though it was clear everyone waited for his next move. Minato let the silence sit just long enough to remind both Konoha and Oto where the authority in this room lay. Then he turned his head toward the far end of the table.

“Lady Tsunade,” he said, his tone respectful. “You’ve heard their petition. In matters of illness, your wisdom surpasses us all. What is your counsel?”

Tsunade shifted, her fine robes rustling as she leaned forward. She set both hands flat on the table, her eyes sweeping across the Uchiha before she spoke.

“It is true that disease spreads faster than war,” she said bluntly. “If their reports are accurate, it will not remain within Oto’s borders for long. It would be foolish to think sickness respects walls or alliances.”

Sakura felt the weight of those words, her breath catching. She knew Tsunade rarely wasted them.

“But,” Tsunade continued, her voice sharp, “aid is not a simple thing. We know nothing of the illness, its cause, its reach, or its danger to our own people. Sending help blindly is as reckless as refusing entirely. If Konoha is to act, we must do so with caution and knowledge, not sentiment.”

Her gaze cut toward Minato, then Kushina, before landing firmly back on Shisui and Madara. “That is my counsel.”

The chamber was quiet, waiting for Minato’s reply. He inclined his head toward Tsunade, acknowledging her counsel before turning back to the delegates. His hands rested loosely on the table, his calm presence filling the chamber more effectively than raised voices ever could.

“Very well,” he said. “You have asked for aid, and Lady Tsunade is correct, no action can be taken blindly. If Oto would have Konoha’s help, we must first know what you face.”

His blue eyes settled on Shisui, though they flicked once toward Madara before holding steady. “Tell us. What do you know of this illness?”

Shisui straightened, fingers steepled lightly as if he had been waiting for the question. “It began quietly,” he said, his voice smooth, deliberate. “At first we thought it little more than a fever that spread through a few farming villages near the foothills. But then the symptoms grew stranger. The afflicted weaken quickly, some within days. Food turns bitter on their tongues, water makes them ill. In time, even the strongest collapse.”

A murmur rustled through the Konoha advisors. Shikaku’s head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly as if cataloging the details.

“And the deaths?” Tsunade asked sharply, leaning forward.

Shisui’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Many. More than we would admit in open court.” He glanced at Madara, then back to Minato. “It is spreading faster than our healers can contain. That is why we are here.”

Sakura’s stomach tightened, her healer’s mind already racing with possibilities, tainted wells, poisoned stores, a contagion carried by air or insect. But the way Shisui spoke, measured, careful, gave her no comfort.

Madara, who had remained still and silent, let out a low breath, as if the diplomacy exhausted him. “What you need to know, Konoha, is this: if it is not stopped, it will consume us. And sickness unchecked does not respect borders. Sooner or later, it will be your problem too.”

The words fell like a hammer.

The weight of Madara’s words hung in the chamber, thick as smoke. Sakura sat stiffly in her chair, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her mind, however, raced faster than her body could contain.

Food turning bitter… water making them sick…

Before she could stop herself, her voice cut across the silence. “Have you checked the food and water?”

The words startled even her, but they rang clear in the chamber.

Every eye shifted toward her. Shikaku’s half-lidded gaze sharpened. Several of the advisors blinked, as though only just remembering she was there.

Beside her, Tsunade’s head snapped toward her apprentice, eyes flashing with warning. But she didn’t speak. She only watched.

Across the table, Shisui’s lips curved faintly, though his gaze held interest rather than amusement. “We considered it, my lady,” he said smoothly. “The wells were inspected. The grain stores checked. Yet nothing obvious was found. And still, people fall.”

Madara’s gaze, however, was heavier. He studied her without disguise, his dark eyes sharp as if weighing the measure of her question… and of her.

Sakura swallowed hard, wishing she could shrink back into her seat, but the words were already spoken. Tsunade’s sharp glance lingered a heartbeat longer, but then she turned back to the Uchiha, her expression unreadable.

“Continue,” Tsunade said evenly, her tone giving nothing away.

Sakura let out a slow breath, forcing her hands to still. She knew she had overstepped. Yet a small part of her, the healer, not the apprentice, burned with curiosity at the answer.

Shisui inclined his head slightly, as though Sakura’s question had given him permission to speak more freely. His voice carried easily through the chamber, smooth as silk but edged with a gravity that could not be ignored.

“The first signs are small,” he said. “A dull taste in the mouth, food turning bitter, water sitting like stone in the stomach. Then fever comes, burning hot one moment, shivering cold the next. The afflicted grow weak quickly, some too weak to rise from their beds within three days.”

He spread his hands, palms upward, a gesture of helplessness that looked almost rehearsed. “We tried what we knew. Willow bark, elderflower, boiling the water, even herbs carried down from the mountain paths. None of it slowed the sickness. If anything, the weakness spread faster in the villages where we treated most.”

The chamber rippled with unease. One advisor scribbled notes furiously; another shifted in his chair, muttering under his breath.

Shisui’s eyes lingered on Sakura, as if recognizing the weight her question carried. “It does not behave like any illness our healers recognize. It eats away at strength as though the body itself has turned traitor.”

Madara gave a low sound in his throat, impatient. “You waste words. What matters is this, our healers have failed. Yours have not. We would not be here otherwise.”

But Sakura hardly heard him. Her mind raced, cataloging the symptoms, her instincts prickling with the same unease she had felt the moment Kakashi had spoken of Oto’s sickness.

Across the table, Tsunade’s sharp glance flicked back toward her apprentice, but this time, there was no reprimand. Only thoughtfulness, silent but heavy.

Minato’s calm gaze lingered on Shisui for a moment before shifting to Tsunade. “You’ve heard their account,” he said evenly. “What course would you take?”

Tsunade leaned back in her chair, arms folding across her chest. For a long moment, she said nothing, letting the weight of the question settle. Then she spoke, her voice firm enough to cut through the tension that still clung to the chamber.

“I would send help,” she said. “But not an army of healers, and not myself. What Oto needs is sharp eyes and steady hands, someone who can observe, adapt, and act quickly without drawing the weight of Konoha’s entire court into their politics.”

Her eyes flicked sideways, landing squarely on Sakura.

“My apprentice,” she said plainly. “Sakura Haruno. She has the training, the judgment, and the will. She has treated soldiers, villagers, even nobles when no one else could. If anyone can uncover the truth of this sickness, it’s her.”

Sakura froze. Heat rushed to her cheeks, though the chamber suddenly felt cold. Every pair of eyes seemed to fall on her at once, curious, skeptical, weighing her like a stone on a scale.

Kushina’s brows rose, surprise flickering across her face. One of the advisors cleared his throat in mild protest.

But then Shikaku, who had been silent until now, shifted in his seat. He lifted his head, his gaze steady, thoughtful. “Tsunade’s right,” he said, his voice slow but deliberate. “The girl’s sharp. I’ve seen her reasoning at work in the tutor halls. She’ll notice things others overlook, and she won’t be swayed by politics. That’s what we’ll need if we’re to trust any report from Oto.”

The murmurs swelled again, though now the tone had shifted. Skepticism lingered, but so did curiosity… and respect.

Sakura’s pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to protest, to remind them she had never left the safety of Konoha’s walls, but the words stuck fast in her throat.

Across the table, Shisui’s smile deepened, dark eyes gleaming with intrigue. Madara said nothing, but his gaze pinned her like a nail.

The murmurs around the chamber swelled again, but Minato raised his hand and silence followed at once. His expression was calm, but his blue eyes carried the kind of weight that allowed no room for doubt.

“Tsunade’s word has long been Konoha’s strength,” he said firmly. “If she trusts her apprentice to carry this task, then so do I.”

Sakura’s heart lurched.

Minato’s gaze swept the table, lingering a moment on Shisui’s careful smile, then on Madara’s unblinking stare. “You came to us in need, and Konoha will answer. But you will respect the aid we give. Lady Sakura will go with you. Her judgment will be her own, and her safety will be Konoha’s concern.”

The words rang like iron, a reminder that while Konoha would grant help, it would not be commanded.

Kushina inclined her head, her red braid falling over her shoulder. “You’ll have no cause to complain of her skill,” she added, voice sharp enough to cut away any lingering protest.

Shisui bowed smoothly from his seat. “We are grateful, Your Majesties. Truly.” His eyes flicked to Sakura once more, keen and calculating.

Madara’s expression didn’t shift, though his stare never wavered from her.

Minato rose from his chair, and with him the rest of the chamber stood. “Then it is decided. Rest today, all of you. At first light tomorrow, the delegation departs for Oto.”

The finality in his tone brooked no argument. The council was dismissed.

The council chamber emptied in a tide of rustling robes and muted voices, but Sakura hardly heard them. Her thoughts rang too loudly in her own skull. She moved on autopilot, following Tsunade as her mentor strode through the double doors without a backward glance.

The corridor outside was cool, the sound of boot heels echoing against the stone. Tsunade’s steps were brisk, unyielding. Sakura trailed behind, her own stride tight with nerves, the echo of Madara’s stare still burning between her shoulder blades.

She sensed him before she saw him.

Kakashi slipped into step a few paces back, his presence as quiet as a shadow. He didn’t speak, didn’t even clear his throat, just followed, his masked face unreadable, his single visible eye steady on them.

None of them said a word. Not through the turning corridors. Not past the servants who scurried to clean up the remnants of the ball. Not even when they crossed into the quieter wing that smelled faintly of dried herbs and lamp oil.

Only when Tsunade pushed open the familiar apothecary doors did the silence finally break.

She entered first, her golden hair catching in the light of the hearth, and set her hands firmly on the worktable as though she might pin the world in place with her palms.

“Sit,” she ordered without looking back.

Sakura obeyed, lowering herself into one of the stools. Kakashi leaned against the wall just inside the door, arms folded, his gaze flicking between them without comment.

The apothecary’s shelves loomed around them, jars of herbs, bundles of roots, neat rows of vials. Normally the room smelled of safety, of home. Now it felt like a cage.

At last, Tsunade lifted her head. Her eyes were sharp, her voice flat. “So. You’ve heard it for yourself. Tomorrow, you leave for Oto.”

Sakura’s hands tightened in her lap. “You said I wouldn’t be going alone,” she reminded, her voice steadier than she felt. “Then who is my escort? Who am I supposed to trust in Oto?”

For a moment, Tsunade didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened, but it was Kakashi’s voice that cut through the silence.

“A girl named Tenten,” he said from his place against the wall.

Sakura blinked, turning toward him. “Tenten?”

Kakashi’s eye curved faintly, though his tone stayed dry. “Not a noble. No titles, no lands. Like you, she’s just another someone. But don’t mistake that for weakness. She’s a blacksmith’s apprentice, and she’s been training with me on the side. Mastered nearly every weapon I’ve handed her.”

He shifted, arms uncrossing as he pushed away from the wall. “She’ll be your blade when you need one. And before you ask, yes, she knows the risks. She chose this.”

Sakura’s pulse eased just slightly, though doubt still coiled in her chest. “When do I meet her?”

“Tonight,” Kakashi replied simply. “I’ve set a schedule. After supper, in the yard. You’ll want to know who’s walking at your side before first light.”

Sakura exhaled slowly, nodding. It wasn’t the reassurance she’d hoped for, but it was something solid to hold onto.

Tsunade finally spoke again, her tone sharp. “You’ll have to rely on each other. Remember that. Oto is not Konoha, the moment you cross their border, you’ll both be watched for weakness.”

Sakura looked between the two of them, the weight of tomorrow pressing down harder with each breath.

Sakura lowered her gaze to her hands, fingers twisting together. “Watched for weakness,” she repeated quietly.

Tsunade’s eyes softened, though only for a heartbeat. She reached out, resting her unbandaged hand briefly on Sakura’s shoulder. “Then give them none.”

The touch was gone as quickly as it came. Tsunade turned back to the shelves, already pulling jars and vials as though she hadn’t just set Sakura’s world on its edge.

Kakashi pushed away from the wall and moved toward the door, pausing only to glance back at Sakura. “Eat something. Rest while you can. I’ll find you when it’s time.”

The door shut softly behind him, leaving the apothecary quiet save for the faint clink of Tsunade’s jars.

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The training yard was quieter than usual. The echo of clashing steel and shouted drills had long faded, leaving only the creak of torches being lit along the walls and the distant murmur of guards changing posts. The cobblestones still held the warmth of the day, though the evening breeze carried a cool bite.

Sakura crossed the yard with hesitant steps, her green gown replaced by simpler clothes. Kakashi had been right, better to meet her escort tonight than march beside a stranger at dawn.

Near the weapons racks stood a girl about her own age, her dark hair tied up into two neat buns. She wore a blacksmith’s apron over plain tunic and trousers, the faint smudge of soot still streaked across her cheek. In her hands, she held something wrapped in cloth.

“You must be Sakura,” the girl said, her voice steady, practical. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a small dagger, its blade narrow and gleaming in the torchlight. She held it out, handle first. “I thought you should have this. I forged it myself.”

Sakura blinked, surprised, and reached to take it. The dagger was shockingly light, balanced perfectly in her palm.

Tenten’s lips curved in a small, confident smile. “Light enough not to slow you. But don’t mistake it for fragile. With enough practice, it’ll cut clean as any blade.”

Before Sakura could respond, Tenten drew an identical dagger from her own belt, twirling it once between her fingers. In a single smooth motion, she turned, sighted the practice dummy across the yard, and threw.

The dagger spun through the air, catching the torchlight before it struck, a clean, solid thunk , sinking deep into the wooden chest of the dummy.

Tenten walked forward, tugging it free without effort. “And if you ever need distance,” she added matter-of-factly, “it’s just as deadly far away.”

She turned back, slipping the blade easily back into her belt. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “Tomorrow, you won’t have to rely on just your herbs.”

Sakura turned the dagger over in her hand, watching how the torchlight slid across its edge. She opened her mouth to thank her, but Tenten was already brushing her palms on her apron, her expression softening just slightly.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “I still need to shut the forge down before my master returns, or he’ll tan me alive.” Her tone carried no complaint, only simple duty.

Sakura nodded, slipping the dagger into the sheath Tenten had tied to the hilt. “Thank you. For this… and for tomorrow.”

Tenten gave her a short, sure smile. “We’ll be fine. You do what you’re good at, and I’ll handle the rest.”

The words were plain, but they settled into Sakura’s chest with a quiet reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed.

They parted at the edge of the yard, Tenten disappearing down the narrow path that led toward the smithy, while Sakura turned back toward the castle’s torch-lit halls. The dagger’s weight at her side was small, but it felt like the promise of something solid, a reminder she would not face Oto alone.

By the time she reached her chambers, fatigue pulled at her limbs. She undressed slowly, folded her gown neatly, and slipped beneath the covers.

Sleep claimed her quickly, but her dreams were not peaceful. The council chamber. The Uchiha’s eyes. And in the garden, that masked man, standing far too still beneath the lantern glow, it all haunted her.

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Chapter Text

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Sakura rose before the first light touched the castle walls. She moved quietly through her chamber, gathering the few things she would need for the journey, her satchel of herbs and tinctures, spare parchment and quills, the small dagger Tenten had pressed into her hand the night before.

For traveling she had chosen trousers, a plain tunic, and boots sturdy enough for long hours on the road. She did not yet know if they would go by carriage or on horseback, but she wanted to be prepared for either. She drew her cloak around her shoulders, the weight both comforting and heavy with the knowledge of where it would carry her.

Outside her narrow window, the horizon was only just beginning to pale. Somewhere in the courtyard below, she heard the soft clatter of horses being readied, steel meeting steel as Kakashi’s men checked their arms. The sound made her chest tighten. This was no ordinary errand, it was the first time she would leave Konoha in service of another kingdom.

Sakura checked her satchel one last time before fastening it shut. She exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves.

Today, her journey to Oto would begin.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She hesitated, then crossed the room to pull it open.

Tsunade stood there, shoulders squared but eyes rimmed with exhaustion. The heavy circles beneath them betrayed that she had not slept at all. Behind her, two guards waited in the corridor, each ready to shoulder the weight of Sakura’s traveling packs.

“You’re up,” Tsunade said quietly, voice roughened from the long night. Her gaze swept over Sakura’s attire, lingering on the trousers and cloak, and she gave the faintest nod of approval. “Good. The horses are being saddled.”

Sakura opened her mouth to ask if her mentor had rested, but the words caught in her throat. She only stepped aside, allowing the guards to enter and collect her things. The satchel she kept clutched to her chest, unwilling to let anyone else carry it.

Tsunade leaned against the doorframe, watching her apprentice with an unreadable expression. “Once we reach the courtyard, Kakashi will explain the route. Eat something before then if you can stomach it.”

Sakura nodded, heart thudding harder with every passing moment. Before she could answer, Tsunade reached into the fold of her cloak and pulled out a slim, leather-bound book. Its cover was worn from years of handling, the edges softened with age.

“I meant to give you this last night,” she said, pressing it into Sakura’s hands. “It’s about Oto, its founding, the lands around the mountain, even the Uchiha line. Not everything, but enough to give you a sense of the place you’re walking into.”

Sakura ran her fingers over the cover, the weight of it grounding her. “You kept this?”

Tsunade’s mouth quirked faintly, though her eyes were still shadowed. “Shizune compiled it years ago when we first began trade with them. I’ve added a few notes of my own. Read it when you can, knowledge will serve you as well as any blade.”

The guards moved past them, carrying the last of her belongings into the corridor. The room felt strangely bare without her things, as though she were already gone.

Sakura tightened her grip on the book, knowing it was more than just parchment and ink. It was Tsunade’s way of sending a piece of herself along.

Tsunade straightened, the weight of weariness showing in the stiffness of her movements. “I’ll see you in the courtyard,” she said, voice gentler now. “Don’t be long.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and strode down the corridor, the guards following with Sakura’s things.

Left alone, Sakura glanced around her chamber. Her eyes skimmed the shelves, the worktable, the narrow bed. She opened drawers, lifted the edge of her cloak from the chair, checked again that her satchel was secure. There was nothing left to take, yet she lingered, as though the room itself resisted her leaving.

Finally, she drew a breath and stepped out into the corridor.

Naruto stood waiting. His hair was disheveled, eyes rimmed red, his tunic hastily thrown on. He looked as though he had paced half the night, restless and sleepless.

“Where have you been?” Sakura asked softly, though she already guessed.

His expression twisted, somewhere between hurt and anger. “No one thought to tell me?” His voice cracked low, not with rage but with the raw sting of being left in the dark. “You’re leaving, just like that, and I hear it from a guard in the hall?”

Sakura froze, heart clenching.

“I’m sorry,” She said quickly, guilt pressing heavily on her chest. “I should have told you myself.”

Naruto shook his head before she could say more. “No…it’s not on you.” His hands curled into fists at his sides, then loosened just as fast. “You’re the one being sent away. You didn’t choose this.”

His voice softened, rough with sleeplessness. “I just… don’t know what I’m going to do with you gone.”

The words struck harder than any outburst might have. His shoulders sagged, and for the first time she saw not the prince, but the boy she had grown up beside, the one who used to follow her into the kitchens, who slipped her sweets from banquets, who looked for her first in every crowded hall.

Sakura’s throat tightened. She wanted to promise she would return, that it would be soon, that nothing would change. But she couldn’t make herself speak a lie, not when the weight of the unknown pressed so close.

Instead, she reached out and touched his arm lightly. “You’ll manage,” she said, though her voice wavered. “And I’ll write. As often as I can.”

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, looking away as if ashamed of his own admission. 

“The Hyuga are coming to visit,” he said at last, his tone shifting, trying to sound more like the prince he was expected to be. “Father thinks it’s because the Uchiha showed their faces. Now the Hyuga want to remind us where their loyalties lie… maybe even push for an alliance.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn. “So soon?”

He gave a short laugh, without humor. “Everything’s moving faster than I can keep up. And now you’re leaving in the middle of it.” His gaze returned to hers, sharp with the weight of things unsaid. “I hate it. I hate that you won’t be here for this.”

Sakura adjusted the strap of her satchel, clutching the book Tsunade had given her tighter against her chest. “Then you’ll just have to handle them without me.”

Naruto’s smile flickered, half-hearted but warm. “I’d rather face the Hyuga a hundred times alone than see you ride out that gate.”

Hiss expression tightened as though he were fighting himself, but then he exhaled and shook his head. “No… you have to go. I get it.”

From the fold of his tunic, he pulled something small, wrapped in cloth. Awkwardly, he offered it out to her. “Here. Before you leave.”

Sakura blinked, surprised, and unwrapped the bundle. A headband lay within, red, with tiny flowers engraved along the metal plate. It was delicate work, more decorative than practical, but sturdy enough to last.

Naruto rubbed the back of his head, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “I know you’re always fussing with your hair when you’re bent over herbs and smoke. Thought… maybe this would help.”

Her chest ached at the simple thoughtfulness. For a moment, words deserted her. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He stiffened, just for a heartbeat, before returning the embrace, warm, strong, and reluctant to let go. For that moment, the quiet corridor belonged only to them.

Sakura held him close, the way one might cling to family before a long journey. There was no hesitation in her embrace, only the steady warmth of shared years and unspoken understanding. When at last she stepped back, Naruto managed a crooked grin, though his eyes still betrayed the sleepless night.

“Come on,” he said, voice rough but steady. “I’ll walk you down.”

Side by side, they made their way through the winding corridors. Servants bowed as they passed, guards straightened at their approach, but neither paid them any mind. Sakura’s hand brushed over the red headband, still warm from where he’d held it, and she tied it back to keep her hair from her face.

Naruto’s gaze lingered on it, pride flickering there, though he said nothing more. Outside, the chill of dawn greeted them. The courtyard was alive with motion, horses stamping, harnesses jingling, Kakashi speaking low with the riders. Tenten stood off to one side, already armed, her dark eyes bright when she caught sight of Sakura.

As they reached the waiting horses, Naruto stopped and turned to her. For a moment, the weight of words pressed against his tongue, but then he settled on something simple.

“Don’t forget who’s waiting for you here,” he said quietly. Then, with a faint grin that softened the ache in his eyes, he offered his hand to steady her.

Sakura squeezed his fingers briefly before swinging into the saddle. Naruto let go reluctantly, as though the gesture tethered her to Konoha a moment longer.

Tenten clicked her tongue, leading her own horse forward with practiced ease. She mounted in a fluid motion, the steel fittings of her weapons glinting faintly in the dawn light. She gave Sakura a nod, wordless but reassuring, before nudging her horse into step.

They had only just settled their reins when two figures came into view ahead of the courtyard gates.

Shisui was the first, his dark eyes sharp yet thoughtful, as if weighing every detail of the moment. At his side stood Madara, his posture taut with impatience, though his gaze fixed unerringly on Sakura. His expression carried no disguise: a burning, unsettling interest that clung to her as tangibly as the morning chill.

Shisui stepped forward first, his expression composed despite the weight of the moment. He inclined his head politely, his voice carrying the kind of calm that settled restless horses and wary men alike.

“Lady Sakura,” he said, the words measured and respectful, “on behalf of King Fugaku and the Uchiha household, I thank you both for undertaking this journey. You will be escorted safely to Oto, your wellbeing is our charge until the castle gates stand before you.”

Sakura inclined her head in return, the book still pressed to her side beneath her cloak. “Your courtesy is noted, Lord Shisui. I am grateful.”

Shisui’s mouth curved faintly, approval flickering in his eyes at her poise. He gave a brief nod to Kakashi, a silent acknowledgment of trust between warriors, then stepped back.

Madara had not moved. His gaze lingered on Sakura, unblinking, a shadow of impatience pulling at his mouth. But he said nothing, not yet.

At Kakash’s signal, the gates groaned open. The guards ushered the small company forward, hooves striking the cobblestones in a steady rhythm.

They moved at a steady pace through Konoha’s streets, the village still only beginning to stir. Shopkeepers lifted shutters, children rubbed sleep from their eyes, and villagers paused to bow their heads as the company passed.

Sakura kept her gaze forward, though she felt the weight of their eyes on her, half pride, half worry at seeing one of their own riding out under the Uchiha banner.

Once beyond the gates, the road stretched long and open, leading toward the forests that would carry them north. The clatter of hooves settled into a rhythm, and with it came silence. Not a comfortable one, rather the brittle quiet of strangers bound to one another without choice.

Sakura adjusted her reins, the headband Naruto had given her catching the breeze. She could feel Madara’s eyes on her even without looking, a heat that made her skin prickle. Tenten, for her part, rode with practiced ease, eyes always alert to the tree line, a soldier first and companion second.

It was Shisui who finally broke the quiet. He guided his horse a little closer to Sakura’s, his expression open, curious in a way that did not press.

“Lady Sakura,” he began, his tone smooth as flowing water, “I have heard your name spoken often in Konoha’s halls. Tsunade’s apprentice, the healer with unmatched skill. But tell me, who are you, apart from her shadow?”

Sakura met Shisui’s gaze evenly, her posture straight in the saddle. “I was trained under Lady Tsunade from the time I was a girl,” she said, her tone even, more statement than boast. “I’ve studied medicine and apothecary work for over a decade. I know the plants of these lands, their cures and their poisons. I’ve worked beside soldiers and villagers alike, and I can mend most wounds a man can walk away from.”

She paused, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “That is all.”

Her words carried no pride, only fact, steady and assured, as if she were reciting the contents of a ledger.

Shisui’s thoughtful expression deepened, a spark of respect glinting in his dark eyes. “Clear and precise,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I see why Lady Tsunade chose you.”

Behind him, Madara gave a low, derisive sound, though his gaze never left Sakura, sharp and intent, as though he were trying to measure just how much steel lay beneath her calm surface.

The silence that followed was different than before, not brittle, but charged.

Madara’s horse drew a fraction closer, the leather of the reins creaking under his gloved hands. His voice, when it came, cut through the air, low, smooth, edged with something far sharper than courtesy.

“Impressive words,” he said, eyes fixed on her. “But skill in herbs does not guarantee strength of will. Oto is not Konoha. Our mountains are unforgiving. Our people are not softened by forest shade and gentle kings. Tell me, Lady Sakura, will you endure when your remedies fail, or will you break?”

The suddenness of it caught her off guard, her breath hitching before she forced it steady again. She could feel Tenten’s gaze flick toward her, protective, but Sakura straightened in her saddle before she answered.

“I have endured enough,” she replied, her voice calm, though her heart quickened under his scrutiny. “I have buried patients I could not save, and risen the next day to try again. If Oto’s mountains are harsh, then I will meet them as I have met every other trial.”

Madara’s lips curved, not quite a smile, something darker, like satisfaction at finding the resistance he had been probing for. He said nothing further, yet his gaze lingered, heavy as a hand pressed against her spine.

Shisui’s eyes narrowed faintly at his kinsman, but he let the matter pass with silence.

He eased his horse a step ahead, his tone even, the diplomat once more. “Our path will take us most of the day,” he said, letting his words cut through the silence left in Madara’s wake. “But the road is long, and the horses cannot be pressed without care. We’ll break at intervals, and by nightfall we’ll reach an inn along the trade route. Rest there, and tomorrow we finish the journey into Oto.”

His voice carried authority without edge, the kind of calm that steadied a company.

Tenten gave a small nod of approval, adjusting her reins. “Sensible,” she murmured, clearly relieved by the practicality.

Sakura inclined her head as well, grateful for the shift. “Thank you, Lord Shisui.”

Madara said nothing, though a flicker of impatience crossed his features, his gaze still lingering far too long on her.

The rhythm of hooves filled the air again as the party pressed onward, the forest road swallowing them beneath its canopy.

The day stretched long and steady, the sun climbing high then sinking toward the trees as they rode. They stopped now and again to water the horses and share a bit of bread, but words between them were few. Shisui kept a watchful calm, Tenten stayed sharp at Sakura’s side, and Madara’s silence pressed heavier than conversation.

By the time the light began to soften into gold, the air had cooled with the promise of night. The road bent around a copse of oaks, and there ahead stood their refuge, a modest inn nestled against the roadside, its timber walls weathered but well-kept. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of stewing meat and woodfire into the air.

The yard beyond the gates was already busy. Merchants’ wagons crowded near the stables, stablehands darted back and forth with buckets, and the low murmur of voices spilled from within, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Lanterns were being lit one by one, their glow flickering against the gathering dusk.

Shisui raised his hand, signaling the company to slow. “Here,” he said, matter-of-fact. “We’ll eat, rest, and leave again at first light.”

The horses clopped into the yard, drawing more than a few curious glances from those already arrived. Travelers shifted to make way, eyes lingering on the Uchiha crests and the women riding among them.

The clamor of the common room washed over them the moment they stepped inside. Warmth from the hearth pressed against their travel-chilled skin, carrying with it the scents of stewing onions, smoke, and spilled ale.

The room was crowded with merchants and travelers, their cloaks hung heavy with dust from the road. Dice clattered on a table in one corner, while in another a bard plucked a lute, his voice half-drowned by the conversations rising around him.

Sakura stayed close to Tenten, drawing her cloak tighter. She caught snatches of talk as they passed, grumblings about taxes in distant towns, boasts from mercenaries of raids survived, whispers about tensions between noble houses. None paid them more than a glance, though the presence of Uchiha crests stitched in red and white on their escorts’ cloaks seemed enough to win them a wide berth.

Shisui threaded through the crowd with the ease of a man who belonged everywhere and nowhere. At the counter he spoke in low tones to the innkeeper, a stout man with thinning hair who bowed deeply at the name Uchiha. After a brief exchange, Shisui pressed a few coins into his palm and turned back toward the group.

“Two rooms,” he announced. “Supper will be sent up shortly.”

Tenten gave a curt nod, clearly relieved at the arrangements. Madara, however, said nothing, his gaze fixed on Sakura as if the chatter of the inn and Shisui’s practicality were nothing but background noise.

Sakura ignored the weight of it, focusing instead on the flight of stairs Shisui gestured toward. The sooner they were out of the common eye, the sooner she might breathe again.

The room Shisui had secured for them was modest but clean; plaster walls, a pair of narrow beds, and a window cracked just enough to let in the cool evening air. A small fire already burned in the hearth, casting a steady glow across the wooden floorboards.

Sakura set her satchel carefully at the foot of her bed, loosening her cloak at last. Her shoulders ached from the ride, her legs stiff from the saddle. Tenten tossed her own pack aside with far less ceremony and stretched until her joints popped.

“Not the worst place I've stayed,” Tenten said with a wry grin, already moving toward the small adjoining chamber where a copper tub had been filled with steaming water. “But I’ll be damned if I spend another hour smelling like horse.”

Sakura couldn’t argue. “Go ahead, you first.”

While Tenten bathed, Sakura moved slowly about the room, unpacking what she needed and tugging open the window to let the air freshen the space. The sounds of the inn drifted up, laughter, mugs clinking, the muffled rise and fall of the bard’s tune.

When Tenten emerged, hair damp and face flushed from the heat of the water, she looked infinitely lighter. “Your turn,” she said, tossing her towel onto the chair.

Sakura prepped a new bath, thankful there was an abundance of hot water already prepared. She sank gratefully into the bath, scrubbing away the sweat, dust, and ache of the road. Clean clothes waited folded on her bed when she emerged, the linen fresh against her skin as she changed. For the first time all day, she allowed herself a deep breath, one that didn’t taste of dust or fatigue.

Tenten sat cross-legged on her bed, oiling the edge of a dagger. She glanced up as Sakura sat down across from her. “Better?”

Sakura nodded, damp hair falling over her shoulder. “Much.”

A knock broke the quiet, sharp against the wood. Both women glanced up.

“I’ll get it,” Sakura said, rising. She pulled open the door to find a boy standing there, not much younger than her, balancing a tray of bread, cheese, and steaming stew. His tunic was patched at the elbow, his hair falling into his eyes, and his face instantly reddened the moment he met hers.

“M–my lady,” he stammered, thrusting the tray forward with both hands. “S–supper, from the kitchen.”

Sakura took it gently, offering him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

The boy’s flush deepened until his ears matched the stew’s steam. He ducked his head in a hurried bow before scurrying back down the hall, nearly tripping over his own boots in his rush.

Sakura shut the door, amusement tugging faintly at her lips as she set the tray on the small table between the beds.

Tenten smirked from where she sat. “You’ve got that effect on people, you know.”

Sakura rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide her grin. “It was only a smile.”

“Mm. Tell that to the poor boy who won’t sleep tonight.”

The two shared a quiet laugh, the kind that eased the tension of the long ride. For a moment, the weight of tomorrow’s destination felt far away.

They ate slowly, the warmth of the stew easing travel-worn bodies, bread breaking soft between their fingers. Conversation came in brief snatches, comments on the inn’s noise below, a remark from Tenten about the road ahead, a quiet nod from Sakura toward the book Tsunade had pressed into her hands. Neither spoke much of Oto. Neither had to.

When the last crumbs were gone, they cleared the tray to the table and doused the lantern, leaving only the glow of the hearth to soften the shadows.

Sakura slipped beneath the blanket of her narrow bed, the clean linen cool against her skin. Across the room, Tenten settled into her own, daggers within easy reach on the nightstand. For all her readiness, she was asleep within minutes, her breathing deep and steady.

Sakura lay awake a little longer, eyes tracing the flicker of firelight across the ceiling beams. Her thoughts drifted between Naruto’s smile, Tsunade’s weary eyes, and Madara’s unrelenting gaze. She pulled the red headband tighter around her hair and closed her eyes.

At last, exhaustion claimed her, and the room sank into silence, save for the low crackle of the hearth and the distant murmur of voices fading in the common room below.

Sakura stirred in her sleep, caught between dreams and the heavy warmth of the hearth’s dying embers. A strange sensation ghosted across her skin, fingertips, feather-light, brushing hair back from her face.

Her eyes flew open with a sharp gasp.

The room was still. The hearth crackled low, shadows dancing across the walls. No one stood beside her bed.

Across the room, Tenten was on her feet in an instant, blades in hand, eyes sharp despite the blur of sleep. “What is it?” she demanded, her gaze cutting through every corner of the chamber.

Sakura pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. “It’s nothing,” she whispered after a beat. “Just a dream.”

Tenten hesitated, scanning the room one more time before slowly lowering her weapons. Her jaw was tense, but she said nothing, only slipped back beneath her blanket with her dagger still clutched in hand.

Sakura turned her face into the pillow, though her eyes remained open, watching the flicker of the fire. No matter how firmly she told herself it was nothing, the phantom touch still lingered on her skin.

At last, exhaustion dragged her under once more, though her sleep was far from easy.

---

---

The pale light of dawn crept through the narrow window, pushing back the shadows of the night. The hearth had long since burned to embers, leaving the room cool and quiet.

Sakura woke stiff from the thin mattress, her hair loose around her shoulders, the red headband resting on the table where she’d placed it before sleep. The strange memory of the night lingered, but the warmth of daylight made it feel distant, like mist burned away by the sun.

Across the room, Tenten was already awake, buckling her boots and checking the straps of her weapons. She glanced over her shoulder as Sakura sat up. “Morning. The inn’s stirring. Shisui wants us on the road within the hour.”

Sakura nodded, pulling herself from bed. She washed quickly in the basin, dressed in her clean riding clothes, and tied back her hair with Naruto’s gift. The gesture steadied her nerves more than she’d expected.

By the time they stepped out into the corridor, the inn was alive again with clattering dishes and the murmur of travelers preparing to depart. As they made their way down the stairs, the common room was already bustling with travelers hunched over bowls of porridge and mugs of steaming tea. The innkeeper barked orders to his serving boys, and the air was thick with the smell of fresh bread just pulled from the ovens.

Tenten glanced at Sakura, then toward the nearest open table. “We should grab something before we ride out,” she said, practical as ever. “Last thing you want is an empty stomach on a long road.”

Sakura gave a small smile and nodded. “Agreed.”

They found a spot near the hearth where a serving boy quickly brought them each a bowl of porridge, a heel of bread, and a cup of watered ale. It was simple fare, but warm, and after a night of broken rest, Sakura found herself grateful for it.

As she ate, her gaze drifted toward the door. Shisui was already outside speaking with the stablehands, his voice calm but firm as he oversaw the last of the horses being loaded. 

Madara stood apart from them, dark cloak falling in severe lines, his arms crossed as though the very act of waiting was beneath him. Even through the open door, Sakura could feel his presence like a shadow pressing into the room.

Tenten nudged her. “Eat,” she said lightly, though her eyes flicked toward Madara as well. “You’ll need your strength.”

They finished the last of their bread and porridge in comfortable quiet, the hum of the common room folding around them. Sakura pushed her bowl aside and adjusted the red headband, tucking a loose strand of hair back into place.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool morning air. Shisui stepped inside, scanning the room until his eyes found them. His expression was as composed as ever, though there was a note of urgency in his voice.

“It’s time,” he said simply. “The horses are ready.”

Tenten rose immediately, stretching out her shoulders. Sakura followed, smoothing her cloak and gathering her satchel. She felt the weight of the book Tsunade had given her pressing against her side, a reminder of why she was here.

As they crossed the room, the chatter dimmed slightly, curious eyes following the small company. Shisui paid it no mind, only holding the door open for them.

Outside, the morning was crisp, sunlight spilling across the yard. Madara waited astride his horse, every line of his posture taut with impatience. His gaze slid over them, lingering on Sakura before he flicked the reins in silent signal to move.

Shisui mounted easily, his manner calm against his kinsman’s restless edge. Tenten swung into her saddle beside Sakura with practiced ease.

The road continued to carry them north, away from the thick forests that had always sheltered Konoha. Before long, Sakura began to notice the change. The trees grew sparser, their trunks thinner and more widely spaced, until patches of bare earth stretched between them. The air, once heavy with the scent of moss and leaf mold, grew sharper, drier, carrying a chill that bit at her lungs when she breathed too deeply.

She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, shifting in the saddle as she looked ahead. Rising faintly against the horizon were the mountains, jagged peaks veiled in the pale blue haze of distance. Their sheer size made the earth seem small beneath them, and already Sakura could feel the way they shaped the land, pulling wind and weather down into the valleys.

Birdsong had grown rarer as the hours passed, the quiet broken instead by the steady rhythm of hooves and the occasional creak of leather. The land itself seemed to hush, waiting.

Tenten rode steady at her side, eyes flicking now and again to the shifting terrain. Shisui scanned the road ahead with practiced calm, while Madara seemed unmoved by the cold, his posture as rigid and unbending as the peaks themselves.

For Sakura, the mountains had always been something distant, glimpsed only in maps or from the highest towers of the castle. To see them now, growing nearer with every mile, was to feel the weight of Oto looming on the edge of her future.

Later that day, the mountains towered directly above them, their slopes rising in stark walls of stone and shadow. The forest had long since thinned away, replaced by stretches of barren rock and pale, scrubbed earth. The air was thinner here, colder, carrying a bite that sank into bone.

When at last the outer gates of Oto came into view, Sakura slowed her horse, her breath catching. High stone walls stretched before them, their surface worn smooth by wind and weather, the iron-bound gates standing dark and unyielding.

Two guards stood posted, armored in black lacquer, their faces unreadable as carved masks. They did not shift when the riders approached, only raised their hands in acknowledgment before bowing their heads in a precise, almost mechanical greeting.

“Welcome back,” one intoned.

The words carried no warmth, no hostility either, merely formality.

Sakura’s eyes wandered beyond them. The landscape itself seemed caught between shadow and pallor, all grays, blacks, and washed-out whites. Even the sky looked muted, as though some unseen weight pressed down upon it.

She could not tell if this bleakness was the natural character of Oto’s mountain realm, or if the sickness within its walls had seeped outward, draining the color from the land itself. Her hand brushed unconsciously against the book Tsunade had given her.

The gates groaned open, and their small company passed beneath the looming arch. The road beyond dipped into the heart of Oto’s village, and for a moment Sakura almost expected to feel something alien, strange buildings, foreign customs. Yet what she saw reminded her of Konoha, only dulled, as though the color had been drained from every stone and face.

Stalls lined the streets, baskets of root vegetables and bundles of firewood stacked high, merchants calling out their wares with voices that lacked the liveliness she knew at home. Blacksmiths worked at their forges, but the sparks seemed dimmer, swallowed by the gray light. Children carried water pails, yet even their play had an odd restraint, laughter muted into something brittle.

Women scrubbed clothes in basins, men hauled timber, shop doors swung open to admit customers. Life went on here, every rhythm of daily labor echoing the same patterns she knew in Konoha, yet it all felt strangely hollow. The smiles were scarce, the eyes of passersby flat, as though the land itself had drawn vitality from its people.

A tanner glanced up from his work as they passed, bowing politely before returning to scraping a hide. A woman selling bread gave a shallow nod but no smile. Even the smell of the place seemed subdued, smoke, damp stone, and the faint tang of metal, none of it brightened by the herbs or spices that flavored Konoha’s market air.

Sakura’s grip tightened on her reins. Madara rode ahead without comment, as though nothing here was amiss. Shisui’s expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. Tenten nudged her horse closer to Sakura’s, wordlessly offering the comfort of presence in a land that felt stranger with every step.

As they cleared the village, the road bent upward, stone giving way to carved paths that wound toward the mountain’s base. It was then Sakura saw it, the Uchiha stronghold rising against the gray sky.

Her breath caught.

Half of the castle stood proud in the open, towers and battlements jutting upward in stark black stone, sharp-edged and unyielding. But the other half disappeared into the mountain itself, its walls and corridors swallowed by the rock as though the mountain had claimed it. Lanterns burned faintly along narrow windows, like watchful eyes embedded in stone.

The sheer scale of it dwarfed anything she had known in Konoha. Where Minato’s castle sat open to the forest and sun, Oto’s fortress felt carved from shadow and permanence, as if it had always been there and would outlast all who walked its halls.

Sakura said nothing, though awe stirred in her chest, mixing with unease. Beside her, Tenten kept her jaw tight, eyes sweeping the battlements as if weighing each vantage point.

At the gates, Shisui drew his horse forward, his voice calm but carrying the weight of ceremony. “Welcome to the Uchiha stronghold,” he said, glancing back at them. “From this point on, you are under our roof and our protection.”

Madara dismounted first, every movement precise, his cloak falling around him like shadow. Shisui followed, gesturing for Sakura and Tenten to do the same. Together, they crossed the stone courtyard toward the looming front doors, their footsteps echoing in the chill air.

Neither Sakura nor Tenten spoke. The silence felt demanded, as though words themselves might disturb the weight of the place.

The towering doors of the castle swung slowly open, their hinges groaning like the mountain itself.

Shisui fell into step beside them as the heavy doors shut behind. His tone, ever smooth, carried a practiced ease. “Your belongings will be taken to your quarters. You’ll each have your own chamber, though they’re connected by a door between them. Should you need anything, attendants will be near at all times.”

Sakura only nodded, her attention caught on the sight before her. She had expected rough stone and dim caverns, the oppressive closeness of a fortress carved into the mountain. Instead, the castle’s interior opened wide and gleaming.

Tall ceilings arched above them, chandeliers dripping with glass and iron that caught the torchlight in glittering shards. Polished stone floors reflected their steps, and walls were draped with deep crimson banners embroidered with the Uchiha crest, red and white fans edged with silver thread.

The air smelled faintly of cedar smoke and oil lamps, not dampness. Murals climbed the walls, scenes of the Uchiha’s battles and victories rendered in bold strokes of red and black. Statues of warriors, carved with lifelike precision, lined the corridor, each set in an alcove that made them seem half-alive, watching as the company passed.

For a heartbeat, Sakura forgot to breathe. It was not a place of shadows and caves at all, it was a seat of wealth and power, rivaling, if not exceeding, Konoha’s own halls.

Beside her, Tenten gave a low whistle under her breath before catching herself, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Sakura kept silent, though awe pressed in her chest. Whatever sickness plagued this house, its foundations were far from frail.

Shisui led them onward, the soft echo of their footsteps swallowed by the vast corridors. Servants moved quietly along the halls, slipping past with bowed heads and quick, efficient steps. Their movements were precise, practiced, each task done with an almost military order. No one lingered, no one smiled. Even their whispers seemed hushed, a language of glances and gestures exchanged in silence.

Sakura watched carefully. Where Konoha’s castle was alive with chatter and bursts of laughter between scullery maids or pages, Oto’s servants carried themselves like shadows. They were not unhappy, merely restrained, as if the weight of the mountain pressed down on them as much as duty did.

Now and then she glimpsed artisans at work through open archways: a seamstress bent over crimson silk, a scribe scratching neat lines across a scroll, a steward directing the arrangement of wine casks. Each worked with focused intensity, but their faces remained composed, blank of excess expression.

At last, the corridor opened into a soaring archway, its stone carved with patterns of flame and fan. Beyond lay a chamber so vast Sakura slowed her steps, struck by its scale. Pillars rose like tree trunks to hold the ceiling aloft, banners cascading down in crimson and black. At the far end of the hall, two thrones stood side by side upon a dais.

The larger one, wrought in iron and blackwood, was occupied. The smaller, carved more delicately but equally fine, sat empty.

Her gaze fixed on the man who filled the greater throne. Fugaku Uchiha’s presence seemed to anchor the entire room. Broad-shouldered, clad in dark robes trimmed with silver, his posture was one of rigid authority. His eyes, black and piercing, turned on her the moment she stepped into view.

For all the grandeur of the chamber, it was his silent appraisal that made Sakura’s breath catch.

Their footsteps echoed across the chamber as they advanced. Instinctively, Sakura and Tenten slowed beside Shisui and Madara, each lowering their heads in a respectful bow. The silence in the vast hall was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of banners shifting in the draft.

Fugaku regarded them without a word at first, his gaze sweeping over each of them with a weight that made Sakura’s spine stiffen. When at last he spoke, his voice carried easily through the chamber, low, measured, and without excess.

“Where is Lady Tsunade?”

The question hung heavy in the air, as though demanding an answer worthy of his time.

Shisui stepped forward smoothly, bowing his head once more. “My king, Konoha has honored our request. Lady Tsunade herself could not be spared from her duties to her own kingdom. Instead, she has sent her most trusted apprentice, Lady Sakura Haruno. She comes in Tsunade’s stead, prepared to treat Lady Mikoto with the same knowledge and skill.”

Fugaku’s eyes lingered on Shisui for only a moment before shifting to Sakura. They were as dark and unreadable as the stone around them, weighing her silently.

Sakura kept her bow, her pulse loud in her ears, and waited for judgment.

Fugaku’s silence stretched long enough that Sakura dared to lift her eyes. His gaze locked on her, sharp, unyielding, a weight that pressed like stone.

“So,” he said at last, his voice cold as the hall around them, “Tsunade sends not herself, but her apprentice.” The word lingered on his tongue, dismissive.

His hand tightened faintly on the armrest of his throne. “Step forward, girl.”

Sakura drew a breath, forcing her legs to move. Each step toward the dais echoed loud in her ears. She stopped at the foot of the thrones and bowed again, her heart steadying in the act.

“Tell me who you are,” Fugaku said, his tone clipped, “and why I should entrust the life of my wife to you. Speak plain. I care nothing for flattery.”

The chamber seemed to shrink around her, every banner and pillar pressing closer. She straightened slowly, meeting his gaze with as much composure as she could summon.

“I am Sakura Haruno,” she said, voice calm though her throat felt tight. “I was taken into Konoha’s castle after my parents’ deaths, raised and trained under Lady Tsunade. For more than a decade, I have studied medicine, anatomy, and the craft of remedies. I have served in wards, treated soldiers and nobles alike, and I have learned to fail without surrendering. My hands are steady. My knowledge is true. If Lady Mikoto can be healed, I will heal her.”

Her words carried no ornament, only fact.

Fugaku’s expression did not shift, but the hall itself seemed to hold its breath in the silence that followed.

Shisui stepped forward again, his tone carrying a quiet reassurance. “My king, if I may, Lady Tsunade herself vouched for Sakura’s skill. I was there when the terms were agreed. She did not hesitate in naming her apprentice fit to serve in her stead.”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed faintly, though no softness touched his expression. His gaze returned to Sakura, studying her as though she were an untested blade placed in his hand.

“Even so,” he said slowly, “recommendations are words. Skill is action. Trust is earned.” His voice sharpened as he shifted, turning his head toward the man standing at his right.

“Madara,” Fugaku said, his tone clipped but deliberate, “what is your judgment?”

The air in the hall seemed to grow heavier.

Madara stepped forward from the shadows cast by the throne, his dark cloak whispering across the stone floor. His eyes, already fixed on Sakura, flared with something that made her pulse skip, a hunger, sharp and unsettling, that had nothing to do with medicine.

“She is… unexpected,” he said at last, his voice low and resonant, carrying a strange mixture of mockery and admiration. “Not cowed, even here. I have seen men twice her age falter under less.”

His gaze swept over her, deliberate and unblinking. “Whether that strength will hold when she faces more than words… we shall see. But I think it would be a mistake to underestimate her.”

The faintest curl of a smile touched his lips, though it was not kind.

Fugaku’s eyes lingered on Madara for a moment, weighing his words. At last, he gave a slow nod, though the severity of his gaze never softened.

“Very well,” he said, his tone like stone grinding against stone. “If Tsunade herself entrusted you, then I will allow you to tend to my wife. But understand this…” his voice dropped, cold and sharp, “...should you falter, it will not be Tsunade who bears the failure. It will be you.”

Sakura bowed her head, her voice firm despite the tension tightening her chest. “I understand, my lord.”

Fugaku leaned back into his throne, a signal that the matter was settled, at least for now. “Shisui. See her to Lady Mikoto.”

“Yes, my lord,” Shisui replied smoothly, stepping forward and gesturing for Sakura and Tenten to follow.

As they turned to leave, Sakura felt the weight of eyes upon her. She glanced, just once, and met Madara’s gaze. He had not moved from his place by the throne, yet his stare clung to her like a shadow stretched too long. There was no mistaking the intensity there, unblinking, dark, as though he were committing every detail of her to memory.

Sakura forced herself to look away, steadying her breath as she followed Shisui through another towering archway. But even as the grand chamber receded behind her, the sense of being watched lingered, clinging to her skin like the chill of the mountain air.

Shisui led them through a winding passage that carried them deeper into the mountain. The grandeur of the entry hall gave way to quieter corridors, still elegant, but hushed, draped in thick carpets that muffled their steps. Here, servants moved with even greater care, their voices lowered to whispers.

At last, they stopped before a tall door inlaid with silver filigree. Two attendants bowed deeply as Shisui pushed it open, motioning for Sakura and Tenten to follow.

The room beyond was spacious yet subdued, its walls hung with pale silk that caught the light of a brazier burning gently in the corner. The air smelled faintly of herbs, though they were not the sharp, clean scents Sakura was accustomed to. They were stale, muted, as though whatever remedies had been tried here had long since lost their strength.

Upon the great bed in the center of the chamber lay Lady Mikoto. Her dark hair spread across the pillows, her face striking even in its pallor. She stirred faintly at the sound of the door, opening her eyes with visible effort.

Sakura’s heart clenched at the sight. Mikoto’s features were delicate, her beauty unmistakable, but the sickness had hollowed her cheeks and left her skin too pale, her lips faintly cracked. Still, when her gaze found Sakura, warmth flickered there, fragile, but alive.

Shisui’s voice dropped into something softer, more respectful than even he usually carried. “My lady, this is Sakura Haruno, apprentice of Tsunade. She has come from Konoha to tend to you.”

Mikoto’s lips curved faintly, her voice weak but gracious. “So… you are the one Tsunade has sent.”

Sakura stepped closer to the bedside, bowing her head respectfully. Mikoto’s gaze lingered on her, soft despite the shadow of illness clouding her features.

“Do not be afraid,” Mikoto said gently, her voice thin but carrying a natural grace. “They’ve already confirmed it cannot spread from person to person. You are safe to be near me.”

Her words were meant as comfort, not command, and it eased something in Sakura’s chest. She had expected suspicion, perhaps even resistance, but instead there was only welcome.

“I am honored to be here, my lady,” Sakura replied, her tone quiet but steady. She set her satchel down by the bedside, fingers brushing the book Tsunade had entrusted her. “I will do everything I can to restore your strength.”

Mikoto smiled faintly, her eyes closing for a breath as though the effort of speaking cost her. Yet when she opened them again, that warmth remained. “Then I am already grateful. To have someone so young come all this way… Tsunade must think highly of you.”

Behind Sakura, Tenten remained near the door, her watchful gaze scanning the chamber, while Shisui moved quietly to one side, giving the two women space.

For the first time since leaving Konoha, Sakura felt a flicker of calm. Not hope yet, but the possibility of it.

Sakura straightened, her expression softening into calm professionalism. “With your permission, my lady, I would like to examine you now. The more I see, the better I can understand what we face.”

Mikoto inclined her head faintly. “Of course. Do what you must.”

Sakura drew closer, setting her satchel on the low table beside the bed. With careful movements, she laid out a few simple tools: a cloth, a small vial of oil, a slender probe of polished wood. Her hands were steady, her manner deliberate, clinical without losing gentleness.

She began with Mikoto’s pulse, taking her wrist lightly. The beat was weak, uneven, like a drum fading mid-strike. Next she brushed her fingertips across the woman’s skin, noting the dryness, the subtle chill. She asked questions in a calm voice, when the sickness had begun, how the symptoms had worsened, what remedies had been attempted.

Mikoto answered as best she could, her words slow but clear. Between answers she coughed, a tight sound that left her lips pale. Sakura noted every detail silently, her mind cataloguing signs and discarding guesses, shaping possibilities into patterns.

When she leaned close to check Mikoto’s eyes, she caught again that faint smile, fragile but unwavering. “You are very thorough,” Mikoto murmured.

“It’s the only way,” Sakura replied, her voice quiet but firm.

From his place by the wall, Shisui watched thoughtfully. Tenten stayed at the door, her posture protective, but even she relaxed slightly at the sight of Sakura moving with confidence.

As Sakura finished her examination, Mikoto’s hand lingered lightly on her wrist. Her eyes, though weary, searched Sakura’s face with quiet curiosity.

“How old are you, child?” she asked softly.

Sakura hesitated only a moment. “Twenty-seven, my lady.”

A faint smile touched Mikoto’s lips. “The same age as my youngest son.” Her voice carried warmth at the thought, though a shadow of sorrow lingered beneath it.

Sakura allowed herself a small smile in return, though she kept her tone professional. “Then I have much to prove, both to you and your family. I’ll be noting everything I’ve observed, and tonight I’ll begin working through a few ideas. We’ll see what may help.”

Mikoto gave a single, graceful nod, her eyes closing briefly as though the conversation itself had tired her. “Good. Then I will rest in your hands.”

Her gaze shifted past Sakura, toward Shisui. “See that they are shown to their quarters. They’ve traveled far, and rest will serve them as much as it serves me.”

Shisui bowed his head. “As you command, my lady.”

Sakura repacked her instruments, careful and precise, before rising. She dipped her head in a final bow. “I’ll return soon, my lady.”

Mikoto’s faint smile lingered, following her until the chamber doors closed behind them.

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Chapter Text

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Dawn came muted in Oto. No birdsong, no golden shafts of light spilling through green leaves, only the pale gray of mountain morning filtering through the narrow window slits. Sakura stirred awake to the chill of stone walls, her blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. For a moment, she had to remind herself where she was.

Her chamber was grander than she’d expected, though colder in spirit than anything she’d known in Konoha. The floors were polished black stone, veined with streaks of white that caught the morning light in thin silver lines. Heavy curtains of crimson silk hung at the windows, their embroidered Uchiha crests stark against the otherwise subdued space. A carved chest sat at the foot of her bed, and a writing desk stood beneath the window, already stocked with parchment, ink, and quills, provided for her work.

Sakura sat up slowly, noting how the room, despite its richness, felt strangely restrained. Where Konoha’s castle was alive with warmth, sunlight, polished wood, the scent of flowering vines creeping in through open windows, Oto’s grandeur was shadowed, the air faintly cool, touched by stone and silence. Even the fire that had burned in the hearth overnight had left little trace, as though warmth itself was reluctant to linger here.

Her gaze drifted to the inner door, the one Shisui had said connected to Tenten’s room. A faint sound carried through, Tenten’s muffled humming, followed by the scrape of steel as she sharpened a blade.

Sakura swung her legs from the bed and crossed to the desk. She ran her fingers across the parchment, already imagining the notes she would make: Mikoto’s pulse, her symptoms, her color, the herbs that might bring strength back to her blood. The work ahead pressed heavy on her mind, yet here in the solitude of her quarters, she felt a fragile clarity.

She pulled the worn leather book from her satchel and laid it open on the desk. Its pages were softened with use, the ink dark in some places, faded in others, as if several hands had added to it over the years. Tsunade’s scrawling notes stood out in the margins, sharp, purposeful script crowded between neat lines of earlier text.

The first section detailed Oto’s geography: the mountains, ridges, and valleys that cut the land into sharp borders. She traced a finger over the sketched map tucked between the pages, noting rivers fed by melted snow, and villages pressed into narrow passes where little sunlight reached. Cold, damp, harsh… no wonder sickness lingers here, she thought.

She turned the page, finding an account of Oto’s founding. The Uchiha name appeared again and again, tied to war and unification, their clan shaping the land as much as the mountain itself. Neat, deliberate handwriting filled this portion, recording treaties and alliances that bound Oto to its neighbors, few of which had endured.

Further on, notes on the Uchiha family itself. Mikoto’s name appeared with a description written in Tsunade’s firm hand: Respected, beloved, softer than her husband but not weaker. Watch her eyes. She sees more than she says. Sakura paused at that, the words striking her as truth even from her short meeting the night before.

Her gaze slid lower, to passages on Fugaku: uncompromising, commanding, a leader who inspired loyalty through fear as much as respect. Then Itachi, heir apparent, his name followed by words of quiet brilliance. And Sasuke, youngest son, with little detail yet, as if still being written into the family’s story.

The final pages bore sketches of plants unique to the mountains, their uses and their dangers. Some had medicinal strength that rivaled anything in Konoha’s forests, others were toxins even a whiff of smoke could carry to the lungs. Sakura’s pulse quickened as she read, already piecing together what herbs she might find here that could serve Mikoto’s recovery.

As Sakura reached to close the book, a thought tugged at her. She paused, flipping back through the pages, scanning the sections on the Uchiha lineage. Fugaku, Mikoto, Itachi, Sasuke, all recorded in careful detail. Even the broader branches of the clan had their place: cousins, uncles, distant kin who held influence in Oto’s courts or in its armies.

But nowhere did she find the name Madara.

Her brows knit. Surely a man with his presence, his authority, would be noted. Tsunade’s records were thorough, painfully so at times. Every name that mattered had its place, every influence accounted for. Yet here, there was only silence, as though he had been cut clean from the page.

She tapped the edge of the book, unease coiling low in her chest. Was it an omission? A mistake? Or something deliberate, something Tsunade herself had chosen not to write?

The memory of his gaze from the night before came unbidden, intense, unyielding, as if he had been peering past her skin and into her marrow. A man like that did not go unrecorded.

Sakura closed the book at last, setting her hand flat over its cover. She told herself she would ask Shisui later, perhaps even Mikoto when strength allowed. For now, all she could do was wonder. And wonder left her more unsettled than the silence of Oto’s halls.

A soft knock came from the adjoining door.

Sakura blinked, pushing the book aside before rising to unlatch it. Tenten stood on the other side, already dressed for the day. Her hair was tied back neatly, a sword at her hip and the faint smell of oil clinging to her sleeves from sharpening her weapons.

“You’re awake,” Tenten said, offering a small smile. Her eyes flicked to the desk. “Already working, huh? Figures.”

Sakura gave a quiet laugh, brushing a loose strand of pink hair behind her ear. “I wanted to look through what Tsunade left me. It… helps me focus.”

Tenten stepped inside, glancing around the chamber. “Big room,” she remarked. “Though it feels like it’s watching you.”

Sakura’s gaze followed hers to the embroidered banners and stone-carved walls. “Everything here does.”

For a moment they stood in companionable silence. Then Tenten’s expression softened. “Shisui’s supposed to come for us soon. Probably to fetch you for Lady Mikoto. I thought you might want company until then.”

Sakura smiled faintly at that. “I’d like that.”

Tenten leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Good. Because something tells me it’s going to be a long day.”

Sakura returned to the desk, pulling a sheet of parchment toward her and dipping the quill into ink. Her handwriting flowed neat and measured as she began jotting down notes from the day before; Mikoto’s pulse, her complexion, the dryness of her skin, the cough that strained her voice. She wrote in the same clipped style Tsunade had taught her: precise, factual, no wasted words.

Behind her, Tenten moved slowly around the chamber, hands clasped behind her back. She paused before the heavy curtains, brushing the embroidered crest with her fingertips, then crossed to study the carved chest at the foot of the bed.

“Everything’s… fine craftsmanship,” Tenten murmured, half to herself. “But it feels more like a display than a room someone lives in.”

Sakura glanced up from her parchment. “It doesn’t have much warmth.”

“No,” Tenten agreed, pausing beside the hearth. The fire had burned low, its embers dim. She nudged the iron poker absently before moving on, her sharp eyes scanning as though expecting to uncover some hidden flaw. “Like the whole place was built to impress, not comfort.”

Sakura hummed thoughtfully, returning to her notes. The scratch of quill against parchment filled the silence, punctuated by Tenten’s slow footsteps. For a moment, it was almost easy to forget the weight of where they were, two women tucked away in a foreign castle, one at work, the other watchful, both waiting for whatever came next.

Tenten finally circled back to the desk, leaning a shoulder against the wall as she watched Sakura’s quill scratch across the parchment. For a while she stayed quiet, then tilted her head slightly.

“Any ideas yet?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t pressing, curious, maybe a little hopeful.

Sakura paused, holding the quill mid-air. She glanced down at the notes she’d already written, the columns of symptoms and small details she was trying to thread into something coherent.

“Not yet,” she admitted. “But there are patterns… things I can rule out. It isn’t contagious, so that narrows it. Her pulse was weak, uneven, like her body’s been worn down over time rather than struck all at once. The cough, the dryness…” She tapped the end of the quill gently against the page. “It’s too early to pin down. I’ll need to see more before I can say anything certain.”

Tenten studied her a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Good. You sound like you’re already a step ahead. Just don’t run yourself ragged trying to solve it all in one night.”

Sakura managed a faint smile. “I’ll try not to.”

But when her gaze drifted back to the parchment, the truth pressed in heavier. The Uchiha expected results, and the mountain gave no room for mistakes.

When her notes were finished, Sakura set the quill aside and stood. The simple riding clothes she had worn yesterday still smelled faintly of dust and horse, and this would not do for standing in Oto’s halls again. She crossed to the carved chest at the foot of her bed and lifted the lid, selecting one of her finer gowns from the careful bundles Tsunade had seen packed for her.

It was modest but well-made, a deep green trimmed with cream thread, the fabric falling in clean lines that spoke of dignity without extravagance. She smoothed the wrinkles with her hands before slipping it on, fastening the ties with practiced ease. The red headband Naruto had given her left in place, a small piece of Konoha she was unwilling to remove.

When she reemerged, Tenten raised a brow from her seat on the edge of the bed. “You clean up well,” she remarked dryly, though her smile was genuine.

Before Sakura could answer, a knock sounded at the main door to her chamber. Tenten was on her feet instantly, hand hovering near her sword.

A young servant stood waiting in the hall, bowing quickly as the door opened. His eyes flicked respectfully toward both women before settling on Sakura. “My lady, the Lord requests your presence. Please, if you would follow me.”

Sakura exchanged a brief glance with Tenten, who gave a small nod. She gathered her satchel and slipped her notes inside, her heart steadying against her ribs.

“Lead the way,” she said.

And with that, they stepped into the shadowed corridor, the servant guiding them deeper toward the heart of the stronghold.

The servant led them through the winding corridors until another figure appeared ahead. Shisui waited at a junction, his posture easy but his eyes alert, as though he had been expecting them.

“Good morning,” he greeted smoothly, inclining his head. “I’ll take it from here.”

The servant bowed quickly and vanished down another hall, leaving only the three of them. Shisui gave Sakura and Tenten a courteous nod before turning to lead them onward.

The path wound back toward the residential wing, until at last they arrived again at the tall silver-inlaid doors. Shisui pushed them open, and the warm scent of food met them, bread still steaming, bowls of porridge laced with dried fruit, a plate of sliced cheeses, and a pot of fragrant tea waiting on a small table near the bed.

Mikoto sat propped against pillows, her dark hair combed neatly over her shoulders. Though her skin was pale, her eyes brightened as they entered. “Ah… you’ve come. Good. Sit with me, both of you. We will share breakfast.”

Sakura bowed politely, relief touching her chest at the welcome in Mikoto’s tone. Tenten followed suit, though her gaze lingered subtly on the corners of the chamber, still measuring the room. Shisui closed the door softly behind them, remaining to one side like a shadow while the women took their seats.

Sakura settled into the chair nearest Mikoto’s bed, Tenten beside her. The servant had arranged the meal neatly on a low table, but it was Mikoto herself who gestured for them to eat.

“Please,” she said with a small smile. “Travel leaves one hollow. Take something before we speak of heavier things.”

Her tone was gracious, almost motherly, and it coaxed Sakura into breaking a piece of bread, dipping it into the honey at the table’s edge. Tenten poured tea, her movements precise but careful, as though uncertain of what etiquette was expected here.

For a few minutes, the chamber felt warm with simple conversation. Mikoto asked Sakura about the road from Konoha, about whether the forests were as green as she remembered, and about Tenten’s training as a smith’s apprentice. Her voice was soft, but there was a genuine curiosity in it, an eagerness to speak of something beyond the confines of her bed.

Yet the warmth soon waned, as though fatigue pulled her thoughts back to the present. Mikoto set down her cup, her hand trembling faintly as she did. Her eyes, though kind, grew more intent as they rested on Sakura.

“And now,” she said quietly, “we must speak of what brought you here.”

Sakura straightened, brushing crumbs from her fingers.

“My strength fails a little more each day,” Mikoto continued, her words measured but unflinching. “They bring me tinctures, teas, powders, some ease the ache, some only dull me. But nothing lasts. I feel the sickness in my bones, as though it is seeping deeper.”

Her gaze lingered on Sakura, searching. “Tell me truthfully, child. Do you believe you can help me?”

The chamber seemed to still, the crackle of the brazier the only sound. Tenten’s hand paused mid-motion on her cup, and even Shisui’s calm eyes shifted to Sakura, awaiting her answer.

Sakura met Mikoto’s gaze without wavering. “I can’t promise I know the cure, not yet,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the weight of the question. “It would be dishonest to say otherwise. But I can promise this, I will not stop until I find it. Every remedy, every path of knowledge I’ve been taught, I will put to work for you.”

Mikoto studied her for a long moment, the silence thick between them. Then, slowly, a faint smile touched her lips. “Honesty and resolve. You remind me of Tsunade, though you carry it differently. She was fire; you are steel.”

Sakura inclined her head, accepting the words without pride. “If there is a way forward, I will find it.”

At that, Mikoto leaned back against her pillows, a soft sigh escaping her as though some hidden tension had eased. “Then I will trust you, Sakura Haruno. That trust is yours to keep… or lose.”

Tenten gave a barely visible nod, her hand tightening around her cup in quiet approval. Shisui’s expression flickered, thoughtful, a touch impressed, but he remained silent, watching the exchange with careful eyes.

For Sakura, the weight of Mikoto’s trust settled heavier than any crown. But beneath it, a spark of determination caught flame.

Before Sakura could reply, a knock sounded at the chamber doors. Shisui stepped forward to answer, pulling them open just enough to admit two figures.

Itachi entered first, his steps measured and quiet. His dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his gaze was calm, deliberate, as though he were assessing the entire room at once. He carried himself with a quiet authority that needed no announcement.

Beside him strode Sasuke, younger but already bearing the sharpness of his lineage. His expression was less composed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked to Sakura and then to Tenten, lingering just long enough to betray his skepticism.

Mikoto’s face softened at once. “My sons,” she said, her voice brightening with warmth that seemed to chase some of the pallor from her cheeks. She reached out a hand, and Itachi crossed immediately to take it gently, bowing his head toward her. Sasuke followed, slower, though no less attentive once he stood at her side.

“You shouldn’t tire yourself, Mother,” Itachi murmured, his voice low, steady as still water.

Mikoto smiled faintly, brushing her fingers against his. “Seeing you could never tire me.” Her gaze shifted toward Sakura and Tenten. “This is Tsunade’s apprentice, Sakura Haruno, and her companion. They have come to care for me.”

Itachi’s eyes settled on Sakura, calm but probing, as though weighing her the way Fugaku had. Sasuke’s jaw tightened, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

Sakura inclined her head respectfully, though she could feel the weight of both brothers’ stares.

Itachi’s gaze lingered on Sakura a moment longer before he inclined his head. “Lady Sakura,” he said evenly, his tone calm but not cold. “If my mother trusts you, then so shall I. We are grateful for your presence here.”

His words were simple, yet they carried weight, an acknowledgment that mattered, especially after Fugaku’s sharp scrutiny.

Sakura bowed her head in return. “I will do all I can for her, my lord.”

At her side, Tenten mirrored the gesture, though her eyes flicked briefly toward Sasuke. He had not spoken. He stood close to Mikoto’s bedside, his posture protective, his jaw set tight. His dark eyes cut toward Sakura only briefly, unreadable, before he looked back to his mother.

Mikoto gave his hand a small squeeze, as though sensing the tension. “Do not frown so, Sasuke. I feel lighter just having them here.”

He said nothing, but the faintest softening touched his expression at her words.

The chamber settled into silence again, though Sakura could feel the unspoken weight, Itachi’s careful acceptance, Sasuke’s watchful suspicion, and Mikoto’s quiet hope binding them all together.

Mikoto shifted against her pillows, the faintest spark of strength returning to her voice. “You will not hover silently like shadows,” she chided softly, her eyes resting on both her sons. “If Sakura is to help me, then she must have your aid. Knowledge of this house, of our land, of me, none of it is beyond your reach. Share it with her.”

Itachi inclined his head without hesitation. “Of course, Mother.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Sakura, calm and unreadable, before returning to Mikoto.

Sasuke hesitated, his jaw tight. But under his mother’s steady gaze, he gave a short, reluctant nod. “If it helps.”

Mikoto’s smile deepened faintly. “Good. Then I am content.” She leaned back into the pillows, the effort of speaking catching up with her. Her fingers brushed Itachi’s hand one last time before she let them fall to her lap. “Now…enough for today. You’ve all hovered long enough. I would rest.”

Shisui bowed immediately, his voice smooth. “As you will, my lady.” He turned to gesture Sakura and Tenten toward the doors.

Sakura rose, offering Mikoto a quiet bow of her own. “I’ll return soon.”

Mikoto’s eyes followed her with quiet warmth, even as her lids grew heavy with fatigue.

One by one, they filed from the chamber, Itachi and Sasuke lingering just a breath longer before following, their silent presence leaving behind a heavier stillness.

As they stepped out into the corridor, the brothers parted ways. Sasuke stalked off first, his boots striking hard against the stone, his shoulders tense with a glare that hadn’t left his face since entering the chamber. Itachi lingered only a breath longer, his eyes resting on Sakura with a look that was less suspicion than quiet curiosity. Then he, too, turned, vanishing into the dim corridors without a word.

That left only Shisui. He adjusted the fall of his cloak and regarded Sakura with that ever-thoughtful gaze of his. “You’ve had a long morning,” he said, voice calm, easy as water smoothing over stone. “Do you need anything? Food, ink, more parchment for your notes?”

Sakura shook her head, offering a polite smile. “No, thank you. I have everything I need.”

Shisui inclined his head, accepting the answer without pressing. “Then I’ll leave you to rest. You’ll be called again when Lady Mikoto wakes.” With that, he strode off down the hall, leaving the two women alone.

Sakura exhaled slowly, waiting until his footsteps faded into silence. Then she glanced at Tenten, who raised a brow.

“You’re not planning on resting, are you?” Tenten asked, voice low.

Sakura’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes were sharp with resolve. “Not yet. We need to understand this place. Its halls, its people… what’s being kept from us.” She tapped her satchel lightly, where Tsunade’s book was tucked away. “Tonight, we’ll take a look around. Quietly. No one needs to know.”

Tenten’s smirk was quick and wolfish. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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The summons came just after sunset, when the last pale light of day had bled away into the mountain’s shadow. A servant knocked softly at Sakura’s door, bowing low as he announced, “My lady, the household requests your presence for supper.”

Sakura exchanged a glance with Tenten. She had been expecting this, sooner or later, Fugaku would want her at his table, to judge her not only as a healer but as a guest in his domain.

They followed the servant through lamplit corridors, the crimson banners of the Uchiha crest glowing faintly in the flicker of torches. The deeper they walked, the louder the distant hum of voices and the rich smell of roasted meat and herbs grew.

At last, the doors of the great hall opened. Inside, a long table stretched beneath vaulted ceilings. Candles blazed from wrought-iron chandeliers, their light glinting off polished silver and deep red glass. Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere was subdued, voices low, movements measured, as though even a family meal here was bound by the weight of discipline.

Fugaku sat at the head, his presence anchoring the room. Beside him, the smaller throne-like chair at the table’s right was filled at last, Mikoto, seated with careful poise, her beauty undiminished despite her pallor.

Itachi and Sasuke occupied places farther down the table, each casting their own kind of shadow, Itachi quiet and watchful, Sasuke tense, his expression unreadable but sharp.

And there, just opposite the empty seats awaiting them, sat Madara. His posture was regal, but his eyes were fixed on Sakura the moment she entered, as though no one else in the room existed.

“Welcome,” Fugaku said, his voice carrying easily across the table. “Join us.”

Sakura and Tenten took their seats where servants directed, the polished wood cool beneath their hands. The first courses were laid before them, bowls of steaming broth, platters of roasted root vegetables, bread dark with grain. The formality of the meal pressed heavy in the air; even the clink of silverware seemed muted.

Fugaku was the first to speak. His voice was as measured as ever, each word a judgment.
“You have seen my wife,” he said, not as a question but a statement. His eyes, sharp as drawn steel, fixed on Sakura. “And you claim you can help her. Yet you are young. Konoha has entrusted me not with its master, but her shadow. Why should I believe in you?”

The air grew taut. Across the table, Sasuke’s lips curved in the faintest smirk, as though her answer might confirm his doubts. Itachi, in contrast, was unreadable, his dark gaze steady on her but offering no relief. Madara, meanwhile, had not looked away from her since she’d sat down, his interest a tangible thing.

Sakura set her spoon down carefully, choosing her words with calm precision. “Because I am the one Tsunade entrusted. Because knowledge is not bound by age but by what one has endured. And because your lady has asked me to try.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to press into her ribs.

It was Mikoto who broke it, her voice warm but firm. “Husband, enough. She has already shown me her dedication. I trust her.” She glanced at Sakura, her eyes kind, then returned her gaze to Fugaku. “Let us not turn a family table into a trial. There is room here for conversation, not interrogation.”

The tension eased, slightly, like a bowstring slackened but not unstrung. Servants refilled cups with dark wine, and the meal moved forward under Mikoto’s steadying influence.

Mikoto lifted her cup with elegant ease, her faint smile softening the edge left in the air. “Tell me, Sakura,” she said, her tone warm and inviting, “what is life in Konoha like these days? Do the forests still bloom early in spring? I remember their scent so well.”

Sakura blinked at the change in subject but welcomed it, inclining her head. “Yes, my lady. This past spring the meadows bloomed weeks earlier than expected. The air was filled with wildflowers, and the castle gardens were thick with color.”

Mikoto’s eyes softened further, a wistfulness flickering there. “How I miss those gardens. Oto’s mountain flowers are hardy, but they lack the wild beauty of Konoha’s fields.”

At that, Itachi spoke quietly, his tone steady. “When I was younger, you always said the roses reminded you of home.”

Mikoto chuckled softly, the sound lightening the air. “I did, didn’t I? You remembered.” She touched his hand briefly, her affection plain even in such a small gesture.

Sakura smiled faintly, relaxing enough to add, “I used to help tend the castle’s gardens when I was a girl. Tsunade claimed it was ‘discipline training,’ but I think she simply wanted me out from under her feet.”

That earned a ripple of quiet amusement from Mikoto, and even Shisui’s lips twitched as though fighting a smile. The heaviness in the room thinned, replaced by something almost normal.

Sasuke, however, remained silent, his gaze darting to Sakura now and then, guarded. Madara still watched her intently, his expression unreadable, but his silence somehow louder than words.

For a brief moment, though, the dinner table felt less like a trial and more like a family gathered together.

Mikoto leaned back slightly, her gaze turning thoughtful. “Tell me, Sakura, how is young Naruto? I remember him only as a boy with hair as bright as the sun, running through Konoha’s halls with no sense of quiet.”

Sakura’s lips softened into a smile. “He’s twenty-eight now. Still loud, still stubborn, but he’s grown into someone worth being proud of.”

Mikoto’s eyes glowed with fondness at the memory. “Yes… I remember once he snuck into the kitchens and ate nearly an entire tray of sugared pears before a banquet. He tried to hide behind the tablecloth when I caught him, cheeks full as a squirrel.”

Her gaze shifted, sly with affection, toward Sasuke. “You were there that day, my son. Do you remember? You laughed so hard you nearly spilled the wine jug.”

Sakura turned her head sharply toward Sasuke, surprise written plain on her face. “You’ve met Naruto?”

Sasuke, sitting stiff in his chair, glanced at her only briefly before grunting, “Hn.”

The dismissive sound grated instantly. Sakura’s brows pinched, annoyance flashing across her face at his unwillingness to say more. Mikoto, ever the peacemaker, chuckled softly at the exchange, though her eyes lingered knowingly on her youngest son. Mikoto’s laughter lingered only a moment before Fugaku’s voice cut across the table, cool and deliberate.

“Enough reminiscing,” he said, setting down his cup. His eyes shifted to Madara, sharp as a blade drawn in silence. “Our alliances must be weighed carefully. The Hyuga have been making inquiries of Konoha. If they seek to draw closer, it will change the balance.”

Madara leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled before him. His gaze, however, flicked toward Sakura as he spoke, as though every word were meant for her ears as much as Fugaku’s.

“Konoha is clever,” Madara said, his voice low and smooth. “They send us Tsunade’s protégé when their master herself would not come. A gesture of aid, yes, but also distance. They wish to keep one hand free while offering the other.”

Fugaku’s mouth tightened, but he gave a curt nod. “And yet, they cannot afford to stand against both us and the Hyuga should our interests align. If the Hyuga truly press for an alliance, Konoha will have no choice but to bend.”

The weight of the words settled heavily over the table, a stark contrast to Mikoto’s warmth only moments before.

Sakura sat silent, her spoon untouched. She was no politician, but she could feel the shift, every glance, every word was as much a test of her presence as it was a discussion of strategy. Tenten’s gaze flicked across the room warily, the set of her jaw warning that she too felt the air grow colder.

Madara let a faint smile curve his lips, though it held no mirth. “The question is not whether Konoha will bend… but how far.”

Mikoto’s gentle expression hardened, her tone suddenly sharper than before. “Enough,” she said, her voice carrying more weight than her frailty suggested. “No politics at the table. This is a place for family, not war councils.”

The shift in her voice startled even Sakura, who blinked at the change. Across from her, Itachi lowered his gaze in acknowledgment, while Sasuke’s lips twitched as though he found some dark satisfaction in his mother’s rebuke.

Fugaku gave a low grunt, his jaw tightening, but he did not argue. He lifted his cup instead, drinking in silence. Madara said nothing, though his dark eyes gleamed faintly as they flicked toward Sakura, as if her mere presence at the table had sparked his interest further.

The rest of the meal passed beneath a heavy silence. Servants moved carefully to clear the dishes, their quiet footsteps the only sound until at last Fugaku rose, signaling the supper’s end.

The walk back from the great hall was quiet, the echo of their footsteps carrying through the cold corridors. Servants guided them only so far before bowing out, leaving Sakura and Tenten to find their way to their quarters. The silence of Oto pressed heavier at night, the torches sputtering against the thick stone walls.

When at last they closed the door behind them, the air felt lighter. Tenten dropped into the chair by the hearth, stretching her legs out with a sigh. “That was… something. Your first supper with the Uchiha and already Fugaku’s trying to pin you to the wall.”

Sakura slipped the red headband from her hair, laying it neatly on the desk. “He doesn’t need me to impress him. He needs me to cure his wife. Until then, I won’t be more than a tolerated guest.”

Tenten gave a sharp nod, unsurprised. “And Madara…” She trailed off, scowling faintly. “The way he stares, it’s like he’s already measuring you for something. I don’t like it.”

Sakura ignored the flush that crept up her neck, turning instead to her satchel where her notes and Tsunade’s book lay tucked. “All the more reason we should start understanding this place for ourselves. We can’t rely only on what they tell us.”

Tenten sat up straighter, interested. “You’re thinking we scout?”

Sakura nodded. “Yes. Quietly. The halls, the way the servants move, anything we can learn. And most of all…” Her voice dropped as she tapped the edge of her parchment. “I want to see their food supply. If Lady Mikoto’s illness isn’t born of contagion, then perhaps it’s something she’s been consuming. Herbs, water, storage, something could be poisoning her slowly.”

Tenten’s lips curved into a sharp grin. “Now that’s a lead worth sneaking for.”

They exchanged a look, equal parts resolve and anticipation, as the fire popped softly in the hearth. Tonight, their work as healer and guard would give way to something quieter: watchful eyes in the shadows of Oto.

The castle grew still as the hours deepened, its vast corridors hushed beneath the weight of stone and shadow. The sounds of servants faded one by one, the last echoes of footsteps replaced by silence. Even the torches along the walls burned lower, their flames guttering like tired sentinels.

In their quarters, Sakura tied back her hair and exchanged her gown for darker clothing, simple trousers and a tunic that blended better into shadow. She checked her satchel twice before setting it aside; she wouldn’t bring it with her tonight. What she did take was the small dagger Tenten had given her, fastening it beneath her cloak. The weight of it at her hip was both reassuring and unnerving. She had no intention of using it, but the thought of wandering Oto’s halls unarmed unsettled her more.

Across the chamber, Tenten was already prepared. Her clothing was dark, fitted for movement, her hair tied back securely. She adjusted the straps across her chest where smaller blades rested hidden, her expression calm but sharp.

“Stay close to me,” Tenten murmured, her voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the connecting door. “We’ll move quick and quiet. If we’re caught, I’ll do the talking.”

Sakura gave a faint smile at that, tightening her cloak around her shoulders. “I don’t plan on getting caught.”

Tenten smirked, pushing the door open just enough to peer into the corridor beyond. They slipped out together, the door closing with the softest click behind them.

Sakura followed at Tenten’s shoulder, careful to place her steps where the rugs softened the sound of their boots. Every so often they paused, listening, only the distant drip of water and the faint sigh of the mountain itself broke the silence.

Tenten led the way with a hunter’s precision, pausing at each turn before signaling Sakura forward. The deeper they went, the more the air shifted, less perfumed by braziers and tapestries, more practical, touched with the faint scents of flour and smoke.

At last they came to a set of broad double doors. The faintest glow of firelight seeped from beneath them, along with the smells of dried herbs, flour, and old wood.

“The kitchens,” Tenten whispered, glancing back. “Storerooms should be close.”

She pressed the door just enough to peer through. The hearth inside had burned down to coals, its glow soft across long tables stacked with trays, baskets, and covered pots. No voices. No movement.

They slipped inside.

The room was vast, with hanging hooks along the walls and shelves laden with jars and sacks. A second smaller door stood ajar near the back, and when Sakura eased it open, she felt the cooler draft of stone and the sharp scent of preserved food. The storeroom.

Inside, rows of barrels, sacks, and crates stretched neatly along the walls. Wheels of cheese, racks of smoked meat, bundles of dried herbs hanging from the beams. On the surface it looked orderly, well-kept, even prosperous.

Yet as Sakura stepped deeper, her eyes lingered on a sack of grain where the stitching had frayed, a dark discoloration spreading faintly across its surface. She crouched, fingertips brushing the powdery dust at its base. It carried a strange odor, musty, sharp, unlike anything she had known in Konoha’s stores.

Tenten leaned closer, frowning. “That doesn’t smell right.”

Sakura’s mind raced. Spoiled? Or something worse…

She pulled a small vial from her cloak, carefully scooping some of the discolored grain inside before corking it tight. She brushed her hands clean on her trousers, the strange odor still clinging faintly to her fingertips.

“It's odd that everyone shares the same stores yet Lady Mikoto is the only one getting sick…” Sakura whispered, her brow furrowed, “it may not be the food itself, but how it’s being prepared. Someone could be tampering with her meals specifically.”

Tenten’s eyes narrowed, scanning the shelves as though the shadows might hold answers. “A kitchen hand?” she murmured. “Someone slipping something into her food before it reaches her tray? That’d be bold.”

Sakura nodded slowly, her expression tight. “Bold and dangerous. But what would the motive be? To weaken the Lady of the house… it risks tearing apart the Uchiha family from within.”

Her words lingered heavy in the cool air of the storeroom.

Tenten straightened, one hand resting on the hilt of a dagger at her belt. “If that’s true, we’ll have to move carefully. Pointing fingers too early could land us in more trouble than it solves.”

Sakura tucked the vial safely into her cloak, her jaw set. “Then we watch. We listen. Until we know who, and why, we can’t act.”

The flicker of unease in her chest sharpened into resolve. Somewhere in this castle, the answer was hidden. And now she carried a small piece of it with her.

The silence of the storeroom fractured with the creak of hinges. From beyond the door, the faint shuffle of footsteps entered the kitchen. A low cough, the sound of wood scraping as someone set something down on the counter.

Sakura froze, her pulse quickening. Tenten’s eyes darted to hers, sharp, urgent.

Only one way out.

Without a word, Tenten grabbed Sakura’s sleeve and pulled her behind a row of barrels stacked high with sacks of flour. The shadows there were deep enough, but only if they stayed still. Sakura crouched low, one hand instinctively brushing the dagger at her hip, though she had no intention of drawing it.

The footsteps grew closer. The faint clink of metal, someone checking knives? Or preparing something even at this hour? A lantern’s glow spilled faintly across the storeroom’s entrance, painting a thin line of light against the floor.

Sakura held her breath, heart thudding loud in her ears. Whoever it was lingered just beyond the doorway, muttering under their breath, too faint for her to make out the words.

Tenten’s hand hovered near one of her hidden blades, though her eyes stayed fixed on Sakura as if to remind her: stay calm. Wait.

The air grew thick with the smell of smoke and herbs, the ordinary scent of a kitchen at night. And yet the longer the figure remained, the sharper the unease clawed at Sakura’s chest.

If they moved now, the lantern light would surely catch them. If they waited, they could only hope the intruder would leave. The footsteps drew nearer until the storeroom door creaked wider. A figure stepped inside, lantern light spilling across the stacked shelves.

It was a young man, barely older than Sakura, perhaps even younger. His clothes were plain but not the neat livery she’d seen on Oto’s servants. His tunic was patched at the elbow, his boots scuffed with wear, as though he belonged to the village rather than the castle staff.

Sakura’s breath caught as he crossed the room, lantern held high. He didn’t look their way, only moved toward a crate near the back. With a grunt, he shifted the lid, pulling out a wrapped bundle of bread and dried fruit. His movements were casual, unhurried, not at all like someone attempting sabotage.

Still crouched behind the barrels, Sakura exchanged a glance with Tenten. Her companion’s eyes narrowed, but she shook her head ever so slightly. Not our fight. Not now.

The young man tucked the food into a sack, muttered something under his breath, and turned back toward the door. Within moments, his lantern glow faded into the kitchen beyond.

Only when the sound of his footsteps had gone completely did Tenten let out the breath she’d been holding. “Not a servant’s uniform,” she whispered. “But not sneaking, either. Strange.”

Sakura nodded, her fingers brushing the vial hidden in her cloak. “We’ll remember him. For now, we need to get back before we truly are discovered.”

Moving with slow, deliberate steps, they slipped from their hiding place and retraced their path through the dim corridors. The castle seemed to breathe around them, heavy with silence and shadow, until at last they reached the sanctuary of their chambers.

Once the door was closed, Sakura leaned back against it, her heart still racing. “Too close,” she murmured.

Tenten smirked faintly, though her hand lingered on the hilt of one blade. “Close is better than caught.”

She unbuckled her weapons and laid them within arm’s reach. Sakura, meanwhile, set the vial of grain carefully on her desk, covering it with a cloth before slipping out of her cloak.

They both moved with the same unspoken thought, neither would mention this night to anyone.

As Sakura untied her hair, she spoke first, her voice low. “If it’s not the food itself, then someone might be tampering before it ever reaches Mikoto. The kitchens, the servers, even the water pitchers. Although that doesn't explain why the village is sick.”

Tenten, already pulling off her boots, grunted in agreement. “Which means it could be anyone with access. Too many eyes to watch at once.”

Sakura slid beneath the blanket of her bed, her mind still whirring. “Tomorrow, I’m going to ask for a tour of the village.”

Tenten raised a brow, pausing mid-movement. “The village?”

“Yes,” Sakura said, staring at the ceiling beams. “I need to see their wells, their markets, their stores. If something in the land itself is poisoning them, it’ll make a difference. And if they’re reluctant to show me, well… that will tell me something too.”

Tenten smirked faintly. “Bold. But then again, subtlety doesn’t sound like your style.”

Sakura allowed herself a tired smile. “Maybe not. But answers won’t come if I just sit at a bedside and wait.”

The fire in the hearth had burned down low, filling the room with a dim amber glow. For a while, neither woman spoke again, the stillness broken only by the crackle of embers. At last, Tenten returned to her room. Sakura lay awake longer, eyes fixed on the cloth-covered vial across the room. Whatever truth it held, it might be the key to saving Mikoto.

Tomorrow, she would push further.

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Chapter Text

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The first light of dawn filtered through the shutters, pale and cool. Sakura stirred before the castle fully woke, already reaching for the plain travel dress she had laid out the night before. She fastened her cloak and checked her satchel, making sure the vial from the kitchens was tucked securely inside.

From the adjoining chamber came the faint sound of movement. A moment later, Tenten emerged, rubbing her eyes as she adjusted the sleeve of her practical garb.

“Up already?” she muttered with a small yawn.

“We’ve work to do,” Sakura replied with a faint smile.

Together, they slipped quietly from their quarters, the stone halls hushed in the morning stillness. But as they rounded a corridor, they nearly walked straight into Itachi. His presence was composed as ever, though his dark eyes softened briefly when they landed on Sakura.

“Good morning,” he greeted. “Shisui sends his apologies, he’s occupied with duties today. I will accompany you instead.”

Sakura paused, surprised but not displeased. “Then perhaps you might help us with something,” she said carefully. “We were hoping for a tour of the village. I want to see the people’s well-being for myself, and it would give me better understanding of what might be affecting Lady Mikoto’s health.”

Itachi inclined his head. “If that is your wish. I know the streets well. You will be safe with me.”

Tenten arched a brow but said nothing, falling into step beside Sakura as Itachi gestured for them to follow.

The castle gates groaned open, and the three of them rode out into the cool morning air. Their horses clattered down the winding path toward the village below, the sun casting a golden edge along the rooftops. From her saddle, Sakura let her gaze roam, drinking in every detail with the keen eye of a physician.

Smoke curled from chimneys where women stirred pots over early fires, the scent of bread and herbs faint on the breeze. A few children darted between houses, chasing each other with sticks before being called back by weary parents. Men carried buckets toward the wells, their shoulders bowed under years of labor, while others hefted tools for the fields. Dogs barked lazily at the passing riders, then settled back into the dust of the lanes.

“It’s alive even before the day has begun,” Sakura murmured, her voice more to herself than to either companion. “A village tells much of its people in the mornings.”

Beside her, Itachi’s posture remained straight and unhurried, his dark cloak catching in the wind. “Routine is the pulse of a place. Here, the villagers cling to it. Change unsettles them.”

Sakura nodded slowly, her mind already turning over observations, faces pale from poor diet, coughs caught in children’s throats, the faint limp of an older woman carrying water. Her fingers twitched at her reins, itching for mortar and pestle.

“Where is your local apothecary?” she asked at last, tilting her head toward Itachi. “If I may, I’d like to speak with them. I want to know what ailments are most common here… and how they are being treated.”

Itachi’s gaze shifted toward the market street that sloped away from the square. “You will find them near the southern well. An elder tends the shop. They are respected, though their methods are… traditional.” His tone was careful, as if measuring how she might take the word.

“That is precisely why I’d like to meet them,” Sakura said firmly, her healer’s curiosity alight. “Tradition often hides wisdom.”

Tenten snorted softly behind them. “And sometimes superstition,” she muttered, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. Sakura only smiled faintly, urging her horse onward as the streets began to thicken with villagers.

They followed the bend of the street until the air grew heavy with the scent of herbs and dried bark. The apothecary’s shop was wedged between a baker’s and a cooper’s, its narrow frame marked with a painted sign of a mortar and pestle. Bundles of thyme and rosemary hung from the eaves, faded and brittle, while jars lined the sill, their contents dulled by dust and sun.

Sakura slowed her horse, her keen eye already noting the signs of strain, plants that should have been replenished, tinctures turned cloudy in the heat, and too few supplies for a place likely overwhelmed.

They dismounted before the doorway. Tenten tied the reins while Itachi pushed open the door, the soft chime above it announcing their arrival. Inside, the air was thick with sage and vinegar, sharp and almost suffocating. Shelves bowed under the weight of jars, bundles, and pots, though many were half-empty, their corks and wax seals frayed.

Behind the counter, an elderly man straightened from his work, a mortar still in his hands. His eyes widened at the sight of Itachi, and he hurriedly set the bowl aside, bowing deeply.

“Your Highness,” he said, voice hoarse with age and use. “I had not thought to see you here.”

“Master Yori,” Itachi returned calmly, “rise. We come not to hinder, but to listen. This is Sakura Haruno, a healer from Konoha. She has been sent to aid us in understanding the illness that troubles both the lady of the castle and our people.”

The apothecary’s gaze shifted to Sakura, measuring. He bowed again, though not as deeply. “A healer from Konoha… then the gods have heard us. Our village is in sore need of such skill.”

Sakura inclined her head respectfully. “I thank you. I wished to see your shop and hear what you’ve observed. What ailments press hardest upon the people these past weeks?”

Master Yori’s lined face creased further, and he gestured toward the shelves. “Where to begin? Coughs, fevers, stomachs turned sour, it spreads from house to house. No quarter is spared. The children are weakest, though even grown men fall bedridden. And not only here. The illness has touched the farms beyond the valley, and riders tell of neighboring villages struck as well.”

Sakura’s brows knit as she let her gaze sweep the shelves. Powders thinned with ash, tinctures too harshly cut with spirits, poultices clumped with unfamiliar roots. Her healer’s instincts told her what she already feared: remedies meant to ease, not cure. And far too few of them.

“It is not contained,” she murmured, half to herself. “If the surrounding lands are struck, then Lady Mikoto’s illness is but one thread in a much wider weave.”

The old man leaned on his counter, his hands trembling faintly from long hours of work. “I’ve tended this village for forty years. I’ve never seen so many sick at once. I send for herbs, yet they run short before they reach my door. Some whisper of curses, others of poisoned wells.” His eyes darted briefly to Itachi, then back to Sakura. “I have no answer for them.”

Sakura stepped closer, her tone steady, resolute. “Curses are the refuge of fear. There is always a cause. And causes can be undone. Show me what you have left, Master Yori. We will begin there.”

The apothecary’s gaze lingered on her, a spark of tired hope kindling in the depths of his eyes. Slowly, he nodded. “Then let my shelves be yours to see. Perhaps what I have overlooked, you will find.”

Behind her, Tenten shifted her weight, arms crossed, her gaze sweeping the shelves with suspicion. Itachi stood silently near the door, his expression unreadable, though his eyes never strayed from Sakura.

Sakura drifted along the shelves, her fingers brushing lightly over jars of dried roots and bundles of herbs. She noted the scarcity, the substitutions, the desperation in the remedies. Her mind turned over what Master Yori had said, whole households bedridden, farms touched, neighboring villages whispering of curses.

She turned back to him, her voice calm but edged with intent. “You mentioned the wells,” she said. “Has their water been tested, or at least observed? Cloudiness, strange taste, sickness following after drinking?”

Yori’s brows knit, and he shook his head slowly. “The wells are clean to the eye, though I cannot swear to more. We boil when we can, but firewood grows scarce, and some cannot spare the time. Yet… it is true, the fever spreads faster where the water is poorest.”

Sakura’s gaze sharpened, and she pressed further. “And the food stores? I hear of stomach illness, grains, perhaps?”

The old apothecary exhaled heavily, leaning against the counter as though her question pressed down on him. “The last harvest was ill-kept. Rains spoiled part of it. Rats the rest. Some grain carries mold, though most eat it still, better mold than hunger. I’ve warned them, yet a warning fills no belly.”

Sakura’s mouth thinned into a hard line. She glanced briefly at Itachi, then back to Yori. “Water and grain are the foundation of any illness that spreads so far, so fast. It is not curses you face, but something tangible, something that can be rooted out.”

At that, Yori gave a short, bitter laugh. “If it can be rooted out, Lady Healer, then may the gods grant you the sight to find it. For I have none left.”

Itachi’s gaze lingered on Master Yori a moment longer, then he turned to Sakura. “If it is the wells and stores you need to see, I will take you myself. It is better you judge with your own eyes.”

Sakura gave a short nod, grateful for his decisiveness. “That will help me more than anything spoken.”

They stepped back into the morning light, the air fresher after the apothecary’s heavy haze. Their horses waited at the post, but Itachi gestured toward the narrow streets. “We will go on foot. The wells are scattered through the square and alleys, and the stores are close by.”

The three of them moved through the village, weaving among villagers who paused at the sight of their prince. Men dipped their heads, women offered brief bows, though most quickly returned to their labors.

Children watched with wide eyes until a mother pulled them back by the wrist. Sakura noted every detail, the coughs muffled into sleeves, the pallor of faces, the sluggishness in some steps.

The first well sat in the heart of the square. A heavy wooden frame held the pulley, its rope frayed from use. Buckets waited in a small line, damp with spilled water. Sakura leaned close as a woman drew her fill, peering into the depths. The water glinted faintly in the morning light, but something in its scent caught her, an earthy, sour trace beneath the freshness.

She touched the rim of the bucket and looked to Itachi. “You said it looks clean to the eye, but there’s a heaviness here. Has no one fallen ill after drinking?”

“They have,” he admitted, his tone level. “But as Master Yori said, not all boil it. Some claim the taste lingers even after.”

Sakura frowned, filing the detail away. She turned toward the woman still waiting, gently asking, “Have you noticed anything in the water, strange color, strange smell?”

The villager’s eyes darted between Sakura and Itachi, then she lowered her gaze. “Only that it feels heavy on the stomach, my lady. But it is all we have.”

Sakura laid a hand over hers briefly, then stepped back. “Thank you.”

From there, Itachi led them through a lane toward the grain stores. The building was squat, its walls dark with damp. Inside, the smell struck at once, must and rot beneath the dry scent of straw. Tenten wrinkled her nose.

Sakura knelt beside one of the sacks, loosening the cord. She drew a pinch of the kernels into her hand, rolling them between her fingers. Some were whole and golden, but others bore a dull gray, speckled with mildew. She brought them closer, frowning at the faint sourness that clung to them.

“Grain like this,” she said, her tone grave, “breeds illness faster than hunger. Children, the old, anyone weakened, this would strike them first.”

Itachi stepped nearer, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the sacks. “You believe this is the cause?”

“I believe it is a piece of it,” Sakura replied. She let the grain fall from her hand. “The wells, the spoiled harvest, together they sicken the body. But there may be more, something deliberate, hidden beneath what appears natural.” Her gaze lifted to his. “If Lady Mikoto alone within the castle suffers so strongly while her people waste more slowly… then we must ask why.”

The words hung in the cool, stale air of the storehouse. Tenten shifted, resting her hand near the hilt of her dagger as if the thought alone demanded readiness.

Itachi’s eyes darkened slightly, though his voice remained calm. “Then we will dig deeper. Whatever truth lies beneath, you will not face it alone.”

Sakura drew a small glass vial from her satchel and carefully scooped a handful of the tainted kernels inside, corking it tightly. Another she filled with a pinch of mold scraped from the edge of the sack.

She stood, dusting her hands on her cloak, then moved toward the bucket drawn from the well. With a clean cloth she strained a portion into a second vial, watching the liquid shimmer faintly in the light. Once it was sealed, she slipped it back into her bag alongside the grain.

“Proof,” she murmured. “Or at least a trail to follow.”

Itachi watched her closely, his hands folded behind his back. “You mean to test them yourself.”

Sakura met his gaze. “I need to. The answers lie in what people drink and eat every day. If it poisons the body, it will show.”

She looked back toward the street, where two children lingered by the doorway, coughing into their sleeves while their mother urged them inside. The sight tightened something in her chest.

“Prince Itachi,” she said at last, turning back to him. “You have shown me the wells and the stores. Now, may I ask to see your infirmary? If this illness touches the whole village, I need to speak with the doctors and nurses tending them. Their accounts will tell me how the sickness progresses, how it strikes, and how it ends.”

His expression did not shift, but there was a subtle weight in the way his dark eyes held hers. Then he inclined his head once. “Very well. The infirmary lies on the eastern edge of the village. Those too weak to be cared for at home are taken there.”

Tenten adjusted the strap of her pack, her expression grim. “Then let’s go. If the people are as sick as Master Yori claims, we’ll find answers there.”

As they left the grain store behind, Sakura felt the vials heavy in her satchel. Each step carried her closer to the truth, but also into the heart of the villagers’ suffering. And she knew that once she saw it with her own eyes, she could not turn away.

The eastern lanes grew quieter as they walked, the homes smaller, the streets less tended. Soon the rough plaster walls gave way to a long, low building with narrow windows thrown open to the air.

Even before they reached the threshold, the sound met them first, ragged coughs, low groans, the murmurs of weary voices trying to comfort. The scent followed, heavy with vinegar, sweat, and sickness that clung to the very walls.

Sakura slowed, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight. A makeshift cross of wood hung above the door, faded from sun and rain, marking it as a house of healing. Villagers moved in and out carrying pails of water, strips of linen, and baskets of herbs, every gesture hurried, every face drawn tight with fatigue.

Inside, rows of pallets lined the floor, each occupied by someone pale and shivering beneath thin blankets. Nurses bent over them, dabbing foreheads or spooning broth, their own shoulders stooped from long hours. A handful of young men, likely apprentices, moved between the beds with bowls of steaming water, their eyes shadowed with worry.

Sakura took it all in with a steady gaze before turning to Itachi. Her voice was low but firm. “I need to speak with your head physician. Whoever oversees this place will know how the illness has spread, and how long it has been building.”

Itachi gave a single nod. “You shall have them.” He gestured to a nurse near the doorway, who straightened immediately at the prince’s presence. With a quiet word, the woman hurried into the back rooms.

A moment later, the nurse returned with a man in his middle years at her side. His dark hair was streaked with gray, bound loosely at the nape, and his robes bore stains of herbs and sweat. He bowed deeply to Itachi, then glanced toward Sakura with a flicker of curiosity.

“Your Highness,” he said, voice hoarse but respectful. “You have summoned me?”

Itachi inclined his head toward Sakura. “This is Sakura Haruno, a healer from Konoha. She comes to aid us in understanding the illness that plagues both castle and village.”

The physician straightened, his gaze sharpening as it settled on her. “Then you are most welcome, Lady Healer. I am Joren, charged with this infirmary. For weeks now, I have done little but fight shadows.”

Sakura stepped forward, her tone measured. “Tell me of those shadows. When did the first fall ill?”

Joren exhaled, rubbing a weary hand over his face. “Near a month past. At first, it was the children, fevers, coughs, stomachs turned after meals. We thought it a passing ailment, worsened by spoiled grain. Then the elders followed. Then the strong. Whole families stricken within days.”

“And the symptoms?” Sakura pressed, her eyes keen. “In what order do they appear?”

“Always the stomach first,” he replied. “Cramping, looseness, vomiting. Then fever, relentless and high. Some cough blood when the sickness lingers. Many weaken until they cannot rise. A few recover… most do not.” His voice caught slightly, and he turned his head as if ashamed to admit it.

Sakura exchanged a quick glance with Tenten, then returned her attention to him. “What treatments have you given?”

“Herbs for fever: willow bark, feverfew, mint. Poultices to draw heat, tinctures to calm the stomach. But our stores run low, and the illness runs faster than we can tend it. I fear the very remedies dull before the disease.”

Sakura’s jaw tightened. She could hear the resignation in his tone, the exhaustion of a man losing ground in a war he could not see. 

Stepping closer, she lowered her voice. “You fight shadows because something hides behind them. This sickness spreads through water and food, I believe.”

Joren’s tired eyes searched hers, and for the first time, a flicker of hope stirred there. “If you can find it, Lady Healer… you will save  us all.”

Itachi’s quiet voice cut through the infirmary air. “Then she will have all she requires.” His gaze rested on Sakura, steady and unwavering. “Whatever you ask, it will be given.”

By the time they reached the castle once more, the sun had climbed high, spilling warm light across the stone walls. The guards opened the gates at Itachi’s signal, and the three of them passed through the courtyard where servants hurried about their duties, the air alive with the clatter of buckets and the call of voices.

At the steps, Tenten dismounted first, stretching the stiffness from her shoulders. Sakura followed, her satchel heavy with vials and samples, her mind already spinning with the next steps. Itachi slid easily from his horse, reins in hand, his dark cloak settling against him with quiet grace.

He turned to them, his expression calm though his eyes lingered on Sakura. “Before I leave you, tell me,do you require anything? I will see it arranged.”

Sakura straightened, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Yes. I need to test what I’ve taken from the wells and grain. To do so, I’ll require certain tools and materials. I’ll make a list and have it prepared before the evening. If those things can be gathered, it will save us precious time.”

For the briefest moment, something flickered in his expression…approval. He inclined his head. “Then have it sent to me. You will have what you ask for.”

With that, he handed his reins to a waiting groom and turned away, his stride measured and unhurried as he disappeared toward the inner court.

Tenten glanced sidelong at Sakura, smirking faintly. “You’re already giving the prince orders. Bold of you.”

Sakura exhaled, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “Not orders. Necessities. If we’re to save Lady Mikoto, and the village, we can’t afford to waste a single day.”

Together, they entered the castle halls, the weight of their discoveries pressing down even as the first threads of a plan began to weave themselves in Sakura’s mind.

---

---

Sakura laid her satchel upon the table and drew out her vials. One by one, she arranged them with care, then unfurled a sheet of parchment. Her quill scratched steadily as she wrote, each item precise, no stroke wasted.

When the list was finished, she summoned a servant and pressed it into his hands. “Take this to Prince Itachi at once,” she said. The boy bowed and hurried from the room, boots tapping quick against the stone.

Silence settled again, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Sakura rubbed her temple, the weight of the day heavy upon her. She did not hear the knock until it was too late.

The door opened, and Madara stepped inside.

Her breath stilled. He moved with deliberate ease, dark eyes fixed on her, the parchment she had given the servant now held in his hand.

“You need not trouble the household,” he said smoothly, his voice low and deep. “I will see to these things myself.” He closed the door behind him, the sound soft but final.

Sakura’s chest tightened. She rose slowly, her hands still braced against the table. “Lord Madara… how did you come by that list?”

He smiled faintly, a shadow curling at the edge of his mouth. “The corridors of this castle are mine to walk. Nothing passes through them without my notice.”

He stepped closer, laying the parchment upon the table beside her vials. His gaze lingered on her face, unblinking, a heat there that unsettled more than it flattered.

“My little owl,” he murmured then, the words like a caress and a claim all at once.

Her heart jolted. The masquerade. The masked man in the garden. She had wondered, suspected even, but now…now she knew.

“You,” she whispered. “It was you that night.”

Madara inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging a truth too obvious to deny. “And now you see me clearly. The mask is gone, yet the owl still perches before me. Curious, wary… and more captivating than ever.”

Sakura’s pulse hammered in her ears, but she forced her shoulders square, her voice steady. “Be that as it may, Lord Madara, this list is not a game. The supplies are needed if I am to test what sickens your people. If you truly wish to help, then see it fulfilled.”

For a heartbeat, his gaze lingered on her, dark eyes unreadable. Then, with a faint incline of his head, he laid his hand lightly over the parchment.

“Practical as ever,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth curving in something between amusement and admiration. “Very well, my little owl. The things you ask for will be in your chambers before nightfall.”

He drew the parchment back toward himself, folding it once with precision before slipping it into his cloak. Straightening, he regarded her a final time, his expression schooled into polite composure though something unspoken lingered in his eyes.

“You may trust me to see your needs met,” he added, voice rich and assured. “In this, as in other things, I am not easily denied.”

Sakura inclined her head, hiding the unease that flickered within her. “Then I will prepare what tests I can. Time is against us, and the village cannot wait.”

Madara’s smile deepened ever so slightly, as if pleased by her resolve rather than offended by her deflection. “As you say. Until this evening, Lady Healer.”

With a measured turn, he opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, his presence retreating like a shadow at dusk.

When the latch clicked shut, Sakura exhaled slowly, pressing her palms against the table until the trembling eased. The vials and notes lay before her, sharp reminders of the task at hand.

The door had barely settled back into its frame when it opened again, this time without ceremony. Tenten stepped inside, her brow furrowed, eyes sharp.

“I just came back from scouting the east wing,” she said, her tone clipped. “On my way up, I saw Lord Madara leaving this corridor.” Her gaze flicked around the room, then fixed on Sakura. “Did he come in here?”

Sakura straightened, steadying her voice. “He did. He only wanted to speak about the supplies I need.” She forced a small smile, hoping to ease her companion’s worry. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

Tenten’s eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced, but she didn’t press the matter. Instead, she crossed her arms and leaned against the door. “If you say so. Still… I don’t like the way he watches you.”

Sakura glanced back at her notes, refusing to give the unease more room to grow. “Then don’t worry for me. There’s enough on our hands without chasing shadows.”

Tenten let it rest with a small grunt, though her expression said plainly that she wasn’t convinced. She straightened, brushing a bit of dust from her cloak. “Fine. I’ll hold my tongue…for now. But I did find something you’ll want to know.”

Sakura looked up. “What is it?”

“In the lower halls,” Tenten replied, her voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “Behind the storerooms near the kitchens. There’s a wall that isn’t quite what it seems. A draft runs through the stones. I think it’s a passage, old, maybe forgotten. But it leads somewhere.”

The room went quiet for a moment, the fire snapping in the hearth.

Sakura set her quill aside, curiosity sparking despite the weight of her day. “A secret passage,” she echoed. “Here, in the castle itself.”

Tenten gave a sharp nod. “Exactly. And I’ve a mind to find out where it goes. If someone’s been tampering with the food or water, a hidden route would make it easy to move unseen.”

Sakura’s heart quickened at the thought. Madara’s visit still lingered in her chest like a shadow, but this…this was something tangible. “Then we’ll see it together,” she said quietly. “Not tonight, but soon. I want to be ready when we do.”

Tenten’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk. “Good. I’ll keep watch until then.”

The hours passed quickly, filled with the scratch of quill and the soft clink of glass as Sakura set her vials in order. She had barely finished her notes when a knock sounded at the chamber door. A servant entered, carrying two bundles wrapped in silk. With a bow, he placed them upon the bed and withdrew without a word.

Sakura untied the first, her brows lifting as fine fabric spilled across her hands, a gown of deep green, its sleeves trimmed with delicate stitching. She opened the second bundle to find a lighter dress of soft blue, the hem embroidered with silver thread. This one had a note.

“They’re from Lady Mikoto,” Sakura said, tracing it. “Gifts for the evening meal.”

Behind her, Tenten groaned. “Of course they are.”

Sakura glanced over her shoulder, amused. “Don’t tell me you’ve never worn a dress before.”

“Not since I was a child,” Tenten muttered, glaring at the blue gown as if it were a weapon she’d rather not pick up. “I fight better in trousers. At least then I know I won’t trip over my own hem.”

Sakura laughed softly, holding up the gown against her friend with mock seriousness. “Oh, you’ll survive. And if you do trip, I promise to catch you before the queen notices.”

Tenten sighed, long-suffering, but her lips curved despite herself. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I am,” Sakura admitted, folding her own gown over her arm. “But think of it this way, Lady Mikoto will be pleased. And I know you’d never want to offend her.”

That silenced any further protest. With a resigned huff, Tenten gathered the blue gown and disappeared into her adjoining chamber to change.

When at last the two women emerged, the fading light from the high windows painted them in soft hues, Sakura graceful in green, Tenten uncharacteristically elegant in blue despite the stubborn set of her jaw.

“See?” Sakura teased as they stepped into the corridor together. “You look beautiful. No one will even think you’ve ever held a blade.”

Tenten muttered under her breath, tugging at her sleeve. “That’s the problem.”

Their quiet laughter lingered between them as they made their way down the long halls toward the great dining chamber, where the formal meal awaited.

The doors to the great dining chamber swung open, and the murmur of voices and soft clatter of dishes filled the air. Everyone was already seated, Fugaku at the head with his usual stern composure, Itachi at his right, Sasuke beside him, and Madara leaning back with a shadowed ease. Servants moved quietly between the tables, refilling goblets and setting platters of steaming meat and bread.

If anyone noted their late arrival, they gave no sign. Instead, Mikoto rose slightly from her place, her expression softening at the sight of them.

“Lady Sakura, Lady Tenten,” she said warmly, her voice carrying despite its gentle timbre. “Come, sit. I was beginning to wonder if you meant to leave me surrounded only by solemn faces.”

The table chuckled lightly at her words, even Itachi’s lips twitching with faint amusement. But as Sakura drew closer, she caught the truth that lingered behind Mikoto’s glow, her complexion was paler than yesterday, the hollows beneath her eyes deeper.

Sakura’s concern pricked sharp. She lowered her voice as she took her seat near the queen. “How are you feeling today, my lady?”

Mikoto waved a hand dismissively, though her smile remained. “The same as always. Do not trouble yourself, dinner is no time for physicians’ questions.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed, but she let the moment pass with grace. “Even so,” she murmured, “after the meal I’ll bring you a few things to try. Nothing heavy, just small remedies that may ease your strength until we find what works.”

Mikoto’s eyes softened at that, the warmth of a mother shining through. She reached to pat Sakura’s hand briefly. “You never stop looking after others, do you? Very well. I’ll indulge you after dinner, but only if you promise to enjoy yourself tonight.”

Across the table, Madara’s gaze lingered on the exchange, unreadable. Fugaku, for his part, merely grunted and reached for his cup.

The meal began in quiet rhythm, servants bringing platters of roasted fowl, bowls of stewed vegetables, and warm loaves split open with melted butter.

Conversation at first was light, Mikoto inquiring after Sasuke’s training, Fugaku answering curtly about patrols, Tenten picking carefully at her food with an air of practiced politeness.

Sakura had just broken a piece of bread when Itachi’s voice drew her attention.

“Lady Sakura,” he said evenly, though his tone carried across the table. “Did you prepare the list of supplies you require?”

Her fingers tightened faintly on the bread. She felt Madara’s gaze even before she looked, and sure enough, he leaned back in his chair, wine goblet in hand, watching her as though her answer was his to hear first.

“Yes,” she replied carefully. “I have it written—”

Before she could finish, Madara set his cup down with deliberate grace. “And you need not worry, Itachi. I have already taken the list into my keeping.”

The words landed heavily. Itachi’s eyes narrowed, though his face betrayed little. “You?” His tone was mild, but the question cut sharp. “That task was entrusted to me. Why involve yourself?”

Madara took another slow sip of his wine before answering, as if savoring the weight of the moment. “Because it pleases me,” he said at last, his dark gaze flicking toward Sakura with unmistakable intent. “And who better than I to ensure nothing is lacking?”

A hush rippled through the table. Fugaku’s expression tightened but he said nothing, while Sasuke glanced between his uncle and brother with faint confusion.

Sakura kept her posture steady, though her pulse quickened. She lowered her eyes briefly to her plate, willing the tension not to sharpen further.

Itachi, however, did not look away. His gaze held on Madara, cool and unyielding. “Supplies for the healer are not a matter of indulgence. They are a matter of necessity. If you intend to oversee this, then I will require to know precisely what arrangements you have made.”

Madara’s smile curved faintly, though it did not reach his eyes. “All in good time, nephew. All in good time.”

The servants shifted uneasily in the silence that followed. Mikoto, pale but composed, laid her hand gently upon the table. “Enough. Let us not sour the evening with quarrels. The healer’s work serves us all. Whether the supplies come by Itachi’s hand or Madara’s, they will serve their purpose.”

Still, the unspoken tension hung in the air, sharp as a drawn blade.

The rest of the meal passed under a veil of strained politeness. Conversation flickered here and there, Sasuke answering curtly when pressed by Mikoto, Tenten murmuring polite replies when spoken to, but the air never recovered from the weight of Madara’s interruption. Even Fugaku seemed content to let silence fill the space, his steady presence as heavy as stone.

When at last the final course was cleared away and goblets drained, Sakura set her napkin upon the table and rose with a quiet bow toward Mikoto. “My lady, if you are not too weary, I’ll fetch the remedies I prepared. They may ease you tonight.”

Mikoto smiled faintly, though her pallor had deepened. “You are too kind, Sakura. I will wait for you in my chambers.”

Sakura inclined her head, then turned, Tenten rising beside her. Together, the two slipped from the hall, the heavy doors closing behind them. The murmur of voices dimmed, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the corridor.

Tenten let out a low whistle once they were clear of earshot. “Well, that was pleasant,” she muttered dryly.

Sakura shook her head. “Politics at the table are never pleasant. Tonight was worse than most.” She glanced sideways at her companion, her expression softening.

They walked together through the torchlit halls, the flicker of flame dancing against the stone.

Back in their chambers, Sakura moved swiftly to her worktable. She gathered the small bundles of herbs she had set aside earlier, along with a vial of tincture and a sachet of dried leaves wrapped in cloth. The remedies were modest, meant to ease Mikoto’s strength rather than cure, but they were something.

Tenten stood near the door, adjusting the strap of her belt as if preparing to accompany her. “I’ll come with you,” she said simply.

Sakura shook her head, slipping the remedies into a pouch. “That won’t be necessary. I won’t be long, and Lady Mikoto deserves a quiet visit.”

Tenten’s lips pressed into a thin line. She clearly wanted to argue but held her tongue. After a beat, she reached to her side and drew out Sakura’s dagger, the one she had crafted for her before they left Konoha. Holding it hilt-first, she pressed it into Sakura’s hand.

“Then at least take this,” she said firmly. “Just in case.”

Sakura’s fingers closed around the weapon, the weight familiar and grounding. She looked up at her companion, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You never let me walk unprotected, do you?”

Tenten’s expression softened, though her eyes remained wary. “Someone has to watch your back. If you won’t let me walk with you, then let the blade do it.”

Sakura slid the dagger beneath her cloak, tucking it against her belt. “Very well. I’ll be quick.”

With that, she turned toward the door, her pouch of remedies at her side and the hidden comfort of steel close at hand.

The corridors leading to the royal wing were hushed, the torches burning lower now as the evening deepened. Sakura’s footsteps echoed softly against the stone as she made her way past the carved doors and velvet draperies.

At last, she reached Mikoto’s chamber. The guards stationed outside bowed respectfully, then stepped aside as Sakura entered.

Inside, the air was warm with the faint scent of lavender oil, the hearth fire casting a soft glow across the room. Mikoto was already lying in bed, her form outlined beneath pale silks. Her hair spilled across the pillow like ink, and though her face was serene, her pallor was unmistakable, paler even than at dinner.

No attendants lingered; no nurses stood by. It was only the two of them.

Sakura closed the door quietly behind her and crossed the chamber, lowering herself to sit at the bedside. She offered a gentle smile, though concern shone in her eyes.

“I hope I’m not keeping you awake, my lady,” she said softly.

Mikoto’s lips curved faintly. “On the contrary, I was waiting for you. The company of a healer is never unwelcome, though tonight I’d rather pretend you are only a friend come to talk.”

Sakura’s chest tightened at the warmth in her tone. She set the pouch of remedies on the bedside table, her hands moving carefully as she drew them out one by one.

“Then let us be both,” she replied, her voice quiet but steady.

She laid a cloth across the table beside the bed, carefully setting out the sachet of herbs and the small vial of tincture. She poured warm water from the pitcher waiting near the hearth, the steam curling into the air as she stirred the mixture with measured hands. The scent of chamomile and willow bark soon mingled with the lavender in the room, soft and calming.

As she worked, Mikoto’s gaze drifted toward the fire, her voice quieter than usual, threaded with memory.

“You know, Lady Sakura… this land has not always looked as it does now,” she began. “My father was once king here. A strong man, though stern, who believed above all in the duty of our bloodline. When he passed, the crown fell to me, as I was his eldest child. Some thought it strange, a woman upon the throne, but I held it as best I could.”

Sakura glanced up from the steaming cup, her expression attentive but respectful. She offered the tea into Mikoto’s hands, steadying the cup as the queen lifted it to her lips.

“And then,” Mikoto continued after a careful sip, “I married Fugaku. He was… not yet the man he is now, but strong of will and certain of his path. Together we joined houses, and in time, Itachi and Sasuke were born. What was once my reign became our reign. I let the crown rest upon his brow, and I stepped back. Some would say I gave it freely. Others would say it was taken. Perhaps both are true.”

Her gaze softened as she looked toward Sakura. “But a kingdom is a fragile thing, Healer. Families more so. One must decide daily whether to bind them closer… or let them fray.”

Sakura smoothed a fresh cloth and laid it gently across Mikoto’s forehead, her healer’s movements quiet and precise. “It sounds as though you bore both crown and family with grace, my lady.”

Mikoto gave a small, wistful smile. “Grace is only the mask we wear when the weight is too heavy. But I thank you for saying so.”

She leaned back against the pillows, her hands folded loosely in her lap as the cup of tea warmed her fingers. For a time, she stared into the fire, the light catching in her dark eyes.

“Oto was not always like this,” she said quietly. “I remember summers when the fields were thick with grain, when the village rang with laughter from dawn until dusk. The air was warmer then. Now, each year feels colder than the last. The winds from the mountains bite sharper, and the harvests grow thin.”

Sakura adjusted the cloth across her brow, listening as Mikoto’s voice lowered further, almost as though confessing a secret.

“The people do not complain, but I see it in their eyes. Their shoulders stoop with hunger. Their purses grow lighter. The village seems to wither, and yet…” She paused, shaking her head faintly. “I cannot find the change. Nothing in the land should have shifted so quickly. Not the soil, not the wells, not the seasons. Yet still, Oto grows poorer. We grow weaker.”

Her gaze turned to Sakura, soft but searching. “It troubles me more than my own illness ever could. A queen’s health matters little if her people cannot thrive.”

Sakura bowed her head slightly, her fingers brushing over the rim of the empty cup before setting it aside. “You’ve noticed what others may choose to overlook. That is no small thing, my lady. Whatever the cause, it leaves a trail. I will do my best to find it.”

A faint smile curved Mikoto’s lips, though the weight in her eyes remained. “You remind me of myself, long ago, too stubborn to let mysteries lie. I hope that stubbornness will serve you better than it has me.”

Mikoto’s words began to trail, her eyelids heavy, her voice little more than a whisper. “Forgive me, Sakura… I find I haven’t the strength to talk more tonight.”

Sakura gave her a gentle smile. “Rest, my lady. That will help you more than any remedy.” She set the cup aside, adjusted the pillows, and drew the blanket a little higher across Mikoto’s chest. With quiet hands she smoothed the coverlet, then dimmed the fire just enough to leave the room in soothing glow.

When the queen’s breathing steadied into the rhythm of sleep, Sakura rose, gathering her pouch and stepping softly toward the door. She slipped into the hall and drew it closed behind her with care.

The corridor was hushed, the torchlight flickering along stone walls. Yet even before she took her first step, she felt it, the prickle at the back of her neck, the undeniable sense of being watched.

Her hand moved on instinct. In a single motion she pulled the dagger Tenten had pressed upon her, blade flashing as she spun. Its edge stopped just beneath a man’s throat.

Madara.

He did not flinch. On the contrary, his lips curved into a smirk, his dark eyes glinting with something dangerously close to delight.

“Well struck,” he murmured, gaze fixed on hers. “You draw steel with more grace than most men I’ve ever commanded.”

Sakura’s breath caught, her grip firm though her pulse raced. She held the blade steady for a heartbeat longer before lowering it.

Madara’s eyes followed the motion, lingering as though committing the moment to memory. Then, slowly, he let his gaze travel downward and back again, deliberate and unhurried.

“The green,” he said at last, voice low and assured. “It suits you better than I could have imagined. Compliments the fire in your eyes.” His smirk deepened slightly, almost conspiratorial. “A pity the note said it was from Mikoto.”

Sakura stiffened, her fingers tightening around the dagger’s hilt. “You?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He inclined his head, the torchlight glinting across his sharp features. “Who better to choose what you wear, my little owl?”

The words sent a chill through her, not only for what they implied, but for the certainty with which he spoke them.

Sakura’s grip tightened around the dagger, though she kept it lowered at her side. Her voice came quiet but firm, cutting through the charged silence.

“What is your game, Lord Madara?”

For a moment, his smirk softened into something unreadable. He leaned slightly closer, just enough for the torchlight to catch in his eyes. “No game,” he said smoothly. “I want only to help you. To give you what you need, when others might hesitate.” His tone was steady, persuasive, the words carrying a weight that made them hard to dismiss.

Sakura opened her mouth to answer, a sharp retort already forming, but before it could leave her lips, the echo of footsteps broke down the corridor.

Itachi appeared from the far end, his stride measured, his presence immediately shifting the air. His eyes fell first on Sakura, then on the dagger in her hand, and finally on Madara standing close before her. A shadow of suspicion flickered across his otherwise calm features.

“Is something amiss?” Itachi asked, his voice even but edged with steel.

Madara didn’t move, his composure unshaken. “Not at all,” he replied with a faint curve of his mouth. “I was merely offering Lady Sakura my assistance. Nothing more.”

Itachi’s gaze lingered, sharp and steady, as though he saw far beyond his uncle’s words.

Sakura slipped the dagger back beneath her cloak. “It’s fine,” she said quickly, her tone polite but clipped. “I was just leaving.”

For the first time, Madara stepped back, giving her space. His smirk returned, faint but telling. “Then I’ll bid you goodnight, little owl. Sweet dreams.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed slightly at the parting words, but he said nothing until Madara turned and strode down the opposite corridor, his cloak whispering against the stone.

The silence that followed was thick. Itachi looked back to Sakura, his expression controlled but searching. “Did he trouble you?”

Sakura let out a slow breath. She glanced at Itachi, her voice quiet but steady.

“He isn’t just being nice. I know he wants something… I just don’t know what.”

Itachi’s eyes lingered on her, unreadable in the shifting torchlight. For a long moment, he said nothing, though the faintest shadow crossed his features. In his silence, Sakura thought she caught the weight of a truth unspoken, something he understood all too well but would not give voice to.

At last, he inclined his head. “Then be cautious,” he said evenly. “And trust your instincts. They will guide you truer than his words.”

He gestured down the corridor. “Allow me to walk you back to your chambers.”

The halls were quiet as they moved together, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Neither spoke, yet the silence between them felt less heavy than it had at dinner, steadier, almost protective.

When they reached her door, Sakura turned to him, offering a small, tired smile. “Thank you, Prince Itachi. For tonight… for everything. If I need anything, or an escort, I’ll ask.”

He held her gaze, something flickering in the depth of his eyes, something softer than his usual composure allowed. “See that you do,” he murmured.

Then, almost against his own restraint, he reached out. Fingers brushed lightly against her hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. His hand lingered just a moment longer, the pad of his thumb grazing her cheek in a touch that was both gentle and uncharacteristic.

Sakura’s breath caught, her heart skipping at the unexpected warmth of it.

Itachi withdrew with quiet grace, inclining his head. “Goodnight, Lady Sakura.”

And before she could answer, he turned, his dark cloak sweeping silently as he walked away down the corridor, leaving her standing in the doorway with the ghost of his touch still tingling on her skin.

---

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Chapter Text

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The morning light slipped quietly through the shutters, painting pale lines across the stone walls. Sakura lay awake on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her remedies and vials untouched on the table nearby. Sleep had eluded her, chased away by the tangle of thoughts that refused to rest.

She thought first of why she was here at all, her summons from Konoha, Tsunade’s trust placed firmly in her hands, and the responsibility of Lady Mikoto’s life depending on her skill. That alone would have been weight enough.

Yet Oto carried more shadows than sickness. Mikoto’s pale face and soft words echoed in her mind, the queen’s quiet confession that the land itself seemed to grow colder, the people poorer, without a clear cause. A kingdom’s decline, unseen yet undeniable.

And then there was Madara. His presence pressed at her even in memory, his smirk, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s, the way he had taken her list as though her work was his to control. His voice lingered in her ears still: my little owl. No kindness in him was without motive. Of that, she was certain. He wanted something, but what?

Sakura exhaled, pressing a hand to her brow.

But despite it all, it wasn’t Madara who unsettled her most. It was Itachi. She could still feel the ghost of his hand against her cheek, the way he had tucked her hair behind her ear with such uncharacteristic tenderness. He was a man of restraint, his every word measured, yet in that single touch he had revealed something else, something that set her pulse racing even now.

She turned onto her side, staring at the faint glow of the hearth. Her heart warred with itself, torn between the healer’s clarity she tried to hold onto and the confusion stirring beneath. In Oto she had expected illness, politics, and shadows. She had not expected him.

The castle stirred faintly beyond her door, the sound of footsteps and distant voices rousing her from her thoughts. With a steadying breath, Sakura sat up. The day awaited, and with it, her work, the grain, the water, the tests she needed to begin.

Sakura moved with practiced ease as she readied herself for the day. She fastened her plain gown, tightened her belt, and slipped her dagger into place beneath her cloak. At the mirror, she smoothed her hair back, fingers working quickly to braid it over one shoulder. The ritual steadied her, each movement familiar in a place where little else felt certain.

The adjoining door creaked, and Tenten shuffled in, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hair was tousled, her tunic wrinkled from the night.

“Already dressed?” she muttered through a yawn. “Do you ever sleep, or do you just lie awake plotting the downfall of mysterious illnesses?”

Sakura smirked faintly. “If I waited for sleep to bring answers, Mikoto would have long run out of time.”

Before Tenten could answer, a firm knock sounded at the outer door. She turned on her heel and went to answer it, tugging her sleeves straight as she went.

When she pulled the door open, a young servant stood waiting, arms laden with parcels and jars neatly stacked in a wicker basket. He bowed quickly. “My ladies, the supplies you requested. They were seen to at once.”

Sakura crossed the room, relief stirring in her chest at the sight. She stepped closer, eyeing the contents: sealed jars of vinegar, rolls of clean cloth, fresh bundles of herbs, small packets of ash, and even a pair of new glass vials. Everything she had asked for.

She accepted the basket with both hands, her voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you. This will be of great help.”

The servant bowed again. “If you require more, I have been instructed to attend your call without delay.”

With that, he withdrew, leaving the two women alone again in the chamber.

Tenten closed the door behind him, crossing her arms with a low whistle. “Well, look at that. Itachi works faster than I thought.”

Sakura set the basket on the table, her fingers brushing over the vials. She didn’t answer right away, though a flicker of unease stirred at the back of her mind. She untied the wicker lid and began setting the parcels on the table one by one. Her hands moved with quiet precision, but her expression had tightened.

“It wasn’t Itachi,” she said finally. “He never had the chance to take the list. It was Madara. He intercepted it.”

Tenten leaned against the table’s edge, arms folded, eyes narrowing. “Then he’s the one who made sure these got here so quickly?”

“Yes.” Sakura set down a roll of cloth, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And that means he’ll expect me to see his hand in it.”

Tenten watched her closely. “Do you trust him?”

Sakura stilled for a moment, her fingers brushing the rim of a glass vial. “No,” she said firmly. “Not for a breath. But until I know what game he’s playing, I’ll have to play nice. At least until Mikoto is well, and the village is safe.”

Tenten grunted, clearly unhappy, but didn’t argue. “Just don’t let him get too close.”

Sakura gave a faint smile without looking up. “That’s why I have you.”

With that, she turned back to her work. She unpacked the herbs, laying bundles across the cloth, unstoppered the vinegar jars to test their strength, and arranged the new vials beside her satchel.

The clink of glass and the sharp bite of vinegar filled the room, grounding her. Whatever shadows pressed at the castle’s walls, she had her task before her, and that at least, she could control.

Sakura pulled the samples from her satchel, two small pouches of grain, one taken from the castle’s storeroom and the other from the village’s supply. She set them in separate bowls, labeling each with a careful mark of chalk.

Tenten dragged a chair closer, perching on it backwards, her chin resting on the back rail. “So,” she asked, watching as Sakura measured out equal handfuls of kernels, “what exactly are you looking for?”

“Signs of contamination,” Sakura replied without lifting her eyes from her work. She poured vinegar into a shallow dish and sprinkled the castle grain into it. Some of the kernels sank immediately, others floated. A faint fizz rose to the surface, releasing a sharp, sour odor.

“Grain spoils naturally,” she explained. “Mold, rot, pests. But sometimes…” She trailed off, frowning at the odd discoloration spreading faintly through the liquid. “Sometimes there is more.”

Tenten leaned forward. “And this is one of those times?”

“Perhaps.” Sakura’s voice was low, thoughtful. She jotted a quick note onto her parchment, the quill scratching: Castle grain; reacts strangely in vinegar. Not mold, not common rot. Unfamiliar trace.

Next she repeated the process with the village grain. At first the result was similar, some kernels floated, some sank, but this time the liquid clouded faster, releasing a bitter scent that stung her nose. She frowned deeper, comparing both bowls side by side.

“They’re different,” she murmured. “The castle’s grain holds something I’ve never seen before. The village’s, spoiled, yes, but in a more familiar way. Mold and mildew, likely from damp storage. But this…” She gestured to the castle sample, shaking her head. “This isn’t natural spoilage. It doesn’t match anything I know of.”

Tenten tilted her head. “So… poison?”

Sakura hesitated, quill hovering over the parchment. “If it is, it’s nothing I’ve studied. And if it was deliberate, someone went to great lengths to make it difficult to trace.” She scribbled another note: Unfamiliar agent; further study required. Possibly crafted.

Leaving the grain for the moment, she reached for the vial of water drawn from the village well. She poured it into a clean dish, added a few drops of tincture, and watched closely. The surface shimmered but remained clear, the scent neutral. She frowned, leaning close.

“The water is clean,” she said at last, almost reluctantly. “At least in this sample. No obvious trace of rot or toxin.”

Tenten leaned back in her chair, arms crossing. “So the water isn’t the culprit. That leaves the grain… and whoever’s tampered with it.”

Sakura dipped her quill again, writing briskly. Water clear. Suspect grain as primary source of sickness. Further tests needed.

She dipped her quill once more, adding a final note beneath her observations. When she set it aside, her hand lingered over the rim of the vinegar jar. She swirled it gently, watching the liquid catch the light.

“I don’t like this,” she admitted at last, her voice quiet but firm. “The grain from the castle reacts strangely, as if something unnatural clings to it. But these supplies…” She glanced over the jars, the neatly tied bundles of herbs, the spotless cloth. “I can’t tell if they’re simply the best Oto has to offer or if something has already tainted them before they ever reached my hands.”

Tenten shifted, leaning forward on her elbows. “You think they could be contaminated?”

Sakura exhaled slowly, brushing a stray curl from her face. “I can’t say for certain. Vinegar this thin could be from poor brewing. Herbs lose their strength if kept too long in damp. And with Oto’s resources stretched, it may be no more than scarcity.” Her eyes narrowed, studying the surface of the liquid again. “But it could just as easily be deliberate.”

Tenten frowned. “So we don’t know if it’s carelessness, poverty… or sabotage.”

“Exactly.” Sakura began carefully re-sealing the jars, her motions precise and steady, though her jaw was tight. “Until I know, I’ll treat every sample as though it may be compromised. The truth is here, somewhere. I just need to cut through the noise to find it.”

Tenten gave a low whistle, sitting back in her chair. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Sakura closed the last vial, arranging them neatly in a row before her. “If this is the best Oto can give me, then their kingdom truly is in decline. And if it isn’t…” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then someone wants me to fail.”

---

---

By late afternoon the air in their chamber felt close, heavy with vinegar fumes and the bitter tang of herbs. Sakura rubbed at her eyes, setting aside her quill.

“We need a change of air,” she said, glancing at Tenten. “I’ll see nothing new if I sit staring at these vials any longer. Let’s walk a while.”

Tenten stretched her arms above her head with a relieved groan. “Finally. I was beginning to think you meant to root yourself here like one of your dried plants.”

They gathered their cloaks and stepped into the corridor. Neither noticed the figure standing far down the hall, still as a shadow against the stone, watching their departure in silence.

The women wound their way through the dim passages until the walls widened and light spilled in from narrow shafts overhead. They emerged into what served as Oto’s courtyard.

Though the castle was carved partly into the mountain’s flank, the architects had left this central hollow open to the sky. Sheer rock rose on all sides, moss clinging to damp crevices where rain trickled down from above. A narrow opening high overhead let in sunlight, which filtered down in pale golden beams, catching on drifting motes of dust.

The ground was paved in uneven stone, patched with hardy weeds that had forced their way through cracks. A few trees grew stubbornly in the corners, their branches thin and reaching for the distant strip of sky. Water pooled in a trough carved into the rock, feeding both animals and people, its surface reflecting the cavern walls like a muted mirror.

Despite its roughness, the place carried its own stark beauty, an oasis of life sheltered in stone. The voices of guards and servants echoed strangely against the cavern walls, every sound doubled and blurred.

Sakura drew a long breath, letting the cool air settle her lungs. “It feels different here,” she murmured. “The air is fresher, though trapped. Like the whole castle breathes slower than it should.”

Tenten shaded her eyes, following the shaft of sunlight up to the jagged opening above. “Hard to believe this counts as a courtyard. More like a cage with a hole in the roof.”

Sakura glanced around, her healer’s gaze lingering on the moss-streaked stones, the pale leaves of the courtyard trees, even the animals tethered near the trough. Each told her something about Oto: what grew here, what struggled, what survived.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being enclosed, safe from the wind, yet penned by the weight of the mountain itself.

The echo of steel on steel cut through the courtyard air, sharp and rhythmic. Sakura paused mid-step, head tilting, but it was Tenten whose eyes lit with curiosity.

“That’s sparring,” she murmured, already angling toward the sound. “Come on. I want to see what kind of steel they’re swinging in this place.”

Sakura hesitated, but followed as Tenten wove through a narrow passage that opened into a wider clearing. The cavern roof here rose higher, the shafts of sunlight stronger, spilling over a ring of men locked in combat drills. The clang of blades rang against the stone, shouts of exertion rising and falling in the enclosed space.

At the center of it all stood Sasuke. His blade was steady, his movements precise, though his strikes carried a sharpness more eager than refined. Guards circled him in turn, testing his defenses. Even so young, he carried himself with a confidence that dared challenge them.

The clashing slowed as they stepped into view. Sasuke lowered his blade, his dark eyes flicking toward them. For the briefest instant, his gaze lingered on Sakura, an assessing look that shifted almost at once to disdain, as if their presence here was intrusion.

Beside him stood Itachi, his own blade sheathed, posture relaxed but watchful. He noticed them at once, his expression softening only fractionally. He inclined his head in greeting, though his eyes carefully avoided meeting Sakura’s.

“Lady Sakura. Lady Tenten,” he said, voice even. “What brings you to the training yard?”

Sakura clasped her hands loosely before her, offering a polite bow of her head. “We were only taking a walk, clearing our thoughts. Fresh air does wonders after a day surrounded by herbs and ink—”

“—and the sound of clashing steel,” Tenten cut in, grinning as her eyes swept the training ring. She stepped forward a pace, her voice carrying clearly. “I couldn’t resist. How about it, Sasuke? Care for a spar?”

The younger Uchiha stilled, his dark brows lifting slightly. His gaze flicked from Tenten to Sakura, then back again. When he spoke, his words came cool and measured. “If you’re looking for respect, you’ll not earn it by sparring.” His eyes shifted deliberately to Sakura. “Unlike you.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the direct challenge. “Me?”

Sasuke gave the faintest shrug, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a smirk. “You call yourself healer, but here in Oto, strength speaks louder than skill with herbs. If you want standing in this court, prove it with a blade.”

Tenten’s expression darkened, her fists clenching at her sides. “She’s not the one who asked to fight you. I did.”

Before Sakura could answer, Itachi’s voice cut through the tension, quiet but commanding. “Enough.” He stepped forward, his tone leaving no room for question. “This is not the place to test pride. Nor will I allow it.” His gaze flickered toward Sakura, almost protective, almost pleading.

Something in Sakura hardened at that. She straightened, her jaw tight. “You dismiss Tenten as though she isn’t worth your time,” she said to Sasuke, her tone sharper than she intended. “That’s arrogance, not respect.”

Sasuke’s smirk widened, though his eyes stayed cold. “Then you’ll stand in her place?”

“Sakura—” Itachi began, his voice sharper now, warning laced through it.

“Yes,” Sakura cut in, her anger flaring. “I will.”

The ring of guards stirred, murmurs rising as they stepped back to make space. Tenten’s eyes widened, but she pressed her lips together, saying nothing as Sakura stepped toward the center of the clearing.

Itachi’s jaw tightened, though he did not move to stop her. His gaze followed her instead, unreadable but heavy, as though he already foresaw the clash to come.

Tenten moved quickly, striding to the rack of practice swords at the edge of the yard. Her sharp eyes skimmed the selection before pulling free a blade, lighter than the others, narrow, balanced perfectly for speed rather than brute force. She carried it back, offering the hilt toward Sakura.

“This one,” she said firmly. “It’ll move with you, not against you. Balanced, quick, fits your size better than those heavy things.”

Sakura accepted the weapon, testing the weight with a few slow swings. It felt steady in her hand, the steel humming faintly as it cut the air. She met Tenten’s gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tightness in her chest. “Thank you. You always know your steel.”

Tenten gave a short nod, but her brows knit as she looked at Sakura’s gown. “You sure you can manage in that dress? Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to back down.”

Sakura exhaled, tightening her grip on the hilt. “I’ll be fine.” She let her gaze shift across the ring, where Sasuke stood waiting with cool detachment, blade lowered but ready. “A dress doesn’t decide a fight. Focus does.”

The guards muttered among themselves as Sakura stepped forward, skirts brushing against the stone floor, her braid falling over her shoulder. She took her place across from Sasuke, drawing in a slow breath.

In her mind, memories surfaced, Kakashi’s voice steady as he corrected her stance years ago, his lessons drilling into her body the rhythm of balance and movement. Stay light on your feet. Don’t fight the blade, flow with it. She recalled too the sharpness of Sasuke’s sparring earlier, the way his weight shifted just before a strike, the quick precision of his wrists.

She raised the sword, her arms steady, her focus narrowing to the young Uchiha before her.

Across the ring, Sasuke’s lips curved faintly, his eyes dark and assessing. “Let’s see what Konoha’s healer can do.”

The ring quieted as Sakura lifted her blade, the air between her and Sasuke charged with expectation. For a heartbeat neither moved, each measuring the other.

Then Sasuke struck first, quick, sharp, his blade a blur of silver. Sakura turned her wrist just so, catching his edge with a clean parry. The force still jarred her arm, but she shifted her weight back, letting his momentum slide past her.

He came again, faster, pressing with youthful aggression. His strikes snapped like lightning, one after another. Sakura yielded ground, but each retreat was calculated, her blade deflecting, redirecting, never wasted. Her smaller frame let her slip beneath his guard, her skirts whispering against the stone as she darted in close. She tapped his side with the flat of her blade before spinning back out.

Sasuke’s brows lifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise impassive face. “Not bad,” he murmured.

But his pride stoked him hotter. His attacks grew sharper, reckless edges creeping in. He forced her back step by step, sparks flying where their blades kissed. Sakura’s breath quickened, her arms beginning to tremble, yet she held her ground, recalling every lesson Kakashi had drilled into her, stay light, stay measured, precision beats power if you trust it.

Finally, Sasuke lunged, blade slicing low. Sakura pivoted, skirts swishing, and brought her sword down at an angle that rang against his guard with surprising strength. For a moment, their gazes locked over the clash, his dark eyes narrowed, hers fierce with focus.

He pushed her back, still holding the advantage, but the faintest curve tugged at his lips. She had lasted longer than he expected. Perhaps even impressed him.

The moment broke with the scrape of boots against stone.

“Enough.”

The voice came smooth, low, and edged with heat. Madara stepped into the yard, his cloak trailing like a shadow behind him. His gaze fixed on Sakura, sharp and burning, before shifting toward the circle at large.

Itachi’s eyes narrowed at once, annoyance flashing across his otherwise calm face. “What are you doing here?”

Madara’s smirk deepened, his words deliberately taunting. “I went to visit Lady Sakura’s chambers. Imagine my disappointment to find she wasn’t there.” His gaze slid back to her, heavy, lingering. “Now I see where she wandered instead.”

A murmur rippled among the guards. Sasuke straightened, blade lowering as tension thickened in the air. Sakura’s fingers tightened on her hilt, pulse quickening for an entirely different reason than the spar. She straightened, dipped her head politely toward Sasuke, and offered the sword back hilt-first.

“Thank you for the spar,” she said evenly.

Sasuke accepted the weapon, his expression unreadable but his eyes still sharp, lingering on her a fraction longer than courtesy required.

Before the tension could thicken further, Sakura turned, catching Tenten’s sleeve. “Come on. That’s enough. There’s far too much testosterone in this yard for me to breathe properly.”

Her words left the ring of guards snickering quietly among themselves. Even Sasuke’s brows twitched, though whether in irritation or amusement was unclear. Itachi said nothing, though his gaze followed her, cool and steady. Madara, for his part, only smirked as if the entire scene had played into his hands.

Sakura didn’t look back.

The two women walked briskly through the stone corridors until the sounds of clashing blades and murmurs faded behind them. Only when they reached the quieter wing did Tenten finally speak.

“You know,” she said, glancing at Sakura out of the corner of her eye, “you handled yourself well back there. Better than most would’ve expected. You surprised him.”

Sakura huffed, tugging her braid over her shoulder as they turned toward their chambers. “It was stupid.”

Tenten arched a brow. “What was?”

“All of it,” Sakura muttered. “Sasuke’s stupid attitude. Itachi and Madara’s stupid overprotective stares. And my own stupid pride for proving I’m not helpless.” She shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s not why I’m here. I should’ve walked away.”

Tenten smirked faintly. “Maybe. But you didn’t. And sometimes showing you’re not helpless is the best way to make people stop treating you like you are.”

Sakura sighed, the fight draining from her shoulders. “Perhaps. But I’d rather win battles with remedies, not blades.”

They reached their door, the flicker of torchlight warming the stone, and for a brief moment, the world felt quieter again.

---

---

The castle had settled into its evening hush by the time Sakura gathered her pouch of remedies once more. The corridors glowed with torchlight, shadows stretching long against the stone. Tenten fell into step beside her, arms folded loosely but her eyes sharp, as though daring anyone to question their path.

When they reached Mikoto’s chamber, the guards stepped aside at once. Inside, the queen was already reclining in bed, her hair braided neatly down one shoulder, a candle burning low on the table beside her. Her face was pale, but her smile warmed the room when she saw them.

“Lady Sakura,” she greeted, her voice softer than the night before. “And Lady Tenten. What a pleasant surprise, I did not expect two visitors.”

Tenten bowed her head politely. “Her orders,” she said dryly, jerking her chin toward Sakura. “I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t wear herself out.”

Mikoto’s laugh was gentle, though it ended in a faint cough. “How fortunate you are, Sakura, to have such a loyal friend.”

Sakura set her pouch on the bedside table and began laying out what she had prepared; an infusion of calming herbs, a cloth steeped in vinegar and mint, a small sachet of dried lavender. Her hands moved with quiet purpose, the familiarity of the work steadying her even as Mikoto’s fragility pressed against her heart.

“I thought tonight we might try something new,” Sakura explained. “The tea should ease the fever’s hold, and the cloth may help with the dizziness you mentioned yesterday. Nothing strong, just enough to bring you a little peace.”

Mikoto watched her with soft eyes, her head tilting slightly as Sakura worked. “You tend me with such care. It reminds me of how I used to sit at my mother’s side, listening to her speak of Oto’s glory and its burdens.” She smiled faintly. “Though she never brewed anything that smelled quite as bitter.”

Tenten smirked. “That’s because Sakura insists all the worst remedies work best.”

Sakura glanced at her with a mock glare, though her tone softened when she turned back to Mikoto. “If it helps you sleep, my lady, then it’s worth the bitterness.”

Mikoto sipped carefully from the cup Sakura had prepared, her hands steady despite the faint tremor in her fingers. When she set it back upon the tray, a small smile curved her lips.

“I feel stronger than I did yesterday,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “The heaviness has eased, if only a little. It is the first relief I’ve known in some time.”

Sakura returned her smile, adjusting the cloth across Mikoto’s forehead. “You look better as well. I’m glad something I’ve tried has given you even a moment’s peace.”

The queen’s eyes softened, studying her for a long moment. “Tell me, Sakura, how goes your investigation? You’ve been working tirelessly. Surely you have some sense of what causes this sickness.”

Sakura hesitated, her fingers pausing as she smoothed the blanket over Mikoto’s chest. Honesty weighed heavy, but she could not bring herself to offer false comfort. “Everything I’ve tested points to the same source, my lady. The food, especially the grain. It carries something that is not natural spoilage. But I cannot yet say what it is.”

Mikoto’s brow furrowed slightly, though her voice remained calm. “The food that feeds both castle and village alike.”

“Yes,” Sakura admitted. “The water I’ve examined seems clear. It is the stores that trouble me. But until I understand precisely what lingers there, I cannot know how to stop it.”

Mikoto’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling, her expression shadowed. “Strange… Oto was once known for its harvests. Now it withers, and the food that should sustain us brings only sickness.”

Tenten, leaning against the post of the bed, crossed her arms. “And someone’s making sure it stays that way.”

The queen’s eyes closed briefly, her voice a whisper. “If that is true… then my kingdom suffers from more than illness alone.”

Sakura lingered at Mikoto’s side, adjusting the emptied cup back onto the tray. For a moment, she hesitated, then spoke with quiet resolve.

“My lady… one more thing. Do you keep a library here in Oto? Somewhere with records, old harvest accounts, ledgers, medical texts, anything that might give me insight into how the land has changed?”

Mikoto’s eyes opened, faintly surprised, though her smile soon followed. “Of course. The Uchihas have always kept record of what was ours, histories, treaties, even crop yields dating back generations. Our library is not as vast as Konoha’s, but it holds more than most would expect.”

“That would be invaluable to me,” Sakura said earnestly. “Sometimes answers hide in memory, written long before anyone thought to look. If I can compare what was with what is now, I may see what we’ve missed.”

Mikoto nodded, a soft pride warming her expression. “Then you shall have it. I will ask Itachi to show you himself. He knows the library better than any servant.”

At the mention of his name, Sakura’s chest gave a small, unexpected flutter. She inclined her head respectfully to hide it. “Thank you, my lady. That would be most helpful.”

Mikoto reached to lay her hand lightly over Sakura’s, her touch cool but steady. “You are thorough, Sakura. It comforts me to know my people rest in such capable hands.”

From where she stood, Tenten gave a faint grin. “And here I thought you’d finally have a day without books and ink. Guess I should’ve known better.”

Sakura only shook her head, though the hint of a smile curved her lips. “Answers don’t wait for rest.”

As they stepped quietly out of Mikoto’s chamber, the door closing softly behind them, Tenten let out a low sigh. “So… off to the library, then? Guess I’d better brush up on my reading skills.”

Sakura shook her head, tucking her pouch of remedies back beneath her cloak. “Not this time.” She cast her friend a sidelong glance, her smile faint but certain. “Don’t worry, I have other plans for you.”

Tenten arched a brow, crossing her arms as they walked. “Other plans?”

“You’re more useful in places I can’t always be,” Sakura said evenly, her tone carrying both trust and resolve. “If the grain and the wells are our best leads, then I’ll need another set of eyes. Someone who can move quietly, notice things I might overlook.”

Tenten smirked, though her eyes glinted with curiosity. “So you mean sneaking about and poking into corners I’m not supposed to? That’s more my style anyway.”

“Exactly,” Sakura replied. “Leave the books to me. I’ll see what the records say. You… find what the walls are hiding.”

Tenten gave a short laugh. “Fine. But if I stumble across another hidden passage, don’t complain when I drag you into it.”

Sakura rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. “Just don’t go wandering alone. If this is more than sickness, I don’t want you caught in the middle of it.”

“Relax,” Tenten said, patting the hilt of her dagger. “I can handle myself.”

Sakura nodded, though unease still pricked at her. As they continued down the corridor, she felt the shadow of Oto’s secrets pressing closer, secrets she would seek in the library’s pages, and Tenten in the darkened halls.

---

---

The next morning came with the soft toll of the castle’s bells. After breaking her fast, Sakura followed a servant through a winding stairwell that led deeper into the mountain’s heart. Tenten had already gone her own way, her steps light and purposeful toward the lower halls.

At the foot of the stair, a tall door of dark oak stood closed, its iron hinges etched with the crest of the Uchiha fan. Waiting there, as Mikoto had promised, was Itachi. He inclined his head slightly when Sakura approached, his expression composed, though his eyes flickered briefly over her face as if searching for unspoken weariness.

“Lady Sakura,” he said quietly. “My mother asked me to show you our library. Few are permitted within, but you have her trust…and mine.”

He pushed the door open, the hinges groaning faintly, and gestured for her to step inside.

Sakura entered, her breath catching for a moment. The chamber stretched wide and tall, carved directly from the stone, its walls lined with shelves laden with scrolls and bound volumes. Ladders leaned against the stacks, and the faint scent of old parchment and ink hung in the cool air. Narrow slits high in the cavern wall let in thin shafts of daylight, dust motes swirling like stars in the pale beams.

“This is… remarkable,” Sakura murmured, her gaze sweeping across rows of records and tomes. “I didn’t imagine Oto’s library would be so vast.”

“It is the memory of our clan,” Itachi replied, stepping beside her. “Every generation leaves its record here, ledgers of harvests, chronicles of treaties, even medical texts copied from distant lands. What knowledge we guard, we guard carefully.”

Sakura nodded, her heart tightening with anticipation. Somewhere in these shelves might lie the answers Mikoto could not find, the pattern of decline, the thread that tied the illness to Oto’s fading strength.

She turned to Itachi, her voice steady. “I’ll need to see records of the last decade’s harvests and accounts of village health, if they exist. Anything that shows when things began to change.”

He inclined his head, his dark eyes unreadable but intent. “Then we shall begin with the ledgers. Follow me.”

The hours slipped into a quiet rhythm, marked only by the rustle of parchment and the soft thud of ledgers laid open across the long oak table.

Itachi moved with methodical precision, drawing down volumes from the shelves, stacking them in neat order for Sakura’s review. He handled each book as though it were fragile glass, his fingers tracing the spines with care.

Sakura bent over the records, her quill scratching steadily as she jotted notes. Ledgers of harvests, scrolls of trade records, even accounts of illnesses from decades past, all spread before her in a tapestry of ink and memory.

Here, an account of grain yields from seven years ago: abundant, golden, unmarred. She marked the year. There, a record of shortages two winters later: yields halved, stores lost to damp. She underlined the shift. Medical records followed the same pattern, fewer mentions of common fevers, then a sudden rise in stomach ailments and wasting illness.

From time to time, she looked up to find another tome already waiting at her elbow, placed there without a word by Itachi. He returned to the shelves, quiet and unhurried, but always attuned to her needs.

Dust motes continued to spin in the shafts of light above, catching in Sakura’s hair as she bent once more to her notes. The pile of completed volumes grew steadily beside her, while the stack of unanswered questions only seemed to deepen.

Patterns began to emerge, faint but persistent. The harvests grew weaker with each passing year, long before Mikoto herself fell ill. The illnesses described were not singular cases but spread across villages, echoing what Sakura had seen with her own eyes. And yet, none of the records named a cause. Only loss. Only decline.

She set her quill aside. Ink stained the tips of her fingers, and a faint smudge streaked across her cheek where she’d brushed against it without noticing. Her braid had loosened, a few strands falling against her face.

“The pattern is clear,” she said quietly, her voice edged with frustration. “Year after year, the land yields less. Illness rises where strength should be. But the records never explain why. It’s as if the decline simply… crept in, unseen.”

Itachi stood across the table, the tall shelves framing him like shadowed walls. His expression remained calm, but his gaze lingered on her, intent and searching.

“You have done in a day what most overlook in a decade,” he said. “My people see only that they are hungrier, sicker, poorer. You search for the root beneath it all.”

Sakura met his eyes, surprised by the quiet weight in his words. “It’s what I was trained to do. A healer cannot treat only the symptoms.” She paused, her voice softening. “But here, it feels larger than one sickness. As though Oto itself is ill.”

For a long moment, the silence between them deepened, filled only by the faint crackle of a torch on the wall. Itachi’s gaze did not waver.

“You carry the burden of this place as though it were already yours,” he murmured.

Sakura felt the heat rise faintly in her chest, though she kept her composure. “I only want to see Lady Mikoto well again. And to keep her people from suffering needlessly.”

He moved then, slow and deliberate, rounding the table until he stood nearer. His presence was steady, not looming, yet it filled the quiet space between them.

“You are not like the others who come here,” he said, his voice low. “Most see Oto as shadow, as threat. You look past that. You see the people, the land, the sickness and you care.”

Sakura’s breath caught, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of her notes. She held his gaze, searching for the guarded distance that usually masked his words, but for once his eyes seemed unshielded, carrying something deeper.

And just as she found herself caught in that silence, the creak of the library doors broke the quiet. A young servant stepped inside, bowing quickly.

“Prince Itachi,” he said, his voice careful. “You are needed in the council chamber.”

Itachi’s eyes flicked once to Sakura before he gave a short nod. “Very well.” He turned back to her, his words measured. “Do not tire yourself. I’ll return once I am able.”

Sakura inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll manage. Go. Your duties come first.”

With that, he departed, the servant trailing after him, the door thudding softly shut behind them. Silence settled once more, leaving Sakura alone amid the scent of parchment and ink.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as the tension of their long work eased. Rising, she wandered deeper into the stacks, her hand brushing along the spines of ancient tomes.

Some bindings were cracked with age, their lettering faded to near illegibility; others gleamed newer, the work of recent scribes. Scrolls bound in twine leaned in bundles, their ends marked with careful sigils denoting harvests, treaties, or chronicles of war.

Dust drifted lazily in the shafts of light. A ladder leaned against one shelf, worn smooth by generations of hands. Maps unfurled across a side table showed Oto’s valleys, rivers, and borders in painstaking ink. In the corner stood a glass case, its contents a collection of artifacts, ceremonial daggers, a crown tarnished with age, a scroll bearing the crest of an allied clan long faded into memory.

Sakura let her fingers linger against one ledger before pulling it gently free. She set it on the table, opening to neat columns that recorded grain shipments from years long past. The handwriting varied from season to season, yet the tone was the same: the steady march of decline.

She leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin lightly against her hand, eyes drifting across the fading ink. The soft glow of the lanterns blurred into shadow as her eyelids grew heavy.

She hadn’t meant to drift off, yet the quiet hum of the library, the endless rows of ink and parchment, and the ache in her hand from writing lulled her into stillness. Her head rested against her folded arms, the parchment beneath her crinkling faintly as she slipped into sleep.

She stirred sometime later, not at a sound, but at the sensation. Fingers, slow and deliberate, sliding through the loose strands of her hair where it had fallen from its braid. The touch was unhurried, lingering, almost worshipping.

Her eyes fluttered open, heart jolting. Madara stood beside her chair, his tall frame cloaked in shadow, his hand still poised in her hair. His dark gaze met hers at once, glinting with quiet amusement.

“You look peaceful when you’re not chasing answers,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, carrying the weight of someone who had been watching for longer than she realized.

Sakura straightened sharply, pulling back, her braid tumbling over her shoulder. “Lord Madara,” she said, her tone clipped though her pulse thundered. “What are you doing here?”

His smirk curved, faint but unmistakable. “Libraries are places for those who seek truth. I thought I might find you here. And I was right.” His eyes flicked toward the open ledger on the table, then back to her face. “Though I hadn’t expected to find you dreaming instead of working.”

He stepped back a pace, his hands folding behind his back now, as though to prove he meant no harm. Yet his gaze lingered, intent, almost hungry.

“You push yourself too hard, my little owl,” he said softly, the old name curling off his tongue like a secret meant only for her. “Even feathers break if pressed too far. How fares your research? Have the dusty scrolls whispered their secrets yet?”

Sakura straightened in her chair, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her cheek. She kept her tone polite, though her guard rose instinctively. “I’ve found patterns. The harvests have been declining for years, the sickness rising with them. But the cause…” She shook her head faintly. “The records don’t say.”

Madara tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that felt almost suffocating. “And what does your healer’s instinct say?”

“That something is wrong,” she replied, her voice firm despite the weight of his gaze. “Something deeper than poor weather or spoiled stores. But until I can prove it, instinct isn’t enough.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint crackle of a lantern wick. Then Madara’s lips curved again, faint and unreadable.

“Sharp eyes, sharper mind,” he murmured. “No wonder my sister clings to you so readily. You seek causes where others accept fate.” His gaze lingered, heavy as stone. “Perhaps you will yet uncover truths even the Uchihas themselves have overlooked.”

Madara’s gaze lingered on the spread of parchment before her, his expression unreadable. Then, almost as if speaking to himself, he said, “When my father ruled, Oto’s stores were always full. The land gave freely then. But in his final years… I recall the grain spoiling even before it was brought in from the fields. Entire harvests rotted in the silos, though no blight was seen in the stalks.”

Sakura’s brows drew together. “Rotting before storage? That doesn’t make sense. If the grain left the fields healthy…”

He gave a slight shrug, though the glint in his eyes betrayed calculation. “Not everything leaves a trace you can see. Some poisons are subtle, slower than venom, but no less deadly.”

She wanted to press him, to demand why he had offered this now, but something told her he would only retreat behind riddles if pushed. Instead, she jotted the words down quickly, her hand tightening.

When she looked up, he was watching her still, the faintest smirk at the corner of his lips.

“Remember it, little owl,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Even the smallest rot spreads fastest when no one thinks to look for it.”

And with that, he turned, his cloak whispering against the stone floor as he strode toward the doors, leaving her in the hush of the library with her notes and the heavy certainty that whatever he had told her was no idle memory.

Sakura gathered her notes into a neat stack, tucking the most important pages into her satchel. The words Madara had left her with circled in her mind, looping over and over, but she pushed them aside for now. Answers could wait until morning.

The corridors were dim and hushed when she returned to her chambers, the torches burning low. She let herself in, setting the satchel and her pouch of remedies on the table.

The adjoining door to Tenten’s room was closed. Sakura noticed it, but thought little of it, her friend was likely still wandering the lower halls, chasing the lead she’d mentioned.

Too weary to dwell on it, Sakura changed into her nightclothes and brushed her hair for sleep. She doused the lantern, leaving only the embers in the hearth to glow faintly against the stone walls.

Sliding beneath the covers, she allowed herself one deep breath, then another. The weight of the day, the spar with Sasuke, Mikoto’s questions, the hours in the library, Madara’s unsettling presence, it all pressed down until exhaustion finally claimed her.

Within moments, the quiet of sleep folded around her, leaving her chamber still and silent.

Sleep was not the rest she hoped for.

At first, the dream was shapeless, shadows of stone corridors that bent and stretched too long, torchlight flickering in colors that didn’t belong. Voices whispered from behind doors that never opened. The air smelled of damp grain, heavy and sour, clinging to her tongue.

Then the shapes shifted. She stood in the apothecary wing of Konoha’s castle, jars of herbs stacked neatly along the shelves, Tsunade’s steady tread echoing down the hall. And there, bent over a table covered in scrolls, was Shizune. Her voice carried clearly, though her face never lifted from her work.

“Not all poisons come from the blade or the flask,” Shizune said, her tone firm, almost admonishing. “Some grow with the food we eat. Molds, fungi, when left too long, they breed mycotoxins. Invisible, tasteless. They rot the body from within.”

Sakura’s stomach twisted as Shizune’s words reverberated in the dream. The shelves around her blurred, jars melting into sacks of grain spotted with gray mold. Children’s coughs rang out in the distance, Lady Mikoto’s pale face flickering at the edge of her vision.

“Mycotoxins,” she whispered, the word catching on her lips.

The dream shattered.

She woke with a sharp gasp, bolting upright in her bed, heart hammering against her ribs. For a moment, she pressed a hand to her chest, willing her breath to steady. The word burned bright in her mind; mycotoxins. That was it. That had to be it.

She turned at once toward the adjoining door. “Tenten—” But the room beyond was dark and silent. 

Sakura frowned. Tenten hadn’t returned. Concern prickled at the edge of her thoughts, but not enough to outweigh the urgency now roaring through her veins.

Throwing back the covers, she swung to her feet, pulling her cloak around her shoulders to cover the thin nightgown beneath. She grabbed her satchel, fingers clumsy with haste, and tucked her notes inside.

The corridors would be quiet at this hour, but the supplies she needed waited, vinegar, cloth, a clean dish, heat enough to test. If she was right, she could prove it before dawn.

She pulled her hood up, cinched the cloak tighter, and slipped out into the sleeping castle, her steps quick and determined.

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Chapter Text

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The corridors stretched long and unfamiliar, as though the stones themselves had shifted in her sleep. Sakura moved quickly, but every turn led to another hall she didn’t recognize. The torches burned low, their flames guttering, and the silence pressed down like a weight. Not a single servant crossed her path. Not even the echo of boots reached her ears.

It’s as if the castle is empty, she thought, her pulse quickening.

She retraced her steps once, twice, but the walls felt closer, the doors unfamiliar. She had always prided herself on her memory, on the healer’s discipline of recalling herbs, measurements, and steps without hesitation, but now it betrayed her. The castle twisted like a maze.

Then, faintly, voices reached her. Low, muffled, seeping through the cracks of stone. She froze, straining to listen.

“…she’s not making progress,” a man’s voice muttered, firm, impatient. Another agreed, sharper, “We cannot waste more time. Best to send them back before they drain more of our stores.”

Sakura’s stomach dropped.

She edged closer, careful to keep to the shadowed wall. The voices sharpened as she neared an arched doorway, its heavy doors cracked just enough to let sound spill into the hall.

Fugaku’s voice came, clipped and unyielding. “Her presence is my wife’s wish. I agreed, though I saw little sense in it. If results do not come soon, they will return to Konoha.”

Before Sakura’s chest could tighten further, another voice broke in, smooth, dark, carrying both amusement and accusation. Madara.

“And what then?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Send her home so you may go on pretending this kingdom’s decline began with her arrival? Oto has been withering for years, since my Father’s death, in truth. Or will you deny it?”

The chamber fell into a silence so thick that even the torchlight seemed to falter. Sakura held her breath, every muscle taut, the stone wall cool against her back.

At last Fugaku spoke, his voice calm, deep, each word deliberate. “Do not twist this into what it is not, Madara. The decline of Oto is not mine alone to bear. Seasons shift, lands change, harvests fail, it is the way of all kingdoms. I have carried your father’s crown as duty demands, and the people still live beneath these walls. Do not forget that.”

The air quivered with the weight of his defense.

Madara gave a low, humorless laugh. “Carried, yes. But only carried. Never questioned. Never sought the rot beneath the surface. Perhaps that is the true difference between you and me.”

Another silence followed, colder this time, and Sakura’s chest tightened. The air in the corridor seemed to thicken with unspoken words, and she felt the tension like a drawn blade hanging just above her.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak, her mind racing. She had come seeking answers in her work, yet here, unintentionally, she had found a deeper truth. The Uchiha themselves were divided, the rot not only in the grain but in the family at Oto’s very heart.

The silence shattered with the sound of footsteps inside, chairs scraping faintly against stone. Sakura’s heart lurched. She pulled her hood tighter and turned to leave, her steps as quick and quiet as she could make them.

She had barely rounded the corner when the door opened wider.

“Lady Sakura.”

Madara’s voice carried into the hall like a silk thread pulled taut.

She froze, her pulse hammering. Against her better judgment, she risked a glance back. He stood framed in the doorway, shadowed by the torchlight, his gaze locking onto her instantly. His lips curved into a slow, knowing grin.

She turned and bolted. Her cloak whipped around her legs as she fled down the twisting corridor, her slippered feet near-silent on the stone. The halls still felt uncanny, as though shifting under her, but instinct drove her on.

At last, a familiar scent caught her, the dry, earthy tang of stored grain and vinegar. She burst into the storeroom, pushing the heavy door closed behind her. The chamber was still, lined with shelves of jars and sacks stacked high against the walls.

She pressed her back to the door for a moment, forcing air into her lungs, trying to still the pounding in her ears. Madara hadn’t followed, or if he had, he’d chosen not to show it. The thought made her stomach twist tighter than if he had given chase.

Shaking herself, Sakura crossed to the nearest shelf. She needed focus. She needed answers. Her fingers moved swiftly, gathering vinegar, cloth, her vials, a clean dish, everything she required to test. Yet her mind reeled, replaying the voices she had overheard.

They want to send me home.

The kingdom has been declining for years.

She set the supplies on the table, hands trembling faintly. “What are you hiding, Madara?” she whispered under her breath.

The silence gave no answer, only the heavy smell of grain and the faint trickle of water somewhere deeper in the stone.

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Hours slipped past in the hush of the chamber, broken only by the scrape of quill, the faint hiss of liquid against heated stone, and Sakura’s murmured observations. She tested, re-tested, then tested again, unwilling to believe until the proof held steady each time.

At last, the answer stared back at her in the clouded dish. Her stomach tightened as she whispered the word aloud.

“Mycotoxins.”

It was there, unmistakable. The grain carried it, poisoning those who ate from the stores. Subtle, tasteless, but deadly. Relief and dread warred in her chest. She finally had something solid, but it was worse than she’d hoped.

She was still staring at her notes when the adjoining door creaked. Tenten stumbled in, hair mussed, boots dusted with grit. She paused at the sight of Sakura hunched over her desk, then winced at the expression on her friend’s face.

“You’re back,” Sakura said flatly, her quill frozen above the page. “Finally.”

Tenten scratched the back of her neck, sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry. I… uh… might’ve gotten a little turned around.”

“A little?” Sakura pushed back from the desk, rising to her feet. “You were gone all night, Tenten. Do you know how worried I was?”

Tenten grimaced, shifting her weight. “Alright, more than a little. I got lost in the tunnels under the kitchens. Thought one led back to the courtyard, but it just… didn’t.” She gave a helpless shrug. “By the time I found my way out, the sun was already coming up.”

Sakura folded her arms, annoyance and worry tangled together. “You could have been trapped…or worse.”

“I wasn’t,” Tenten said quickly, then offered a faint grin. “And hey, I’ve mapped a good bit of the lower passages now. That’s something, right?”

Sakura sighed, the sharp edge of her frustration softening. “Next time, tell me before you vanish into the mountain.”

“Next time,” Tenten promised, though her grin said she might not keep it.

Sakura rubbed her brow, then gestured to the table. “I’ve found something. And this time, it’s not guesswork.”

Tenten’s expression sobered at once. “Show me.”

Sakura motioned for Tenten to sit, sliding the dish of grain closer so she could see the faint cloudy residue clinging to the liquid. “It’s mycotoxins,” she said, her tone clipped but steady.

Tenten leaned in, brow furrowed. “That sounds impressive. Now explain it in words I’ll actually understand.”

Sakura’s lips twitched despite her fatigue. “In short, it’s poison. But not one someone mixes into food with a vial or powder. It grows. Certain fungi can form toxins inside grain as it spoils. The kernels look normal, sometimes smell normal, but the poison is already there.”

Tenten blinked. “So people are eating bread that’s basically killing them slowly.”

“Exactly.” Sakura sighed, rubbing her temple. “I’ve studied poisons, but this wasn’t my specialty. Shizune was always the one with a deeper grasp of this field. I only know enough to recognize that something is wrong.”

“And what is it, specifically?” Tenten pressed.

Sakura hesitated, her mind racing through half-remembered lessons and scraps of old texts. “Fungi thrive in warm, damp conditions. But there are species that survive even when it’s cooler. One in particular, called Fusarium. It’s rare, but it can grow in grain if the harvest is weak or stored improperly.”

Tenten frowned. “And you think that’s what this is?”

“I don’t know,” Sakura admitted. “I have a vague idea, but I can’t be certain without more. I need to research. There should be records or texts in the library, maybe even imported writings from healers who studied this before.”

Tenten leaned back, arms crossed. “So… the answers are in the books again.”

Sakura gave a faint, tired smile. “We just have to know where to look.”

Tenten leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a grin tugging faintly at her lips. “With any luck, you’ll crack this and we’ll be home in no time. I’m sure you’re dying for some peace and quiet back in Konoha.”

Sakura’s smile faded, her fingers tightening on the edge of her notes. “There’s something else.”

Tenten arched a brow. “What now?”

Taking a slow breath, Sakura told her everything she had overheard in the hall, the talk of sending her home, Madara’s taunts about Oto’s decline since his father’s death, the tense silence that followed.

Tenten’s expression darkened. “So you think this fungus, these mycotoxins, might not be natural at all? Someone could be making sure the grain’s poisoned?”

“I don’t know,” Sakura admitted. “I can’t accuse without proof. But if someone wanted to make Fugaku appear weak… to make his rule seem cursed or incompetent…” Her voice dropped lower, the weight of the words heavy. “Then poisoning the food would be a way to do it.”

Tenten narrowed her eyes. “And you think Madara might be behind it.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed deeply. She turned her gaze to the dish of cloudy liquid, her thoughts tangled. “Madara has been… overbearing. His fixation with me, the way he inserts himself where he’s not asked, it’s not normal. But to kill his own sister? To poison his people? That… I cannot say. Not yet.”

Tenten’s lips pressed into a hard line. “He’s capable of something, though. That much is clear.”

Sakura nodded slowly, her voice firm but weary. “Yes. The question is, what exactly?”

Tenten shifted in her chair, her boot tapping against the stone floor. “There’s something else you should know. About last night.”

Sakura looked up sharply. “Go on.”

“The tunnels under this place… they’re everywhere. Some are half-collapsed, some lead nowhere, but others, others go right beneath the storerooms, the kitchens, even near the royal wing.” Tenten admitted, her tone sheepish at first but turning serious.

Sakura’s brows knit. “You’re certain?”

“As certain as I can be,” Tenten replied. “I followed one for what felt like an hour. It had fresh scuffs on the stone, boot marks in the dust. Someone’s been using them recently.”

Sakura leaned back, her mind racing. The grain. The decline. The sickness. If the stores could be reached without passing guards or servants…

“That would make sabotage almost effortless,” she murmured.

Tenten nodded grimly. “Exactly. Anyone with access to those tunnels could slip in, taint the food or water, and be gone without notice.”

Sakura pressed her lips together, the weight of the revelation heavy in her chest. “Then it isn’t just about what’s poisoning Oto. It’s about who has the freedom to walk unseen through the mountain.”

Tenten tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “And I think we both know whose name keeps circling back, whether we want it to or not.”

Sakura’s brow furrowed deeply, her voice quiet but steady. “Madara. But without proof, it’s only shadows. I’ll need more.”

---

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The library was hushed, the faint crackle of firelight competing with the scratch of parchment as Sakura traced a finger down the column of text. The tome before her was dense with script, diagrams of fungal growth curling across its yellowed pages.

“Fusarium…” she murmured, eyes narrowing. “It produces several toxins, trichothecenes, fumonisins. Both damage the liver, some even weaken the immune system. Prolonged exposure can cause nausea, weakness, even bleeding.” Her voice was steady, but Tenten saw the crease forming between her brows.

“What happens if it’s cooked? Doesn’t the heat kill it?” Tenten leaned closer, lowering her voice instinctively as if the books themselves might eavesdrop.

Sakura tapped the margin of the page, where a physician’s neat hand had left notes centuries earlier. “The heat will kill the mold,” she explained quietly, “but not the toxins. Those linger. Invisible, tasteless… deadly all the same.”

For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of the fire. Tenten shifted uncomfortably. “Then what are you going to do?”

Sakura closed the book with a soft thud, palms resting on its worn leather cover as though to anchor herself. “I’m going to speak to Lord Fugaku. The soil must be treated, or the next harvest will be poisoned before it grows. And all of the old stores…” she shook her head, the words heavy…“they’ll have to be thrown out. It will hurt, but it’s the only way.”

Tenten exhaled, grim but accepting. “And the sick?”

Sakura’s voice softened, though a flicker of steel remained. “There is no true cure, not for this. But we can ease the strain on the liver, help the body fight back. Green tea, milk thistle, turmeric… they won’t cleanse the poison, but they’ll give Mikoto and the villagers a fighting chance.”

Her hand lingered on the closed book, as though the knowledge within weighed more than parchment ought. “Sometimes,” she admitted in a low breath, “all a healer can do is give time.”

By the time Sakura and Tenten left the library, the heaviness of what they had uncovered clung to them like a shadow. A message was sent at once, requesting an audience with Lord Fugaku. The answer came quickly, he would see them, but only in his private chamber, where Lady Mikoto now lay bedridden.

The room was dim when they entered, the curtains drawn against the harsh gray light spilling from the mountain sky. Mikoto rested upon a carved bedstead, her once-bright eyes dulled, her breaths shallow but steady. A handkerchief stained faintly with blood lay folded at her side. The queen’s beauty had not faded, but it was veiled now by pallor and the sheen of sickness.

Fugaku stood beside her like a sentinel, his expression carved from stone. His gaze flicked from Sakura to Tenten, and then back again. “You sent word you had answers,” he said, voice low and commanding.

Sakura curtsied briefly before stepping forward, the weight of her findings pressing down on every word. “My lord, my lady,” she began, careful and deliberate. “I have been studying the symptoms and comparing them to records in your library. The cause is not a common illness, it is toxins, produced by a mold that has tainted the grain stores. The fungus is called fusarium.”

Fugaku’s brow furrowed, but he did not speak. Mikoto stirred weakly, her voice a fragile thread. “Toxins…?”

“Yes, my lady,” Sakura said softly, turning her gaze to her. “Heat from cooking will kill the mold, but the poison it leaves behind survives. Every meal only spreads its reach further into the body.”

Tenten stood straighter at Sakura’s side, watching Fugaku closely. “We must treat the soil before the next planting,” Sakura pressed on. “If we do not, new crops will be infected. And all existing stores of grain must be destroyed. It is the only way to halt this.”

Fugaku’s jaw tightened, his silence heavy as stone. The thought of empty storehouses was a dire one, and the weight of such a decision hung thick in the air.

Sakura’s tone softened as she glanced at Mikoto, who lay pale against the pillows. “There is no cure for the poison, but the body can be supported. Green tea, milk thistle, turmeric, these will strengthen the liver, help it resist further damage. It will not undo what has been done, but it may give her strength enough to endure.”

Mikoto’s hand shifted weakly across the coverlet, searching for her husband’s. Fugaku clasped it at once, his features unchanging though his eyes flickered with something unspoken, fear, perhaps, or the sting of helplessness.

Fugaku’s silence stretched long enough that the crackle of the fire seemed loud in the chamber. At last, he drew in a breath, his voice edged like tempered steel.

“You speak with conviction, Lady Sakura,” he said, the title formal but his tone cold. “If what you claim is true, then you have done this household a service.” His dark eyes lingered on Mikoto, then shifted back to her with measured weight. “But if you are wrong, if you have misled us into destroying our food stores for nothing, you will have condemned not only my household, but my people.”

The words settled heavy in the air.

Sakura bowed her head, though her shoulders squared with quiet resolve. “I would not speak so if I were uncertain, my lord. The symptoms and records align too closely.”

Fugaku inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging her certainty but unwilling to give ground. “Very well. You will remain here until Lady Mikoto recovers, or until this poison runs its course. Should she improve, your counsel will be vindicated. Should she decline further…” His voice dropped, carrying a quiet menace. “You will answer for it.”

From the bed, Mikoto stirred faintly, her lips parting. “Fugaku…” she whispered, too weak to lift her head.

His gaze softened only for her, his hand tightening around hers before he straightened once more. “For now, continue as you see fit,” he said brusquely. “Tend to my wife. We will discuss the matter of the stores in due time.”

The dismissal was clear, though tension still coiled in the chamber. Sakura curtsied once more, heart heavy but resolve unbroken, and Tenten followed her out in silence.

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The morning light filtered through Oto’s narrow windows, pale and cool, chasing away the damp chill that lingered in the stone corridors. Sakura walked quietly beside Itachi, her basket of remedies balanced against her hip, the faint clink of glass phials marking each step.

When they entered Mikoto’s chamber, the air smelled faintly of lavender sachets placed by the hearth. Mikoto lay propped up with pillows, her dark eyes alert despite her pallor. She smiled faintly when Sakura bowed her head in greeting.

“I’ve brought the first treatments,” Sakura said, setting the basket on the table near the bed. “They’re simple preparations, but they will help restore strength.”

Itachi moved closer, his usual composure softened by a thread of worry. “What will she be taking?”

Sakura carefully measured a clay cup of barley water, the faint steam curling up as she stirred in honey and a few crushed mint leaves. She carried it to Mikoto’s side, her tone gentle but deliberate. “This will keep you hydrated and soothe your stomach.”

Mikoto accepted the cup, her hands steady despite the weakness in her frame. She sipped, then smiled faintly. “Sweet, but light. I can manage this.”

Sakura nodded, already preparing the next infusion. The sharp scent of turmeric mixed with lemon filled the air as she stirred the bright powder into tea. “This one supports the liver and helps clear toxins. It may taste stronger.”

Itachi accepted the cup from Sakura and offered it to his mother with the same careful reverence he might handle a blade. Mikoto took a slow sip, her brow furrowing at the bitterness before she chased it with another swallow of barley water.

“I’ll adjust the strength as needed,” Sakura promised. “For now, I’d like you on a careful diet, no grains from the stores until I’m certain they’re safe. We’ll rely on fruits, vegetables, and fresh game brought in from outside the walls.”

Itachi inclined his head. “I’ll see that the kitchen staff follows your orders.”

Sakura turned to him more directly, pulling a thin ledger from her satchel and placing it on the bedside table. “I’m also beginning a strict intake log. Every cup, every meal, every bite she eats will be recorded. It’s the only way to measure her progress and to spot any patterns if her condition changes.”

His gaze flicked to the ledger, then back to her. “You want me to keep it?”

“Yes,” Sakura said, her voice steady. “I’ll be here as often as I can, but you see her daily. If you write down what she eats and when, I can track the effects of each remedy.”

For a moment, the silence stretched, then Itachi nodded, resting his hand lightly on the book. “Very well. I’ll make certain nothing is missed.”

Mikoto’s soft laugh cut through the seriousness of the moment. “It seems I have two keepers now. I suppose I should behave.”

Sakura smiled, though her heart was tight. She knew this was only the beginning, and the path ahead would be fraught with obstacles both in the body and in the household. But at least, for this morning, she had allies.

Mikoto’s breathing steadied, her hand still curled loosely around the empty clay cup. Sakura adjusted the blankets, tucking them close to her patient’s shoulder before stepping back. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the silence with a gentle rhythm.

Itachi remained near the bedside, the ledger open in his hand. His eyes followed his mother for a moment longer before he spoke in a low voice. “You treat her with more care than most physicians I’ve seen.”

Sakura tilted her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “I’ve learned that healing isn’t just herbs and potions. Sometimes it’s comfort, or patience. People respond better when they feel seen.”

He glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “And do you feel seen here, Lady Sakura?”

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, drawing in a quiet breath before answering. “I’m not sure yet. Your household… it is different than Konoha’s. The air is heavier. More watchful.”

Itachi closed the ledger and rested it on the table, his posture easing. “That is Oto. We live with shadows pressing close. You’ve stepped into them, and yet you hold yourself as though you carry your own light.”

Her cheeks warmed at the words, though she turned her gaze to the fire to hide it. “Light or not, I still have to prove myself. If your mother doesn’t recover, no one will care how gentle my hands were.”

“You’ve already gained her trust,” he replied, voice steady but quieter. “That is no small feat. She doesn’t give it easily.”

Sakura’s fingers brushed the edge of her satchel, an unconscious motion, as if grounding herself. “Then I’ll do everything I can not to lose it. Or yours.”

For the first time, his composure softened into something closer to warmth. “You already have mine.”

The words lingered between them, heavier than the crackle of firewood, steadier than the winter chill pressing against the castle walls.

Sakura looked at him then, truly looked, at the quiet resolve in his eyes, at the weariness tucked behind his calm. For a fleeting moment, she saw not the heir of Oto but simply a man standing beside her, sharing the weight of responsibility.

She lowered her voice, almost a whisper. “Then we’ll keep the log together. A record of her healing. And a promise, perhaps, that she will see better days.”

Itachi inclined his head, solemn but gentle. “A promise.”

The hush between them lingered, broken only when Mikoto shifted faintly in her sleep. Sakura leaned down to adjust the blanket once more when a brisk knock sounded at the chamber door.

A steward entered with a respectful bow, his tone clipped with formality. “My lord Itachi, Lady Sakura, the Lord of the house requests Lady Sakura’s presence. Lord Fugaku has convened a council to hear of her findings.”

Sakura straightened, her basket still at her side. A thread of unease coiled in her stomach.

Itachi’s gaze darkened, though his voice was calm. “The council?”

“Yes, my lord. Lord Madara is already in attendance.” The steward’s eyes flicked briefly to Sakura, unreadable, before lowering again.

Sakura exhaled softly, trying to steady herself. She gathered her satchel and squared her shoulders. “If the council wishes to know, I will tell them.”

Itachi moved closer, his voice pitched low for her alone. “Be careful with your words. They will search for weakness, not truth. Speak only what you can prove.”

She met his eyes, catching the steel beneath the calm. “I understand.”

Itachi gave a small nod, then gestured for the steward to lead. “Go. I’ll remain with my mother.”

Sakura followed the steward through the winding corridors, each step echoing against the stone walls. The air grew heavier as they neared the council chamber.

When the great doors opened, the room was already filled, Lord Fugaku seated at the head, his expression stern as carved granite, Madara standing just behind with a shadowed smile curling his lips, and a half-circle of elder advisors watching in silence.

The doors closed behind her with a hollow thud.

“Lady Sakura,” Fugaku said, his deep voice carrying through the chamber. “You have examined my wife. Now you will tell us what you have discovered.”

Madara’s eyes lingered on her, sharp and almost amused, as if he anticipated the cracks that might show under their scrutiny.

Sakura stepped into the center of the chamber, the weight of their gazes pressing on her shoulders. She bowed, then raised her chin, forcing her voice steady.

“My lords,” she began, “I have examined Lady Mikoto carefully, and I must repeat what I told Lord Fugaku in confidence. This is not a common illness. Her symptoms are not born of fever or age, but of toxins.”

The murmur that rippled through the gathered councilors hushed when Fugaku’s hand lifted. His sharp gaze pinned her in place. “Speak plainly, Lady Sakura.”

She drew a slow breath. “The toxins are produced by a mold that has tainted the grain stores. The fungus is called fusarium. When eaten, it poisons slowly, weakening the body until it can no longer fight back.”

A faint narrowing of Fugaku’s eyes betrayed his reaction, though his voice remained level. “And what remedy do you suggest?”

Sakura clasped her hands before her, steadying them. “The soil itself must be treated, for the mold grows there. And all existing stores of grain must be destroyed. If they remain, your people will continue to suffer.”

That announcement stirred sharper whispers among the council. One man leaned forward, incredulous. “Destroyed? You speak of the kingdom’s lifeblood, healer. Do you know how many will go hungry?”

Before Sakura could answer, Madara’s low chuckle cut through the room. He stepped from Fugaku’s shadow, his dark eyes glinting. “How convenient. A cure that demands we burn our bread and salt the earth. Tell me, do you bring solutions or ruin?”

Sakura met his gaze evenly, though her pulse quickened. “I bring truth. Ignoring it will not change the sickness in your fields.”

Fugaku’s voice broke through the tension, heavy with command. “Enough. Let her speak.” He turned back to Sakura. “If what you say is true, then this house faces a grave trial. You will provide me with proof, clear, undeniable proof, that this mold is the cause. Until then, I will not condemn my people to famine on a healer’s word alone.”

Madara’s smile lingered, unreadable, as he settled back. But his eyes did not leave Sakura, watching her like a hawk watches prey.

The chamber buzzed with unrest. Several of the elder councilors leaned forward in their seats, their voices overlapping until one rose above the rest.

“You speak of poison in our grain, Lady Sakura,” an older man said, his tone sharp as flint. “But words alone are smoke. If you claim this mold exists, then you must prove it. Not here, not whispered, but before the people.”

Another councilor nodded in agreement. “A public display. If you cannot show us this taint with our own eyes, then your warnings will bring nothing but fear and unrest.”

Sakura’s stomach tightened, but she kept her voice calm. “I can show you. The signs are plain enough when one knows what to look for, the discoloration, the odor, the residue left when the grain is ground. If you permit me access to your stores, I will demonstrate it.”

Madara’s smile curved, slow and deliberate. “How delightful. The kingdom’s healer reduced to a performer. Tell me, will you conjure fire and smoke to match your story?”

Sakura ignored him, fixing her gaze instead on Fugaku. The lord of Oto sat in silence for a long moment, his hands steepled beneath his chin. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but carrying.

“Very well. You will prepare this demonstration. The court, the council, and a number of my subjects will be present. If your words hold truth, they will see it with their own eyes. If not…” His gaze hardened. “…your presence in this house will no longer be required.”

The verdict struck like a blade against stone.

Sakura bowed her head, though her throat was tight. “As you command, my lord. I will prepare at once.”

As she turned to leave, she felt Madara’s eyes on her, sharp, probing, amused. His voice followed, smooth as oil. “Do not disappoint us, lady healer. The people of Oto can be… unforgiving.”

---

---

The sun had dipped low, its pale light slipping through the narrow windows of the apothecary chamber where Sakura had gathered her tools. Bowls of grain samples lay spread across the table, each labeled with scraps of parchment, while a mortar and pestle sat ready beside her notes. The faint, bitter scent of crushed kernels filled the air.

A knock sounded, soft but deliberate. Sakura looked up as the door opened and Itachi stepped inside, a bundle of ledgers tucked under his arm.

“I thought you might need these,” he said, placing the worn books on the table. “Records of the grain deliveries for the past two seasons. Where they came from, how much was brought in, and to whom it was distributed.”

Sakura blinked, then gave him a small, tired smile. “You thought of everything.”

“I thought of what might help,” he corrected, pulling out a chair beside her. His eyes moved over the rows of grain samples before returning to her face. “What do you need from me? Tell me how I can support you without drawing attention.”

Sakura exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. “The council will be watching for any misstep. If they see you too openly at my side they could claim you seek favoritism. But…” She rested her hand on the ledger. “If you copy these entries and look for patterns, shipments from specific fields or villages that coincide with the illnesses, it might give me something stronger than just my word.”

He nodded once. “I’ll do it tonight. Quietly.”

Her gaze softened. “Thank you, Itachi. Truly.”

His expression didn’t change much, but there was a stillness to him, a gravity that felt less like duty and more like resolve. “You carry enough weight already. I won’t let you stand alone before them.”

For a moment, the silence between them was gentler than the shadows gathering in the room.

Sakura brushed stray grains from her fingers, reaching for another sample to label, when she noticed Itachi rise from his chair. He moved around the table with his usual quiet steps until he stood at her side.

She looked up, puzzled. “What is it?”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes lingering not on the samples but on the faint weariness in her face. “You’re trembling.”

She blinked, only then realizing her hand shook slightly where it rested against the parchment. She tried to pull it back, embarrassed, but he caught it gently, steadying her fingers against his palm.

“I–” she started, her voice softer than she meant. “It’s just fatigue. Nothing more.”

His hand lingered for a heartbeat too long, warm and sure. “Even healers forget they are human.”

Sakura’s breath hitched. She wanted to look away, but his gaze held her still, calm, unreadable, yet carrying something she couldn’t quite name. Confusion flickered across her face, though beneath it, a quiet warmth stirred.

Finally, Itachi released her hand, letting it fall back to the table. He reached instead for one of the ledgers, as if the moment had not happened at all. “Rest when you can. The council will not offer you mercy, but you should offer it to yourself.”

Sakura exhaled slowly, her heart unsteady. She bent back over her notes, but the ghost of his touch lingered, as steadying as the fire in the hearth.

When Itachi finally gathered the ledgers and excused himself, the chamber felt emptier in his absence. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and the shadows pressed thicker against the stone walls.

Sakura lingered at the table, sorting her notes and grain samples until her eyes blurred over the ink. She forced herself to finish labeling the last vial before closing her satchel with a soft snap.

Fatigue settled into her bones, heavy and insistent. She stretched, blew out the candle nearest her bed, and slipped beneath the blankets. The scent of parchment and crushed barley still clung faintly to her hands, but her mind was too clouded with exhaustion to care.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was of the ledger Itachi had promised to copy, and the quiet strength in his voice when he said she would not stand alone.

The chamber was quiet, the fire burned low in the hearth, and Sakura slept with her notes and samples scattered across the table beside her bed. At first, she thought it was a dream, the gentle drag of fingers combing slowly through her hair, soothing, almost affectionate.

Her breath caught, and she stirred. The touch vanished.

Sakura’s eyes fluttered open into the dim light. The chamber was empty, shadows stretching long across the stone walls. A chill skated down her spine.

Then…knock knock.

She sat upright, heart pounding.

The door creaked open as Tenten slipped from her room and went to answer. She pulled the door just wide enough to reveal a servant on the threshold, his face pale and strained.

“My ladies,” he whispered urgently, “forgive the hour, but I was told to fetch you at once. Lady Mikoto…her condition has declined.”

Sakura was already pulling on her cloak, her bare feet brushing the cold stone floor. “What happened?” she demanded, striding toward the door.

The servant wrung his hands, eyes flicking nervously toward the hall. “She woke in pain, worse than before. Lord Itachi is with her now, but he bade me bring you quickly.”

Sakura’s pulse raced, the earlier unease forgotten. She nodded once, sharp and sure. “Take me to her.”

Tenten was already at her side, slipping a dagger into her belt as they followed the servant into the dark corridor.

The corridors were silent except for the hurried scuff of their steps. Torches sputtered against the stone walls, casting long, restless shadows as the servant led them deeper into the family wing.

When they reached Mikoto’s chamber, the heavy door stood half-open. The air inside was thick with the sharp tang of sweat and the faint bitterness of bile. Mikoto lay restless against the pillows, her face drawn tight with pain, her breathing shallow and uneven.

Itachi was already there, seated at her side with a damp cloth pressed gently to her brow. His eyes lifted the moment Sakura entered. Relief flickered across his features, though his voice remained steady. “She worsened suddenly. The pain struck her not long after midnight.”

Sakura crossed quickly to the bedside, setting her satchel down with brisk movements. She pressed her fingers lightly to Mikoto’s wrist, counting the rapid pulse, then touched her other hand to Mikoto’s stomach. “The toxins are taking hold faster than I expected,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Tenten hovered near the door, watchful but tense. “Can you do something now?”

“Yes,” Sakura said, her tone firm despite the knot of worry tightening in her chest. She reached into her satchel, withdrawing a vial of willow bark infusion and a pouch of dried chamomile. “These will ease the pain and calm her body for the night. But the deeper cure will take time and consistency. If we falter even once…” Her words trailed, heavy with unspoken consequence.

Itachi passed her a fresh cup without needing instruction, watching closely as she mixed the remedy. His voice was quiet, yet resolute. “She trusts you. So do I. Do what you must.”

Mikoto stirred faintly as Sakura touched the cup to her lips, coaxing her to drink. The bitter liquid slid down slowly, each swallow a small victory. Within minutes, the harsh lines in her face softened, her breathing evening out little by little.

Sakura adjusted the blanket over her, smoothing it with a gentleness that came as much from her heart as her healer’s training. She sat back at last, exhaustion etched faintly in her posture, though her eyes never left Mikoto.

She began gathering her things, sliding the used cups back into her satchel, when something near the foot of the bed caught her eye. A small glass vial lay tipped on its side beneath the table, its rim stained faintly with a reddish powder.

She stooped and picked it up, turning it in the dim light. “This isn’t mine,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone. Her brows knit. “And the residue…this isn’t any of the mixtures I prepared.”

Itachi looked up sharply, rising from his chair. “What is it?”

Sakura held it out for him to see, her tone cautious but firm. “An empty vial. Someone’s been here.”

His jaw tightened as he took the glass from her, studying the crimson dust clinging to the bottom. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a measured voice, “She hasn’t had anything since dinner. I’ve kept the log.” He opened the small ledger on the table and tapped the neat entries: barley water, broth, turmeric tea.

Sakura’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain?”

“I am,” Itachi replied, but then hesitated. “Though… I did step out. Briefly.” His gaze lowered, not in shame but in thought. “Only for a few minutes. To the washroom. When I returned, she was as you saw her, restless, pained.”

Sakura’s pulse quickened. She looked back to Mikoto, who now slept more peacefully, then to the vial still clutched in his hand. A flicker of unease stirred in her chest. “A few minutes is all it would take.”

Itachi’s eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “You think someone tampered with her while I was gone.”

“I don’t know,” Sakura admitted, forcing her voice low so as not to wake Mikoto. “Not yet. It could be nothing… but I don’t believe in coincidences.”

For the first time that night, a shadow crossed Itachi’s composure. He set the vial on the table with deliberate care. “Then we will find out the truth.”

Sakura nodded, though her hand lingered unconsciously near her satchel. Whatever the truth was, it was waiting for her, somewhere between the sickness in the fields and the secrets inside this house.

The corridors were hushed, torches guttering low against the walls as Sakura and Tenten made their way back toward their chambers, leaving the two women alone with the echo of their footsteps.

Once inside their chamber, Sakura shut the door firmly behind them and set her satchel on the table. She unwrapped the vial and laid it in the center, the red powder catching in the lamplight like dried rust.

Tenten leaned closer, arms folded across her chest. “Doesn’t look like anything I’d want near food.”

Sakura didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she drew out a small mortar, pestle, and a shallow dish. With careful precision, she tapped the last of the red residue into the dish and moistened it with a few drops of clean water from the pitcher. The powder dissolved unevenly, streaking crimson.

Her brows furrowed. “It isn’t any herb I’ve used in Lady Mikoto’s treatments. The color’s too strong.” She touched a finger to the edge of the liquid, bringing it to her nose. A faint metallic tang clung to it, sharp enough to wrinkle her nose.

Tenten’s hand went instinctively to the dagger at her belt. “Poison?”

Sakura shook her head slowly, frown deepening. “I don’t know. Not yet. It could be something harmless or something meant to mask a taste. But whatever it is, it doesn’t belong in her chamber.”

Tenten exhaled through her nose, hard. “Then someone was in there when Itachi stepped out.”

Sakura carefully covered the dish with a cloth, sliding it aside. “I’ll test it further tomorrow, after the demonstration. If I show my hand too soon, the council will dismiss it as speculation.”

Tenten gave a short nod. “Then I’ll keep watch tonight. If anyone tries to slip in here the way they slipped into her room, they’ll regret it.”

Sakura managed a faint smile, though her mind was already whirring with possibilities. She doused the lamp, the faint scent of the strange powder still clinging to the air. Sleep would not come easily.

---

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Chapter Text

---

---

The knock came just as the first light of dawn crept through the narrow windows. Sakura stirred beneath her blanket, the stiffness of a restless night lingering in her shoulders.

Across the room, Tenten was already on her feet. She had kept her word, sleeping lightly if at all, her dagger never far from reach. She pulled the door open with a measured hand.

Itachi stood on the other side, composed as ever though the shadows beneath his eyes suggested he had kept vigil as well. “Is Lady Sakura awake?”

“She is now,” Tenten replied dryly, stepping aside.

Sakura pushed herself upright, brushing hair from her face as Itachi entered. “What brings you so early?”

He carried no ledger this time, no sign of formality, just his usual calm presence. “I’d like to go over storeroom operations with you. The flow of grain from the fields, how it is kept, and the hands who tend it. If there is rot, it begins there.”

Sakura swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her satchel. “That would be useful.” She hesitated, then offered a small smile. “Though I should be properly dressed before I tour kitchens and storerooms.”

A faint glint of amusement touched his otherwise serious expression. “Of course. I’ll wait for you in the kitchens. Take the time you need.”

Sakura inclined her head. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Itachi gave a quiet nod and withdrew, his steps fading down the corridor.

Tenten closed the door and leaned back against it, arms folded. “He’s direct, I’ll give him that.”

Sakura allowed herself a small breath of laughter as she stood, smoothing her gown. “Direct is better than evasive. Especially here.” She began gathering her notes and tucking them neatly into her satchel. “The kitchens will give us answers or at least another thread to follow.”

Tenten picked up her dagger belt. “Then let’s see if the stores are as innocent as the council believes.”

Sakura set her satchel aside and pulled a clean gown from the chest at the foot of her bed. As she slipped behind the screen to dress, Tenten busied herself checking the edge of her dagger, her posture sharp despite the circles under her eyes.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” Sakura asked gently from behind the screen.

Tenten snorted. “Didn’t plan to. Someone had to keep an eye out. If whoever left that vial tries again, I’d rather meet them awake than half-dreaming.”

Sakura stepped out, fastening the ties of her gown. “You’ve already done more than enough. If anything big happens today, I need you sharp, not half-dead on your feet.”

Tenten opened her mouth to argue, but Sakura cut her off with a raised hand. “Please. Rest. Even if it’s only a few hours. I’ll be in the kitchens with Itachi, there will be people around us the entire time. I’ll be safe.”

Her friend hesitated, jaw tight, but finally exhaled and slid the dagger back into its sheath. “Fine. But only because you’re right.” She moved toward her room, muttering, “If anyone so much as breathes wrong at that door, I’ll hear it.”

Sakura smiled faintly, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. “I don’t doubt it. Sleep, Tenten. I’ll wake you if I need you.”

As Tenten retreated to her room, Sakura paused at the doorway. A pang of gratitude tugged at her chest. Then she turned, steeling herself for the long day ahead, and headed toward the kitchens where Itachi waited.

The morning corridors were quieter than usual, the hum of castle life muted as if the walls themselves listened. Sakura walked with her satchel close to her side, her steps purposeful, though the faint weight of fatigue still clung to her limbs.

The kitchens came into view at the end of the hall. Inside, the hearth fires smoldered, pots simmering low, but no servants moved among the counters. Itachi stood near the door to the storeroom, waiting with the same composed stillness as a sentry.

“You came alone,” Sakura noted as she approached.

“I dismissed the staff,” he replied simply, pulling open the storeroom door for her. “Better they not overhear what you’re searching for.”

She stepped past him into the cool dimness. The room stretched long, lined with sacks stacked neatly against the stone wall. Baskets of dried herbs hung from hooks near the ceiling, but even here the faint smell of earth and damp clung to the air.

Sakura drew in a slow breath. “This doesn’t smell right. Not for a storeroom meant to keep grain dry.”

Together they moved along the wall, Sakura pulling aside sacks, Itachi keeping a steady lantern lifted high to banish the shadows. She crouched near one stack, running her fingers over the rough burlap. “The sacks against this wall feel colder.”

“It borders the mountain itself,” Itachi confirmed, setting the lantern on a nearby shelf. “Moisture seeps through when the rains are heavy. The builders thought the chill would preserve the grain.”

Sakura shook her head, opening her satchel to withdraw a folded reference she carried. “Preserve, perhaps, but fungi thrive where dampness lingers. Grain needs airflow and dryness. Here, it’s the opposite.”

She laid the note open on a nearby barrel, her finger tracing a passage written in neat ink. “Fusarium spores cling to kernels when they’re stored in conditions like this. The toxin spreads before anyone realizes.”

Itachi leaned closer, eyes moving over the script, then to the sacks. “And these stores are still being used.”

Sakura nodded grimly. “Yes. Which means every meal that passes through this kitchen risks carrying toxins.”

Itachi’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his gaze sweeping the room as though memorizing every shadow and seam. 

She opened her satchel, pulling out small cloth pouches and clay jars. Carefully, she filled them with kernels from different sacks, labeling each with neat script before sealing the last of the jars and tucking them into her satchel.

“It’s as I told the council yesterday. These old stores must be destroyed. Every sack in this room is a risk. I’ll take enough samples to show them, the grain here, and the grain from the village. Together, they’ll see it’s the same source.”

Itachi remained near the ledger, his eyes scanning the entries again. “There’s something else,” he said, his voice low. “The storeroom rotation changed recently. Grain that should have been used first was left here, against the wall. Instead, newer sacks were taken.”

Sakura froze, turning to face him fully. “You’re saying these spoiled reserves were deliberately kept back?”

“Deliberately, or carelessly,” Itachi replied, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe in carelessness. His gaze flicked toward the mountain-facing wall, the damp stone seeping chill into the storeroom. “But if the worst of the grain is left here to fester while the village suffers from infected stock…” He trailed off, the implication clear.

Sakura’s jaw tightened. “Then this isn’t just poor practice. The rot isn’t being contained, it’s being allowed to spread. And if that is happening here, under the castle’s eye, then what of the outer villages, where no ledgers are kept?”

The lantern’s flame guttered as a draft slipped through the chamber, shadows bending across the sacks stacked high. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence weighted with the enormity of what they were uncovering.

Finally, Sakura drew a slow breath, forcing steadiness back into her tone. “We’ll bring the council proof. Grain from these walls and grain from the villages. They cannot deny what they see.”

Itachi closed the ledger with quiet finality. “Then we prepare for tomorrow. And we do so knowing there are eyes in this house that would rather see you silenced.”

Sakura glanced at the jars in her satchel, the faint dust of mold clinging to her fingertips. “Then let them watch. I’ll make certain they hear me.”

The air in the storeroom felt heavier now that their task was finished, the lantern casting a dull glow against the damp stone. She moved toward the door, satchel secure at her side, when Itachi’s voice stopped her.

“Before you return to your chambers,” he said, his tone measured but softer than before, “would you have breakfast with me?”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard. “Breakfast?”

He inclined his head. “We’ve both been overwhelmed with responsibility. And…” His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than usual. “I would prefer your company.”

Her confusion melted into a faint smile, small but genuine. “I suppose a meal wouldn’t hurt.”

Itachi pushed open the door, allowing her to step through first. A pair of loaves rested cooling on the counter, beside a bowl of early apples and a jug of watered wine.

They sat across from one another at a long wooden table, the kind normally reserved for staff, the silence between them steady and unhurried. For once, Sakura didn’t feel the weight of eyes or expectation, just the faint warmth of bread between her fingers and the subtle presence of the man opposite her.

“You’re calm,” she said at last, breaking the quiet.

“I was taught long ago that outward calm unsettles those who expect panic,” Itachi replied, slicing an apple with deliberate care. He set half on the plate between them. “It gives you control of the silence.”

Sakura studied him for a moment, then accepted the apple. “Then I’ll try to learn from you. Because tomorrow, I’ll need every ounce of calm I can gather.”

He looked at her directly, his expression as composed as ever, yet there was something steady and reassuring beneath it. “You won’t be alone before them. Remember that.”

The words settled over her like a promise, quiet but certain.

---

---

The library was hushed, its high, vaulted ceiling catching the muted glow of late afternoon. Shafts of golden light streamed through the narrow arched windows, dust motes turning lazily in the air like drifting sparks. The scent of old parchment and polished oak lingered, grounding the silence in something steady, almost sacred.

Sakura stood at one of the tall windows, her fingertips resting lightly on the cool stone sill. Beyond the glass, the view stretched down across Oto’s winding streets, their slate roofs crowded together as if huddling against the mountain’s looming presence.

Smoke rose from the chimneys in thin, wavering plumes, and at the far edge of the valley, terraced fields clung to the slopes like patchwork. The soil there looked darker, dampened by the run-off from the peaks; rich and yet treacherous, she knew now, for the spores that had taken hold.

For a moment she let herself breathe it in, the stillness, the faint hum of a kingdom that felt at once proud and precarious.

Behind her, Itachi’s quiet footsteps moved along the rows of shelves. He was pulling volumes with careful precision: tomes on crop rotations, records of soil treatments, herbals bound in worn leather. The muted thunk of each book added to the rhythm of the room.

“You favor the window,” he said after a pause, his voice calm but carrying in the quiet. “Most people here avoid it.”

Sakura turned slightly, brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Because from here you can see everything,” he answered, setting another volume on the table beside the others. “The prosperity, the flaws. The stone houses clinging to the valley floor, the fields where the earth refuses to yield. Some would rather not look too closely.”

Sakura let her gaze sweep across the view again. “But turning away won’t change what’s there. It only gives the rot more time to spread.”

Itachi paused in the act of opening a book, his eyes lingering on her. “Which is why you are here.”

She met his gaze across the length of the table, her expression steady despite the heaviness of their task. “Then let’s see what else these shelves can give us before tomorrow.”

Sakura left the window and drifted toward the long oak table where Itachi had already arranged several heavy tomes. Their bindings creaked faintly as she opened one, the inked script neat but faded with age.

“This one describes drying grain in open courtyards before storage,” she murmured, her finger tracing a diagram of sacks laid beneath sunlit air. “It warns against stone walls that trap moisture.”

Itachi glanced up from the ledger he was reading, his dark eyes attentive. “Practical advice. Yet not what’s been done here.”

Sakura reached for another book from the pile, a newer one, bound in dark leather. As she leafed through its pages, her brow furrowed. “But this says the opposite. That storing grain against cold stone is beneficial, that it preserves the kernel for longer.” She turned the page, tapping the passage. “It even encourages sealing storerooms against airflow.”

Itachi leaned closer, scanning the text. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Contradictory guidance, preserved in the same library.”

Sakura shook her head. “One of these is wrong, or worse, deliberately misleading. If the newer texts are what stewards followed, then they’ve been keeping the grain in the exact conditions that allow fusarium to thrive.”

The weight of the contradiction sank into the quiet between them. Sakura closed the newer volume firmly, the sound sharp against the hush of the library. “This could explain why the council resists. If their practices come from flawed records, they may not even realize they’ve been poisoning their own people.”

Itachi regarded her thoughtfully, his voice low. “Or perhaps some do realize, but prefer the convenience of believing the lie.”

Sakura’s fingers lingered on the closed book, her expression resolute. “Then tomorrow, I’ll hold both of these before the council. Let them see how their own wisdom clashes against itself. Let them explain why they followed the words that rot, and not the ones that preserve.”

For the first time, a faint shadow of a smile touched Itachi’s lips, fleeting but real. “You speak like a strategist, not only a healer.”

Her gaze met his, steady. “In a house like this, perhaps I have to be both.”

Sakura rested her hands on the closed book, her pulse still humming from the discovery. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint rasp of pages shifting as the lantern-light flickered across their table.

“You carry yourself with bravery,” Itachi said suddenly, his voice breaking through the stillness. “Even here, where suspicion waits at every corner. Few would stand before our council as you have, and fewer still would dare to challenge them with their own words.”

Her breath caught, the compliment landing heavier than she expected. She turned toward him, ready to deflect with modesty, but the steadiness in his gaze stilled her tongue.

He moved closer, the space between them shrinking until the lantern glow haloed his features. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering for the briefest moment against her cheek.

Sakura’s chest tightened. She didn’t pull away. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the cool air of the library, grounding her in a way no words could.

For a long breath, neither of them moved. Her eyes lifted to his, caught in the quiet intensity there, her pulse matching the steady weight of his gaze. The stillness between them seemed to stretch, the dusty library fading into nothing but the space they shared.

Then, a creak, faint but sharp, somewhere in the distant stacks. The sound snapped the moment like glass.

Itachi’s hand fell back to his side, his expression smoothing into its usual composure. He turned, gathering several of the volumes he had pulled earlier into a neat stack. “I’ll take these,” he said, his voice steady again. “There are records worth cross-referencing. If I find anything useful, I’ll let you know.”

Sakura blinked, grounding herself, then nodded. “Thank you, Itachi. Truly.” She pulled the two contradicting books toward her, the older one bound in cracked leather and the newer in dark, polished hide. “These will be enough for me to prepare.”

He inclined his head, a subtle gesture that carried both respect and something more unspoken. Without another word, he slipped from the table and into the dim aisle, the faint sound of his footsteps soon swallowed by the library’s silence.

Sakura gathered her satchel, sliding both contradictory volumes inside. As she left the library, the weight of the books pressed against her hip like a reminder: of the rot in Oto’s foundations, of the proof she would soon lay before the council, and of the fleeting warmth of a moment that had slipped through her fingers as quickly as it had come.

The corridors seemed quieter than usual as she made her way back, a common theme she had begun to notice. Yet her mind kept drifting back, not to the texts, but to the way Itachi’s eyes had held hers, steady and unreadable until her breath had faltered.

Her cheeks warmed again just thinking of it. Foolish, she scolded herself. There was no time for such distractions. And yet, the memory lingered like a ghost of touch against her skin.

When she pushed open the chamber door, Tenten was awake, sitting cross-legged on Sakura’s bed. A whetstone scraped rhythmically against the blade balanced in her hands, steel catching the lamplight. She glanced up, sharp eyes narrowing as she caught sight of Sakura’s flushed face.

“You look like you walked back through the kitchens after a pot of steam,” Tenten said flatly. “You all right?”

Sakura set her satchel on the table, fussing with the ties longer than necessary. “I’m fine. I just…” She hesitated, then lowered her voice. “I think Itachi likes me.”

Tenten let out a sharp, derisive snort, nearly nicking her blade before setting it down. “Think? Obviously.”

Sakura’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “Obviously? What do you mean?”

Tenten leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms with a smirk tugging at her lips. “Come on, Sakura. The man doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at you. Half the time he’s two steps ahead of everyone, but with you? He actually lingers. That’s not strategy, it’s interest.”

Sakura blinked, her heart stuttering. “But he’s… Itachi. He doesn’t let anything slip.”

Tenten raised her brows. “Doesn’t have to. You just have to notice what he doesn’t bother hiding.”

Sakura dropped into the chair by the table, tugging the satchel closer. Her face was still warm, but she pushed past Tenten’s smirk, focusing instead on the weight of the books inside.

“There’s something more important,” she said, her tone firm. She pulled the two volumes free and laid them side by side, the cracked leather of the older one stark against the polished binding of the newer.

“In the storeroom this morning, I found confirmation of what I feared, the sacks against the mountain wall are damp, perfect for fusarium. And then, in the library…” She opened the older book first, tapping the page. “This text warns against storing grain in cold, enclosed stone.”

She slid the newer volume closer and flipped to the marked passage. “But this one encourages it. Directly contradicts the older record.”

Tenten leaned forward, frowning as she scanned the pages. “So someone’s been following the wrong book?”

Sakura’s lips pressed thin. “Wrong or misleading. If the council has relied on the newer guidance, then they’ve been poisoning their own people without realizing it. And in the storeroom, Itachi showed me the ledgers. The rotation changed last month, older sacks left to spoil, newer grain pulled instead. Convenient for hiding rot.”

Tenten’s expression hardened, her whetstone forgotten on the cot. “That sounds less like a mistake and more like someone setting a trap.”

Sakura shook her head. “I don’t want to believe it yet. To accuse without proof would play into the council’s hands. But tomorrow, when I stand before them, I’ll show both of these texts. Their own wisdom turned against itself.”

Tenten leaned back, arms folding again. “You’ll make them squirm. Good.” Then her eyes softened, studying Sakura’s determined face.

Sakura sat back, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The weight of the two books sat heavy on the table, their contradictions echoing in her thoughts.

Tenten was quiet for a moment, the whetstone still resting beside her blade. Then she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a new edge of thought. “I’ve been thinking,” she said slowly. “If you’re going to stand up there tomorrow with all those jars and samples… what’s to stop someone from switching them on you?”

Sakura stiffened, her gaze snapping to her friend. “Switching them?”

“Think about it.” Tenten gestured toward the satchel. “You’ll be in front of the council, the lords. If anyone wants to discredit you, all it takes is one swap. A clean jar where there should be rot…or worse, something suspicious planted in the other direction.”

Sakura’s fingers tightened on the strap of her satchel. The idea was all too possible, especially after finding that vial last night.

Tenten reached for her dagger, turning it in her hand. “You should mark them. A scratch, small, hidden, just yours. Somewhere only you’d notice. That way, if anyone tampers with your jars, you’ll know instantly.”

Sakura breathed out slowly, her mind already racing ahead to the demonstration. “That’s… clever. And probably necessary.”

Tenten smirked faintly. “Of course it is. I’m not just here to keep watch. If they think they can play dirty, we’ll play sharper.”

Sakura reached across the table, resting her hand briefly on Tenten’s wrist. “Thank you. With your help, I’ll make sure tomorrow doesn’t turn into a trap.”

“Good.” Tenten’s smirk faded into something more serious. “Because if you fail and if you stumble, they’ll never let you near Mikoto again.”

Sakura nodded once, her resolve hardening like tempered steel. “Then I won’t stumble.”

---

---

The morning light slanted pale through the chamber’s windows, touching the walls with a faint glow. Sakura was already awake, her red gown smoothed carefully over her frame, the simple cut dignified without being ostentatious. In her hair gleamed the headband Naruto had given her, a reminder of home, and of the trust she carried with her.

Tenten sat cross-legged on her cot, watching as Sakura fussed over her preparations. Jars, cloths, and books were spread across the table, each labeled and inspected again. Sakura’s hands moved with precision, but her shoulders betrayed the tension coiled inside her.

“You’ve checked that one three times,” Tenten pointed out dryly, nodding toward a jar.

Sakura huffed a breath, half laugh and half nerves. “I know. I just… I can’t afford a mistake. Not today.”

Before Tenten could reply, a knock sounded at the door. Both women glanced up sharply, but Tenten was on her feet first, her hand brushing the dagger at her belt as she crossed the room.

When she opened the door, Itachi stood waiting. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was a gravity in his presence that made the moment feel more official.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Tenten stepped aside, and he entered, his gaze sweeping briefly over the jars and books before settling on Sakura. “The council is already assembling. I thought I might escort you there.”

Sakura straightened, smoothing her gown once more before meeting his eyes. “I’d appreciate that.”

For the first time that morning, her tension eased just slightly. With Itachi’s quiet steadiness at her side, the walk to the council chambers felt less like a march to judgment and more like a path she could meet with strength.

The three of them stepped into the corridor, the echo of their footsteps carrying through the stone halls. The castle was already stirring; servants slipped past with downcast eyes, trays balanced in hand, while others lingered at the edges, their whispers quick and hushed as Sakura passed.

She held her satchel close, feeling the weight of the jars, the books, the proof she meant to present. Her pulse beat fast enough that she could hear it in her ears.

Beside her, Itachi walked with the same quiet composure he always carried, his voice pitched low so only she could hear. “When you speak, choose three points to anchor on. Not ten. Not a dozen. Three. State them clearly and return to them. It keeps the council from scattering your words.”

Sakura glanced up at him, catching the calm steadiness in his expression. “Three points,” she repeated, her voice soft.

He inclined his head. “Grain stored in damp stone rots. The toxin weakens those who eat it. Both your books prove the council misled itself. Everything else is detail.”

She exhaled, the advice settling something inside her chest. “I can do that.”

A few paces behind them, Tenten followed with arms folded, her sharp gaze flicking toward anyone who lingered too long in the corridor. More than once, a servant or passing guard ducked their head quickly under her watchful eyes.

As they neared the grand doors of the great hall, the murmur of voices grew louder. Sakura’s hand tightened on her satchel, and she felt the faint brush of fabric at her side, Itachi’s sleeve, just close enough to remind her she wasn’t walking in alone.

Tenten’s voice carried softly from behind. “They’re waiting.”

Sakura drew in a slow breath, straightened her back, and stepped forward with both of them flanking her, ready to face whatever storm lay beyond the doors.

The carved doors swung open with a heavy groan, spilling light into the corridor. Inside, the great hall was already filled. Councilors sat in their semicircle, elders stiff-backed and grim, while Fugaku occupied the central chair. Madara lingered just behind, hands clasped loosely, his eyes sharp with unreadable amusement.

The hum of conversation stilled as Sakura entered, the rustle of her red gown and the faint clink of her satchel echoing in the hush.

A long table had been placed at the front of the chamber, bare but waiting. Sakura advanced toward it with measured steps, Itachi at her shoulder and Tenten just behind. The weight of a hundred eyes followed her every move.

She set her satchel upon the table, drawing out her jars and laying them neatly in a row. The two contradictory books were placed to one side, their leather covers stark in the lamplight. She could feel the ripple of whispers begin again until Fugaku’s voice cut across the hall.

“Begin.”

Sakura inclined her head. Her hands did not tremble as she unstoppered the first jar. “This,” she said clearly, holding it aloft, “is grain drawn from the castle storeroom, kept against the mountain wall where dampness seeps through stone. You will note the faint odor, sharp and sour.” She tipped a portion into a shallow dish, the kernels dull and mottled under the light. “This is not fit for eating.”

She moved to the next jar. “And this,” she continued, “is grain from the village. Different sacks, different soil, yet the same marks of rot. Both show the presence of fusarium, a fungus that clings to damp kernels and produces a toxin when consumed.”

She crushed a sample between mortar and pestle, the faint, bitter smell rising sharp into the air. “Observe the residue. Powdered, it carries a discoloration that no healthy grain produces.”

Murmurs stirred again, some councilors leaning forward, others narrowing their eyes. Sakura kept her voice even as she moved through each step: laying clean grain beside spoiled to show the contrast, moistening the powder to reveal its streak of crimson, pointing to the passages in the old text warning against damp storage, then the newer book that encouraged it.

“The contradiction is clear,” she said, raising her gaze to meet the council. “Your older wisdom warned against stone that traps moisture. Yet more recent practice has embraced it and your people are paying the cost.”

She gestured to the jars, lined and labeled before them. “I present these not as rumor, but as proof. The sickness afflicting Lady Mikoto and the villages is not chance. It is rot in the stores, rot in the earth, and unless it is cut away, it will spread further.”

The hall was utterly still for a moment, the weight of her words settling over stone and silence alike.

Fugaku leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes fixed on the neat row of jars and the two books. His hand lifted, fingers curling.

“The newer text,” he said. His voice carried like stone grinding against stone. “Bring it here.”

Itachi stepped forward at once, lifting the book from the table. He crossed the chamber in silence and placed it into his father’s waiting hands.

Fugaku opened the cover, scanning the first few pages with the same intensity he might give to a battle plan. His thumb lingered on the inscription that named the scribe and date. His jaw tightened.

“This was written scarcely a decade ago. I will know who authorized its inclusion in our records.” He closed the book with a sharp clap of leather and parchment, the sound echoing through the chamber.

His gaze lifted, before turning to Madara. “You will set a plan in motion to secure grain from outside our borders. The people must eat while we clear away the rot.”

Madara inclined his head with slow grace, though the glint in his eyes suggested more amusement than duty. “As you command.”

Fugaku turned next to the rest of the council, his voice hardening. “The infected grain is to be quarantined at once. No more is to be ground, no more baked into bread. You-” he pointed to two advisors on the left, “-will oversee its collection and disposal. And you-” his hand shifted to the opposite side, “-will send word to the fields. All older stores must be destroyed. The soil is to be turned and refreshed before the next planting.”

The chamber stirred with movement, scribes and servants rushing to take down his orders. Councilors shifted uncomfortably, the gravity of his decisions undeniable.

Fugaku leaned back at last, his gaze finding Sakura where she stood by the demonstration table. “Your proof is accepted, Lady Sakura. What happens next will decide whether Oto recovers…or falters.”

Sakura bowed her head, her heart tight with both relief and the weight of what had just been placed upon her shoulders.

The council began to rise, chairs scraping against the stone floor as Fugaku’s orders were carried down the length of the hall. Scribes hurried away with fresh directives, servants whispering to one another as they prepared to move.

Sakura gathered her satchel, hands steady even though her chest still felt tight. Tenten fell in step behind her, sharp-eyed and silent, while Itachi remained close at her side.

As they turned toward the great doors, Sakura felt it, the prickle of a gaze. She looked back over her shoulder just once. Madara stood behind Fugaku’s chair, his expression unreadable save for the faint curl of a smirk that touched his lips when her eyes met his. It was a smile that promised nothing good.

Sakura’s breath caught, and she forced herself to turn away before the weight of it unsettled her further. The great doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, shutting out the murmurs of the council.

The walk back to her chambers was quieter, the tension of the hall lingering like smoke after a fire. When they reached her door, Sakura pushed it open, only to pause.

Someone was already inside.

Shisui sat waiting in the chair by the window, his cloak draped over the armrest, his easy grin a contrast to the heaviness of the day. “Well,” he said lightly, though his eyes flicked immediately to the satchel in Sakura’s hands, “sounds like I missed quite the performance.”

Tenten blinked in surprise. “How long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to hear your steps coming down the corridor.” Shisui rose smoothly, his expression warming as his gaze settled on Sakura. “And to hope you’d come back with good news.”

Sakura closed the door behind them, her satchel still clutched in her hands. She exhaled, the tightness in her chest finally easing. “The council accepted my proof,” she told Shisui. “Fugaku has ordered the spoiled grain destroyed and new stores brought in.”

Shisui’s grin widened briefly. “Good. That’s one storm weathered.” Then his expression sharpened, his gaze flicking to Itachi. “Is it safe to speak?”

Itachi inclined his head, calm but certain. “Yes. Here, you can speak freely.”

Shisui folded his arms, leaning against the table. “Then listen closely. There are whispers in the city, grain merchants bribed to sell stocks they call ‘winter-safe.’ But they’re not safe at all. The receipts carry a strange rune etched in the corner, the same looping design every time. And lately…” He paused, his tone dropping. “There’s been more movement at night. Carts, wagons, slipping toward the lower water reservoirs when most are sleeping.”

Tenten, who had been leaning casually near the cot, stiffened. “The reservoirs?”

Shisui’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You sound like you know more than most. How would that be?”

Tenten’s mouth opened, then closed. A sheepish look crossed her face as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Because I’ve scouted the tunnels down there. Once or twice. I was curious about the castle’s underpass routes. Didn’t think anyone used them much anymore.”

Shisui arched a brow. “So you’ve seen them yourself.”

Tenten shrugged, though the edge in her voice betrayed her discomfort. “Not the traffic. Just the tunnels. But if someone’s moving supplies there now, it’s not for anything honest.”

Itachi’s gaze moved between them, his voice steady as stone. “If the reservoirs are being tampered with, it threatens more than the grain. It endangers every household in Oto.”

Sakura rested her palms on the edge of the table, leaning slightly over the satchel she had just set down. Her gaze flicked from the jars inside to the two books stacked on top, their contradictory words echoing in her head.

“Everything is pointing in the same direction,” she said slowly. “This isn’t neglect or ignorance. It feels deliberate. Odd, isn’t it? That only within the past decade did the grain records change. And now…mysterious merchants selling ‘winter-safe’ stocks, night traffic down to the reservoirs…” She shook her head, lips tightening. “It’s too convenient to be chance.”

Tenten leaned forward, arms folded tight. “If it’s foul play, then someone inside the castle has to be behind it. Who else could influence storage practices and get merchants to go along with it?”

Shisui’s mouth curved into a grim smile. “That’s exactly the question. The rune-marked receipts aren’t just a quirk. They’re a signal. Someone’s keeping track of the deals and hiding in plain sight.”

Itachi’s expression remained composed, but his eyes darkened, considering. “If the reservoirs are being used, then whoever is responsible isn’t satisfied with grain alone. Water carries further, touches every household. It would weaken Oto to its foundation.”

Sakura’s stomach tightened at his words. “If that’s the case, then Mikoto’s illness may have only been the beginning.”

The chamber fell into uneasy silence, broken only by the faint scrape of Tenten’s whetstone as she picked it up again, the sound harsh in the stillness.

The silence lingered, heavy with the weight of what they had just pieced together. Shisui pushed off from the table, crossing his arms as his sharp grin faded into something softer. His gaze settled on Sakura.

“And how is Lady Mikoto?” he asked quietly. “I’ve heard the whispers, but I’d rather know from you.”

Sakura straightened, her fingers tightening against the edge of the table. “She’s stable for now. Two nights ago her pain worsened suddenly, but I was able to ease it with tinctures. Her strength is fragile, though. Even the smallest setback could undo the progress we’ve made.”

Shisui nodded slowly, his expression sober. “So she hangs by a thread.”

Sakura’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Which is why the grain must be dealt with immediately. If more tainted food reaches her table, she won’t survive another wave of it.”

Itachi’s gaze flicked briefly toward her, unreadable but steady, before he returned to the ledger Shisui had brought. “Her recovery depends on more than healing hands, it depends on cutting out the rot at its source.”

Shisui hummed, his tone thoughtful though edged. “Then the sooner we uncover who’s driving this, the sooner she’ll have a chance to breathe easy again.”

Tenten leaned back, resting her dagger across her knees. “And the sooner the rest of Oto stops wondering who’ll be the next to fall sick.”

Sakura lowered her gaze to the jars of grain she had carried before the council, the faint taint of mold still clinging to them. She whispered almost to herself, “I won’t let her be the next name lost to this.”

Shisui’s sharp gaze shifted toward Tenten. “You said earlier you’ve been in the tunnels. That true?”

Tenten tilted her chin, not flinching under his scrutiny. “Yeah. I know the paths under the castle. I didn’t see much at the reservoirs then, but I can get there.”

Shisui nodded, a thoughtful spark in his eyes. “Good. Then you’ll come with me tonight. We’ll make a sweep of the lower reservoirs, see what’s being hauled through at those hours.”

A grin spread across Tenten’s face, quick and eager. “Finally, something useful to do besides sharpening blades and glaring at servants. I’m in.”

“Then it’s settled.” Shisui gave her a short, approving nod before turning toward the door. “I’ll find you after sundown.” His smile returned briefly, aimed at Sakura and Itachi both. “Stay sharp until then.” With that, he slipped into the hall, the door clicking softly behind him.

The chamber fell quiet. Itachi lingered near the window, his profile calm but unreadable in the afternoon light. At last, he turned to Sakura. “Meet me at my chambers tonight, after Tenten goes. There are things we should discuss privately.”

Before Sakura could answer, Tenten gave a low whistle, leaning back with a wolfish grin. “Straight to ‘meet me in my chambers’? You should at least offer her a candlelight dinner first, Lord Heir.”

Sakura rolled her eyes, though the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her. “Ignore her,” she muttered, but when she looked at Itachi again, her voice steadied. “All right. I’ll come.”

Tenten chuckled, clearly satisfied with herself, and returned to polishing her blade. Itachi, as ever, betrayed no reaction beyond the faintest glimmer in his eyes.

He gave a short nod after Sakura’s agreement, gathering the books he had brought with him. “Then I’ll leave you both for now. Until tonight.” His gaze lingered on Sakura for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he turned, slipping silently through the door.

The room seemed lighter once he was gone, though not without the echo of his presence. Tenten twirled her dagger idly in her fingers. “Well, that was interesting.”

Sakura shook her head, choosing not to take the bait. She pulled her satchel closer and laid out parchment, ink, and quills on the table. “I can’t waste the rest of the day on gossip. There are remedies to prepare. If the council does follow through with quarantining the grain, the villages are going to need alternatives to keep people strong.”

Tenten sat forward, her grin fading as she watched Sakura’s neat, precise handwriting begin to flow across the page. “What are you writing?”

“Instructions,” Sakura replied without looking up. “Simple recipes, broths, teas, decoctions. Things that can help soothe the stomach and protect the body until clean food supplies arrive. If I put them into written lists, I can have them delivered to the village apothecary. They’ll know how to prepare them in bulk.”

She paused to dip her quill again, then continued in crisp strokes: barley water with mint, turmeric tea with lemon, chamomile infusions for sleep.

Tenten leaned her chin into her hand, watching with a mix of curiosity and respect. “You’re always thinking ten steps ahead, huh?”

Sakura allowed herself a faint smile. “Not ten. Just enough to keep people alive until tomorrow.”

She set down her quill, blowing gently across the last line of ink before folding the parchment with care. She reached for a pot of wax, melting just enough over the flame of the lamp to seal the letter shut. Pressing her signet into it, she waited until the wax hardened, then tucked the packet into a small cloth pouch.

“There,” she murmured, tying the knot tight. “Clear instructions, simple remedies. The apothecary in the village should be able to prepare them without question.”

Tenten watched her from the cot, idly tossing her dagger from hand to hand. “Looks more official than half the council decrees.”

Sakura smiled faintly, slipping her cloak over her shoulders. She opened the chamber door and spotted a young servant hurrying past with a tray. “Excuse me,” she called gently.

The boy paused, bowing quickly. “Yes, my lady?”

Sakura pressed the pouch into his hands. “Take this to the village apothecary at once. Place it directly into their care and tell them it’s urgent. These remedies must be prepared for the people immediately.”

The servant nodded, clutching the pouch to his chest. “At once, my lady.” With another bow, he scurried down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading into the castle’s stone belly.

Sakura lingered in the doorway a moment, watching him disappear, then closed the door and turned back inside. Tenten raised a brow. “So that’s it?”

Sakura settled back at the table, her expression steady. “It’s a small step. But if even one person is spared the sickness because of it… it’s worth it.”

---

---

The young servant hurried down the corridor, clutching the pouch to his chest as though it carried treasure. His steps echoed sharply against the stone, his eyes fixed on the stairwell that would take him toward the castle’s outer gate.

He never made it that far.

A figure stepped out from the shadows of an archway, tall and unmistakable even before the torchlight caught his features. Madara stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his gaze cool and sharp.

“Running errands, are we?” His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, but it made the boy falter mid-step.

The servant swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, my lord. Lady Sakura asked--”

“I’ll take it.” Madara extended a hand, palm open, his smile cutting though it never reached his eyes.

The boy froze, the pouch tight in his grip. “My lord, she said it must go to—”

Madara’s eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of amusement curling his lips. “Did you mistake my words for a request?”

The servant trembled, his fingers loosening. With a stammered apology, he placed the sealed letter into Madara’s hand.

Madara turned the pouch over once, studying the neat seal before breaking it without hesitation. He unfolded the parchment, his eyes skimming the careful script. Recipes. Remedies. Instructions meant for the village.

His smile deepened. “How diligent she is.” He folded the letter again, sliding it back into the pouch before tucking it smoothly into his cloak. “And how naïve.”

Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the corridors, the servant left shaking in his wake, praying he would not be punished further for obeying.

---

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Chapter Text

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---

Tenten buckled the last strap across her chest, the quiet scrape of leather breaking the stillness of Sakura’s chamber. Her weapons gleamed faintly in the candlelight: a short sword across her back, knives tucked at her boots, a coil of cord wrapped at her hip. She moved with brisk efficiency, every motion betraying a readiness that came as naturally to her as breath.

“You’ll be careful,” Sakura said softly, watching from the edge of the bed where she had been sorting her satchel. It wasn’t a command, just the earnest plea of someone who trusted and worried in equal measure.

Tenten glanced up, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin. “Of course. Shisui’s the one who’ll need to keep up with me.”

Sakura rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “I mean it. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

The grin softened. Tenten reached out, briefly resting a hand on Sakura’s shoulder. “I know. And I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone.”

The moment lingered, a rare quiet thread of trust between them. Then, as Tenten slung her pack over her shoulder, her tone shifted into something lighter. “Though, by the time I return, you’ll probably still be tangled up in your own… reconnaissance. With the prince.”

Heat rushed to Sakura’s cheeks. “Tenten--”

But the weapons master was already halfway to the door, laughter under her breath. “Don’t wait up too long,” she teased, slipping out before Sakura could retort.

Left in silence, Sakura exhaled, shaking her head. Her fingers brushed the worn cover of the journal lying open on the desk, Tsunade’s handwriting cramped and deliberate across the pages. She closed it gently, tucking it into her satchel with care. The weight of it felt heavier than paper and leather, carrying her mentor’s wisdom and Konoha’s trust.

Rising, she slid Tenten’s crafted dagger into her belt, the familiar balance of the weapon grounding her. Candlelight caught on the blade’s edge for a heartbeat before she hid it beneath her cloak. Then she straightened, shoulders squared, readying herself for the path ahead.

Sakura pulled her cloak tighter as she stepped into the corridor. The castle had settled into its nighttime hush, the echo of distant footsteps long faded, leaving only the muted creak of timber and the occasional hiss of a torch guttering low in its sconce.

She slipped a small folded slip of parchment from her satchel and smoothed it open against her palm. Shisui’s handwriting, quick, almost careless, sketched a simple map of the upper halls. A mark in ink, sharp and dark, indicated Itachi’s chamber. She traced the lines once more to be certain, then tucked the note away.

The stone under her slippers was cool, her steps quiet as she moved past closed doors and shadowed alcoves. Every so often she paused, listening, certain she could feel the weight of unseen eyes, but the corridor remained empty. She forced her breath steady, willing her heartbeat to quiet.

At the final turn, she slowed. A single lantern burned low outside the marked door, its light dim enough to hide her approach. She glanced down the hallway one last time, then raised her hand.

Her knuckles brushed the wood in a soft, deliberate knock. The door opened without delay, as though he had been waiting.

Itachi stood framed in the lamplight, his expression composed, though the faint shadows under his eyes betrayed the hour. He inclined his head in silent greeting before stepping aside to let her pass.

Sakura slipped inside, the hush of the corridor closing behind her as he shut the door. His chamber was nothing like she had expected of a royal heir. It was not lavish, not weighed down with gilded furniture or velvet drapery, but spare and deliberate, a reflection of its inhabitant.

A single candle burned on the writing desk, its glow soft against parchment rolls and open ledgers scattered with tidy script. Shelves lined one wall, not with jewels or trophies, but with volumes bound in dark leather, their spines worn from use.

Against the opposite wall rested a simple low bed, neatly made, the linens unadorned. The only indulgence, if it could be called that, was the embroidered crest stitched at the corner of the blanket: the Uchiha fan in deep crimson thread.

Weapons were present too, though understated. A long blade leaned within reach beside the bed, its lacquered sheath catching faint light. A set of throwing knives lay arranged with near-military precision atop a small side table. Yet nothing in the room felt boastful, every piece seemed placed for purpose, not display.

Sakura’s gaze lingered on a narrow window cut into the stone, half-shuttered against the mountain wind. The air that seeped through was sharp with chill, carrying the faint tang of pine from the slopes beyond. It lent the chamber a stark, almost monastic atmosphere, as though the heir to Oto lived not in luxury, but in discipline.

Itachi gestured toward the chair before his desk. “Please.” His voice was low, measured, yet warm enough to ease the tension in her chest.

Itachi watched her as she took in the room, his dark gaze unreadable. “You look surprised,” he said quietly, “and disappointed.”

Sakura blinked, caught by his bluntness. After a pause, she folded her arms loosely. “Surprised, yes… I expected at least a little of the royal heir’s luxury. But disappointed… only because your chamber feels as cold as the rest of this castle.”

Her words lingered, honest but without malice.

To her relief, he did not bristle. His mouth curved faintly, not in humor but in acknowledgment. “Your observation is fair. Oto was not built for warmth.” His eyes shifted briefly toward the shuttered window, as though conceding the truth himself.

Sakura softened, though the chill of the room still pressed at her skin. “Then what was it you wanted to discuss?” she asked, lowering herself into the offered chair.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Itachi leaned against the edge of the desk, his posture calm but thoughtful. Then, with disarming candor, he admitted, “Nothing in particular. I asked you here so that I could answer any questions you might have.”

Sakura raised a brow, both skeptical and intrigued. It was unlike him to play host for no reason, though his earnestness seemed genuine. Perhaps too genuine. Still, she would not waste the chance.

She reached into her satchel and drew out Tsunade’s journal, the leather cover worn smooth by years of handling. Setting it carefully on the desk between them, she said, “Tsunade gave me this before I left Konoha. It holds everything she knew of Oto; your family line, its history, its culture. I’d like you to review it. Even add to it, if you think it would help me understand your kingdom more clearly.”

Her tone was steady, but the act itself was bold. To hand him her mentor’s writings was to extend something more than parchment, it was trust.

Itachi did not hesitate when she slid the journal toward him. Instead of keeping his distance at the desk, he drew the chair beside hers, the scrape of wood soft against stone. The closeness startled her at first, not inappropriate, but deliberate, a gesture that spoke of his willingness to meet her as an equal rather than a host holding court.

He lifted the journal with both hands, as though mindful of the trust bound in its worn leather. His fingers brushed the cover, pausing over the faint scratches and creases that told of years in Tsunade’s keeping.

When he opened it, the candlelight caught on lines of neat script, margins filled with careful notes, whole passages marked with faint underlines where Tsunade had wanted to impress emphasis.

Sakura watched him silently, studying how he read not with haste but with focus, skimming yet absorbing, the faint furrow in his brow betraying concentration. She realized, almost absently, that he handled the book as he did his weapons, precise, unhurried, without waste.

After a long moment, he closed it again, resting his hand on the cover. His dark eyes lifted to hers. “I will,” he said quietly. “If it matters to you, then it matters to me.”

Sakura let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The admission carried no embellishment, yet it struck with weight. Trust returned for trust. For a heartbeat, the silence between them felt different…alive.

Still, her mind refused to still. She leaned back slightly, pressing her palms together in her lap. “I’ve been thinking on something,” she began, her voice low. “Turning it over since I arrived, and I can’t shake it.” Her gaze shifted from the journal to the window’s shadowed outline, as though searching the dark for answers.

He waited, patient.

“They told me the grain was already tested,” she said at last. “Before Madara and Shisui ever set foot in Konoha. Thoroughly, or so they claimed. If that was true, then why…” Her words trailed as she frowned, brows knitting tighter. “Why do we keep finding signs of corruption now? How does sickness seep through stores that were meant to be safe?”

The candle guttered faintly. Itachi sat back slightly, his fingers resting on the closed journal as though weighing his words. “The ledgers,” he said finally, his voice even but edged with something heavier. “They are not what they should be. Records of grain rotation, rationing, distribution… they haven’t been kept properly.”

Sakura turned toward him, brows lifting. “Not kept properly? By whom?”

His gaze flickered, steady but tinged with reluctance. “My mother. Mikoto oversees the household stores, the food supply, dinner planning, every measure that passes from the storerooms to the kitchens. It has always been her responsibility.”

For a heartbeat, Sakura stared at him, startled. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t poison herself, let alone her people. The illness is in her body, Itachi. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. People like your mother don't orchestrate their own suffering.”

“I know.” His answer came low, quiet, yet sure. His expression didn’t shift, but the weight in his tone was sharper than any outward reaction. “I’ve suspected foul play for some time. Subtle changes in supply, numbers that don’t align, shipments that vanish from the page but not the store. But suspicion is not proof. And without proof…” He let the words trail, the implication clear: even a prince’s doubts could be dismissed.

Sakura felt her chest tighten. “Until I arrived,” she murmured.

His eyes met hers then, dark and unwavering. “Until you arrived.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unmistakable.

Sakura reached for her satchel again, fingers brushing past folded cloth and parchment until they closed around the small glass vial. She drew it out and set it carefully on the desk between them. The candlelight caught on the thin smear of red clinging stubbornly to the rim, the faint residue standing out stark against the glass.

“The vial we found in your mother's chambers…” Her thumb brushed over the cool surface as though to steady herself. “I tested what little remained, but I can’t yet determine what it is. Not with the tools I have here.”

Itachi’s eyes dropped to the vial, studying it with the same grave focus he had given the journal. His hand did not move to touch it, though the weight of his silence pressed as though he were measuring possibilities already.

Sakura continued, her voice soft but unyielding. “I don’t want to accuse without proof, but something about this…” She hesitated, then shook her head. “Something about it feels intentional. It doesn’t belong in her chamber. It doesn’t belong anywhere near her.”

Only then did Itachi lift his gaze back to her, the faintest crease etching into his brow.

Itachi’s gaze lingered on the vial for a long time before he finally spoke. His voice was steady, but a thread of unease ran beneath it. “I’m afraid more and more signs are pointing to something deliberate. Not just accidents in the stores or mismanagement of records. Someone is targeting the vulnerable, the weak, the elderly… and my mother.”

The words settled heavy in the still air, and Sakura felt her chest tighten. To hear him say aloud what her instincts had whispered was both a relief and a burden. She drew in a breath. “If that’s true… do you have any ideas who might be responsible?”

Itachi’s eyes flicked toward the narrow window, the shutters drawn but not enough to hide the sweep of shadowed mountain beyond. He stared at it for a moment, his silence stretching until it seemed he might leave the question unanswered. At last, he spoke.

“Two names come to mind,” he admitted. His gaze stayed on the window, as though the act of speaking them aloud summoned ghosts better left outside the room. “The first is a man called Orochimaru. He hasn’t been seen in over ten years. Once, he sat on Oto’s council. But his ambitions twisted. When it was discovered he’d been engaging in practices… less than moral, he was forced out. Some say he fled beyond the border. Others say he was quietly dealt with. No one knows for certain.”

Sakura leaned forward slightly, frowning. “Practices?” she pressed gently, though the chill in her stomach warned her she might not want to hear the answer.

Itachi’s expression hardened, though his voice remained calm. “Human experiments. Prisoners who vanished from the cells, only to be found later… altered. Sickened. Some never found at all.”

Sakura grimaced, her stomach turning. She pressed a hand against her satchel as if grounding herself, the thought of such cruelty sparking both anger and unease. She steadied herself with a breath, then asked, “And the second?”

At last, Itachi turned from the window. His gaze settled back on her, darker now. “Danzo. Once a member of the council, though he’s since retired. Officially, he claims no part in Oto’s affairs any longer. But he has always hungered for power, a hand in ruling, a voice over matters best left to others. And he has never been troubled by what must be done to get what he wants.”

The way he said it carried no embellishment, but the weight behind the words was clear enough.

Sakura’s brows furrowed. “So you think one of them could be behind this.”

“I think,” Itachi replied evenly, “that if anyone in Oto were capable of orchestrating quiet deaths for their own gain, it would start with them.”

The candle sputtered faintly between them, its light throwing long shadows across the chamber, as though the very walls recoiled at the names.

Sakura chewed her lip, the silence stretching long enough that she felt the weight of Itachi’s patience. He didn’t press her, only waited, his presence steady as if he knew she was working up to something difficult.

Finally, she drew in a quiet breath. “What about Madara?”

Itachi’s eyes flickered, a subtle shift that betrayed the name had not surprised him.

Sakura pressed on, her voice hushed but intent. “Since I’ve arrived, I can’t shake it, his behavior, the way he speaks, the way he lingers. Something about him feels… cut differently. As though his words circle around me instead of landing straight. He’s courteous on the surface, but beneath…” She stopped, struggling to put shape to the unease that had clung to her since that first encounter. “Beneath, there’s something I can’t trust.”

For a moment, Itachi said nothing. His gaze dropped, thoughtful, and when he finally looked up, the candlelight caught in the depths of his eyes.

“My uncle,” he began, voice steady but quieter than before, “may indeed have motive. He has always wanted to rule, to follow in his father’s footsteps, or perhaps surpass them. And he is… rough at best. Harsh in his manner, sharp in his opinions. Odd, even, in the ways he moves among people. It’s easy to feel unsettled in his presence.”

Sakura swallowed, her pulse quickening at the confirmation of what she had sensed.

“But,” Itachi continued, his tone sharpening, “as much as I would not put ambition past him, I cannot say with certainty that he would go so far as poisoning his own sister. That line, I have not seen him cross.” He paused, considering. “Yet I cannot deny it either. Whether he is part of this… or apart from it, I don’t know.”

The flicker of the candle seemed to dim in that moment, shadows stretching across the chamber walls, as though even the air hesitated at the uncertainty his words left behind.

Sakura hesitated, fingers worrying at the edge of her sleeve. The words felt heavier than the candlelit air, but she forced them out. “There’s something else you should know. The night of the masquerade ball in Konoha… Madara was there. He approached me when I was alone.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest shift of intensity.

“He admitted he was drawn to me,” she continued, her voice dropping lower, “though he never explained what it meant. His words were strange, more like a warning than anything else. I haven’t been able to shake it since. If he truly is involved, perhaps I can use that. Get closer to him. See what I might uncover.”

The silence that followed stretched tight. Then, without hesitation, Itachi cut across her thought.

“No.”

The word landed hard, sharper than anything he had spoken all night. Sakura blinked, taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. His composure held, but there was steel in his eyes, a protective fire that startled her as much as the denial itself.

“You cannot,” he said firmly, each syllable deliberate. “Whatever games my uncle plays, you will not be part of them.”

Sakura’s breath caught, not from fear but from the sudden edge in his voice. She had expected resistance, but not this.

She steadied herself and leaned in slightly, her hand reaching across the narrow space to rest over his. His skin was warm against her chilled fingers.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quietly, earnestly. “I’ve played political games all my life. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to navigate dangerous company.”

For a heartbeat, he was still. Then Itachi turned his palm beneath hers, threading his fingers slowly through hers, his grip steady and deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was softer, but the steel within it had not dulled.

“No.” His gaze held hers without wavering. “Not this game. Not with him.”

The finality of it left no room for argument.

Sakura’s chest tightened. She nodded, conceding the point, and shifted as though to pull her hand back. But his hold didn’t release. The strength of it wasn’t forceful, only sure, grounding, as though he meant to anchor her in place.

The candle between them sputtered again, its flame bending low.

Sakura’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Itachi?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand tightened around hers once, a silent reply that carried more meaning than words could. Then, slowly, he released her.

For a moment she thought the air would close with the loss of his touch, but Itachi reached into his vest and withdrew a folded letter, sealed in red wax. The crest pressed into it caught the candlelight, unmistakable, the spiral of Konoha’s royal seal.

He set it gently into her hands. “A letter for you.”

Her breath caught as she turned it over, tracing the seal with care. Excitement flickered in her chest, breaking through the heaviness of their conversation. She broke the wax carefully and unfolded the parchment, eyes racing across the familiar script.

The handwriting was familiar at once, bold strokes, a little uneven as though written in haste, but undeniably his.

Sakura’s lips curved faintly as her eyes moved down the page.

“Sakura,
The Hyuga visitors arrived two nights ago. The princess, Hinata…she’s beautiful. But it isn’t just that. She’s soft-spoken, gentle in a way that unsettles me because she’s everything I’m not. Compassionate, thoughtful… and yet, she listens. She laughs at my jokes, even when they’re clumsy. I think…”

Sakura paused, smiling at the blot where his ink had smudged, as if he’d hesitated too long before committing the next words.

“I think I might be in love with her. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Me, falling head over heels like some court minstrel. But I swear, she looks at me like she might feel the same.”

Her throat tightened, warmth rising behind her eyes. She pressed the letter closer, holding onto every word as though she could hear his voice speaking them aloud.

Across from her, Itachi sat quietly, his expression unreadable, giving her the space to savor the thread of home that had crossed mountains to reach her hands.

Sakura lowered her eyes back to the page, unwilling to miss a word.

“I hope you’re doing well, and knowing you, you’re already kicking that disease’s butt. No doubt the people of Oto will be singing your praises before long. But don’t let it all weigh you down, okay? You’ve always had a way of carrying too much on your shoulders.”

Her lips pressed together, a soft ache blooming in her chest. She could almost hear his voice, teasing and earnest all at once.

“When you have the time, I expect a letter back. Don’t think you can just run off and leave me guessing. I miss you, Sakura. Be safe.”

As Sakura began to fold the parchment, her eyes caught on a few smaller lines scrawled at the bottom, ink pressed hastily as if added at the last moment.

“Oh I almost forgot. Tsunade and Shizune miss you dearly, even if they’ll never say it out loud. You know how they are. Don’t let them fool you. They talk about you all the time.”

A soft laugh escaped her, quiet and unsteady, though her chest ached with warmth. She could picture Tsunade’s gruff dismissal, Shizune’s shy smile, both of them betraying more affection in their silence than they ever would in words.

She pressed her fingers to the ink once more before folding the letter carefully shut, holding it close to her lap as though she could carry their voices with her into the night.

Across from her, Itachi remained silent, giving her the space to linger in that thread of home.

But reality pressed in with the silence, the hour creeping too late. She drew in a quiet breath and looked up at him. “I should probably head back to my chambers.”

Itachi inclined his head. “Of course.”

He rose, and she followed suit. The soft rustle of her cloak filled the still chamber as he walked her to the door. Just as her hand brushed the latch, his fingers closed lightly around her arm. She turned, startled, only to find him standing closer than before.

Without a word, he bent slightly, his lips brushing a faint kiss against her temple, fleeting, restrained, yet tender enough to send warmth rushing to her cheeks.

“Goodnight, Sakura,” he murmured.

Her breath caught. “G–goodnight,” she managed, her voice unsteady, a flush rising high as she slipped out. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving her to the shadows of the corridor with her heart racing faster than her steps.

The quiet of the corridor wrapped around Sakura, her footsteps soft against the stone. She let her breath steady as she rounded the corner, only to startle at the low, smooth voice that cut through the silence.

“Well, well.”

She froze, hand instinctively flying to her belt. Madara leaned casually against the wall, half-swallowed by shadow, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Sakura’s pulse spiked. She drew Tenten’s dagger in a swift motion, its blade catching the flicker of the nearest torch.

Madara’s smirk deepened. His gaze lingered not on the dagger but on the faint flush still coloring her cheeks, sharp enough to unnerve her further. He pushed away from the wall with unhurried grace, stepping closer, the click of his boots deliberate against the floor.

Sakura shifted her stance, shoulders squaring, every muscle coiled and ready.

“Stay where you are,” she warned.

But Madara only lifted his hands slowly, palms outward in a gesture of placation, his smirk never quite leaving his lips. “Easy, healer. No need for steel between us.”

The shadows of the corridor seemed to lean closer around them, the air heavy with the tension of predator and prey.

Sakura kept her dagger steady, her knuckles whitening around the hilt. Madara let his raised hands fall just slightly, enough to show he had no weapon drawn, though his presence alone was sharp enough to feel dangerous.

“You’re quick to bare steel,” he murmured, his tone smooth as polished glass. “And flushed, besides. Not from fear, I think.” His gaze flicked deliberately back toward the corridor she’d come from. “Late night visits can give the wrong impression, especially when they end at my nephew’s chamber door.”

Sakura’s breath caught, though she didn’t let the dagger waver. “That’s none of your concern.”

Madara’s smirk widened. “On the contrary, everything that happens beneath this roof concerns me. Secrets whispered in the dark… alliances forged where eyes cannot see. People might begin to wonder what role the healer truly plays.”

He took another step closer, his movements measured, each word circling her like a coil tightening.

“You’ve already charmed my sister. My brother tolerates you. And now Itachi? Bold, very bold.” His voice dropped lower, almost intimate. “Tell me, do you win hearts as easily as you win trust?”

Sakura’s stance hardened, dagger poised. “If you have something to accuse me of, say it plainly.”

Madara chuckled, the sound low, dangerous. “Accuse? No, no. I only admire. You walk these halls as though they belong to you, yet you know as well as I that this castle devours outsiders whole.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Tread carefully, my little owl. There are some games even seasoned players should avoid.”

Then, without warning, he moved. His stride carried him past her, closer than necessary, his shoulder brushing lightly against hers as he slipped by. The faint sweep of his cloak stirred the air, and for a moment she felt the weight of his gaze still clinging even though he was no longer in front of her.

By the time she turned her head, he had already vanished into the shadows of the corridor, leaving only silence in his wake.

Sakura’s grip on her dagger remained firm, but her pulse raced, heat and unease tangling in her chest. She forced her steps quicker, the long hallway stretching endlessly until at last she reached the familiar door of her chambers.

She slipped inside, closing it firmly behind her. Only then did she release the breath she’d been holding, the echo of his presence still heavy in the stillness.

---

---

The tunnels beneath the castle were nothing like the ordered stone of the upper halls. Down here, the air was damp and heavy, tasting faintly of earth and minerals. Water dripped steadily from somewhere above, the sound echoing through the long, narrow passages like a clock counting their steps.

Tenten moved lightly, her boots making no sound against the packed dirt. Ahead, Shisui held a shuttered lantern low, the dim light spilling just enough to show the path but not enough to betray their presence if anyone lurked nearby.

The walls were rough-hewn, streaked with salt and soot from years of torch smoke, while the floor bore the faint marks of use, wagon tracks carved shallow grooves into the dirt, and footprints marred the damp patches where moisture seeped through the rock.

“Not as abandoned as they’d like us to believe,” Tenten murmured under her breath.

Shisui’s reply was a small nod. His eyes flicked constantly from shadow to shadow, keen as a hawk’s. “Tunnels like these… they’re older than the castle itself. Built first for storage, then for escape. And in time, for smuggling.”

They passed beneath a low arch where the ceiling dipped so sharply that Tenten had to duck. She ran her fingers briefly across the stone, it was slick, cold, and old, older than the walls above, veined with iron that caught the lantern glow in dull red streaks.

The deeper they went, the stronger the scent of stagnant water grew. Soon, the path widened, the walls giving way to a cavernous chamber. Here, the reservoirs sprawled out like black mirrors, vast pools carved into the rock and fed by underground veins. Wooden walkways jutted across them, slick with moisture, while chains and pulleys hung from the ceiling where carts and grain sacks could be lowered.

The space was far from dead. Damp footprints glistened fresh along the planks, and faint soot clung to the stone where torches had burned not long ago. Even the water bore ripples, disturbed by recent movement.

Tenten crouched, brushing her fingers across one set of tracks. “Cart wheels,” she whispered. “More than one, and heavy.”

Shisui angled the lantern toward the far end of the chamber, where the faint outline of stacked sacks rose in the shadows. Grain, brought in under cover of night.

The silence between them carried its own tension. This was no ordinary storage.

Shisui’s hand brushed lightly against Tenten’s arm, signaling her down. They slipped into the shadows of a stone outcropping where the lantern light couldn’t reach, crouching low behind a stack of abandoned crates furred with mold. From there, they had a clear view of the far end of the reservoir chamber.

Movement stirred in the gloom, not rats or trickling water, but men. Two workers trudged across the narrow planks, their shoulders bent beneath the weight of bulging grain sacks. The faint creak of wood echoed through the cavern as they stacked the sacks neatly beside others already piled high. 

Neither spoke. The only sounds were the splash of water dripping from the sacks’ rough fabric and the dull thud as each load landed.

Tenten narrowed her eyes. “Midnight deliveries,” she whispered, barely audible. “Strange time to restock food.”

Shisui’s gaze stayed sharp. “Strange, and secret. They don’t want eyes on this.”

Another figure appeared, pushing a small cart with two more sacks. As he turned, the faint lantern light caught a mark branded into the corner of one: the rune from the rumors. Tenten’s breath caught at the sight.

“The looping rune,” she murmured.

Shisui’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His hand flicked subtly, marking the position in his mind. Evidence.

They watched in silence as the workers hauled sack after sack, the effort quiet, almost mechanical. There was no chatter, no guards posted, no overseer barking orders. Only shadows and sweat, and the uneasy rhythm of labor done where no one was meant to see.

Tenten shifted, careful not to let her dagger clink against the stone. “This isn’t right,” she breathed, though the words were more to herself than Shisui. “Not right at all.”

For a time, the only sound was the shuffling of sacks and the quiet drip of water. Then, suddenly, one of the workers straightened and paused, his head turning slightly as though he had caught something out of place.

Tenten froze, her breath catching in her throat.

The man set down the sack he carried and scanned the chamber. His eyes swept over the walkways, the pools of water, and the scattered crates. The lantern he held threw long, wavering shadows across the walls, shadows that almost seemed to stretch toward where she and Shisui crouched hidden.

Shisui pressed a hand lightly against her shoulder, signaling stillness. Even his breathing seemed to vanish.

The worker lingered, squinting into the gloom. The silence dragged, broken only by the faint groan of a pulley shifting high above.

At last, the man shook his head and muttered something under his breath. He picked up the sack again and carried on, his footsteps receding across the planks.

Only when he disappeared into the far shadows did Shisui release the quietest of breaths. He leaned closer to Tenten, his whisper barely a thread of sound. “Too close.”

She nodded, her pulse racing. And it was then, as she shifted her hand against the damp stone floor to steady herself, that she felt it, the edge of glass against her palm. She glanced down, eyes widening at the small vial half-buried in grime.

Tenten carefully lifted the vial from the damp stone, holding it between her fingers so the faint red stain on the rim caught what little light reached their hiding place. Her stomach tightened.

Shisui’s eyes flicked to it once, his jaw set. He leaned closer, voice a low whisper. “That’s enough. We’ve seen what we need to see.”

She nodded, sliding the vial into a pouch at her belt. “Agreed. Any longer and we’ll push our luck.”

Together they rose, slow and silent, moving back into the narrow shadows of the tunnel. The sounds of labor echoed behind them, the thud of sacks, the faint slosh of water, fading with every careful step they took away from the reservoir.

Neither spoke as they began the long climb back toward the upper halls, though the weight of what they carried, both evidence and suspicion, pressed heavily between them.

---

---

By the time the knock sounded at her door, Sakura had already unfastened her cloak and set her satchel on the table. The candle beside her had burned low, its pool of wax spreading across the plate, and she had been ready to finally allow herself rest.

She opened the door quickly, relief breaking over her features when she saw Shisui and Tenten standing there, damp from the tunnels, weary, but unharmed. “You’re safe,” she breathed, the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding loosening from her chest. “Thank the gods.”

Tenten gave a small grin as she stepped inside, but her eyes were sharp. Without a word, she drew the small glass vial from her pouch and pressed it into Sakura’s hand. “Found this near the reservoirs. Looks the same as the one in Lady Mikoto’s chambers.”

Sakura’s heart leapt, her fingers closing around the vial. She brought it close to the candlelight, the faint red stain at the rim catching like a warning. The resemblance was undeniable.

“They match,” she murmured, a mixture of dread and vindication lacing her voice. “It’s the same powder. Which means…”

Her eyes lifted to theirs, wide with the weight of realization. “Which means Mikoto’s illness is tied to the grain they’re moving. This isn’t chance. Someone is poisoning both.”

Her pulse quickened as the truth tightened in her chest. “Itachi needs to know,” she said, her voice low but steady. “He’s been suspicious of the ledgers already. This proves someone is moving tainted grain through the reservoirs, and it’s reaching his mother.”

Shisui leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed. “I'm headed there now. I’ll tell him what we saw tonight.”

Tenten, who had been pacing near the foot of the bed, shook her head. “The rune on those sacks wasn’t there by accident. Whoever’s behind this doesn’t just want people sick, they want the mark known to those who can read it. That makes this more than poisoning. It’s a message.”

Sakura frowned, setting the vial carefully on the table. “A message to whom? The people? The council?”

“Maybe both,” Tenten replied grimly. “Maybe just to unsettle.”

The chamber fell quiet, the three of them bound by the weight of discovery. Outside, the mountain winds rattled faintly against the shutters, as though the stone itself bore witness to secrets stirring in its depths.

At last, Shisui pushed away from the desk. “Rest while you can. I’ll speak to Itachi. He deserves to hear this without delay.”

Sakura hesitated, fingers brushing the folded letter from Naruto still on her desk. Her heart tugged between hope and dread. “All right,” she said softly. “But be careful, Shisui. Whoever is behind this is already three steps ahead.”

He gave her a crooked smile, meant to reassure, though his eyes carried no such ease. “Careful’s the only way I know.”

Shisui gave them both a brief nod before slipping out into the corridor, his footsteps fading quickly into silence.

Tenten stretched her arms overhead with a weary sigh. “I’m going to wash up before I collapse,” she said, already heading toward the narrow door that connected her small chamber to Sakura’s.

Sakura’s lips softened into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Tenten. For everything.”

The weapons master paused in the doorway, her expression light but her eyes steady. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re only just getting started.” With that, she disappeared inside, the door closing softly behind her.

Left alone, Sakura let herself sink onto the edge of her bed. The vial on her desk glinted faintly in the dying candlelight, a silent reminder of the danger that lay coiled beneath the castle’s stone. She touched the folded letter from Naruto once more, drawing strength from the inked words before blowing out the flame.

Darkness filled the chamber, heavy and watchful, as Sakura lay back against the pillow,the weight of secrets pressing close.

The room was silent save for the faint whistle of wind through the shutters. Sleep had finally claimed her, heavy and restless, when something stirred against her scalp.

Fingers, gentle, deliberate, brushed slowly through her hair.

Sakura’s eyes snapped open, her breath caught in her throat. She sat up quickly, hand flying toward her dagger, but the chamber was empty. Shadows pooled in the corners, still and undisturbed, as though nothing had moved at all.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She swept her gaze across the room once, twice, the desk, the shuttered window, the adjoining door to Tenten’s chamber, all as they should be. And yet…

Her eyes fell on the bedside table. There, laid neatly upon the wood as if placed with care, was a piece of parchment.

The hearth had long since burned to ash, but even in the dim light she could see it clearly: the same swirling rune that had been branded into the grain sacks, inked dark and deliberate.

Sakura’s throat went dry. She reached for it with trembling fingers, half-expecting it to vanish like smoke. But the parchment was real, coarse against her skin, the rune carved in lines that seemed almost to twist if she looked too long.

Her breath quickened. Someone had been here. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to leave this message at her very side.

The silence pressed in heavier than stone, the truth colder than any draft that seeped through the window: the game was no longer confined to storerooms and council chambers. It had followed her into the safety of her own bed.

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Chapter Text

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The pale gray of morning crept through the shutters, casting long bars of light across the floor. Sakura stirred uneasily, the memory of the night clinging too vividly to her, the phantom brush of fingers through her hair, the rune-marked parchment waiting on her bedside table.

She sat up slowly, rubbing the grit of restless sleep from her eyes. The parchment still lay where she had left it, its inked lines stark against the wood. For a moment, she thought of hiding it, tucking it into her satchel before anyone could see.

But the door between chambers opened with a quiet creak. Tenten stepped in, her damp hair pulled back loosely, sleeves rolled to her elbows, as though she’d just finished washing. She paused mid-step, her gaze snagging immediately on the parchment.

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that?”

Sakura’s fingers tightened in her lap. She hesitated, then exhaled. “The reason I didn’t sleep.” She gestured faintly to the parchment. “I’ve… been waking with the feeling of someone’s hand in my hair. Last night was the first time there was proof I wasn’t imagining it.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung thick in the room. Then Tenten strode forward, her expression sharp with anger. “You should have told me the first night,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I can’t protect you if you keep things from me, Sakura.”

Sakura’s throat tightened. “I didn’t want to worry you. Or anyone. Until I was sure.”

“That’s not how this works.” Tenten’s jaw set. She leaned down, snatched the parchment, and studied the rune with a frown. “Whoever left this was standing right here, inches from you while you slept. That’s not something to keep to yourself.”

Sakura lowered her eyes, guilt prickling at her chest. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Tenten exhaled, some of the fire in her expression softening. “I’m having a cot brought in here. From tonight on, I’m staying in this room. If someone thinks they can get to you, they’ll have to step through me first.”

Sakura managed a small, apologetic smile. “If it’ll ease your mind, I’ll agree.”

“It will,” Tenten said firmly. Then she glanced at the parchment again, grim. “And Itachi needs to know about this.”

Sakura hesitated, the thought of his reaction weighing on her. But at last, she nodded. “All right. We’ll tell him.”

Tenten folded the parchment carefully, slipping it into her belt as though it were a weapon instead of a warning. “Come on. Let’s get ready before someone else comes sniffing around.”

Sakura rose from the bed, moving to the small basin by the window. She splashed cold water onto her face, the chill chasing away the last traces of restless sleep. The simple ritual of washing and braiding her hair steadied her, though the memory of phantom fingers brushing against her scalp made her shiver. She quickly tied the braid back with a strip of cloth, hiding the unease behind practiced calm.

Tenten strapped her daggers into place, each blade sliding smoothly into its sheath. Her movements were sharper than usual, the scrape of leather and steel echoing faintly in the chamber. She glanced at Sakura once, catching her watching. “Don’t worry. Whoever thought they could toy with you picked the wrong girl to cross.”

Sakura smiled faintly, though the heaviness in her chest didn’t lift. She pulled on her cloak, tucking Naruto’s letter safely into the inner pocket, and the vial back into her satchel.

When they stepped into the corridor, the castle was stirring with early light. Servants padded quietly down the halls with pitchers of water and baskets of bread. Guards shifted at their posts, their armor clinking softly in the morning hush. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and damp stone, a reminder of the mountain’s constant presence pressing down on the castle.

Side by side, Sakura and Tenten made their way through the winding halls toward Itachi’s chambers. Their footsteps quickened unconsciously, the folded parchment at Tenten’s belt a reminder that every moment counted.

By the time they reached the carved double doors, they could already hear the low murmur of voices inside, Itachi’s calm, measured tone and Shisui’s sharper, more animated one, weaving together over the rustle of parchment.

Sakura raised her hand and knocked softly, the sound muffled against the heavy wood. The voices inside paused, and a moment later the door swung open.

Itachi stood framed in the dim light of his chamber, his expression composed but his eyes immediately flicking from Sakura to Tenten, then back again. “Sakura,” he said quietly, a note of surprise in his voice. “And Tenten. Why are you here so early?”

The faint scent of ink and candle smoke drifted from the room behind him, where Shisui leaned casually against the desk, half-smiling at their sudden arrival. Scrolls and ledgers lay scattered across the table, evidence of a long night’s work.

Sakura hesitated under Itachi’s steady gaze, then stepped forward. “Because something happened last night. Something you need to see.”

Tenten, without a word, drew the folded parchment from her belt and held it up.

Itachi’s eyes darkened, his composure sharpening as he stepped aside to let them in.

Once the door closed softly behind them, the chamber seemed to hush. The faint crackle of the candle flame and the rustle of parchment on the desk were the only sounds. Sakura and Tenten stepped farther inside, the weight of the moment pressing on their shoulders.

Tenten handed the folded parchment to Itachi. He took it carefully, his brow tightening as he unfolded it. The swirling rune stared back from the page, black ink stark against the pale parchment.

“What is this?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.

Sakura swallowed. “It was left in my chamber last night. On the table beside my bed.”

Itachi’s gaze lifted sharply from the parchment to her, his eyes narrowing. “Left? By whom?”

Sakura hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel. Before she could answer, Tenten spoke firmly, her arms crossed. “Tell him, Sakura. All of it.”

Sakura drew a breath, her voice quieter this time. “For several nights now, I’ve woken to the feeling of fingers… brushing through my hair. I thought at first I was imagining it, or just dreaming. But last night…” She glanced at the parchment in his hand. “Last night there was proof someone had been in my room.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the truth settling in the air between them like ash.

Shisui pushed away from the desk, crossing his arms loosely as his eyes tracked the rune on the parchment. “That means whoever’s behind this symbol has access to the castle itself.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than stone.

Itachi said nothing at first. His jaw tightened as he set the parchment carefully down on the desk. But his hands betrayed him, knuckles white, fingers curled so tightly they trembled faintly before he forced them still.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, edged with steel. “I’ll see guards placed outside your door from this night forward.”

Sakura’s head snapped up. “No.”

His eyes narrowed, sharp as a drawn blade.

“I already have Tenten with me,” she pressed, her tone firm but measured. “She’s been at my side since I arrived. I don’t need half the castle gossiping about why guards are posted at my door.”

Itachi shifted, his expression unreadable, though the weight in his gaze didn’t soften. “I have full faith in Tenten,” he said evenly. “But I will not risk anyone slipping past her. I won’t give someone the chance to test her skill with a blade against your life.”

Sakura’s lips parted, heat rising to her cheeks, frustration, not embarrassment this time. “And what then? If I’m to be smothered in guards and suspicion, how am I to do my work? How will I win the trust of those already doubting me?”

The tension between them snapped taut, their words colliding in the candlelit chamber.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Sakura lowered her gaze for a moment, steadying herself, then softened her voice. “Itachi… I know you’re only trying to protect me. But Tenten is enough. She’s already moved into my chamber, she won’t let anyone past her.”

Itachi’s dark eyes searched hers, unreadable for a long moment. Finally, his shoulders eased, if only slightly. “I don’t agree,” he admitted quietly, “but I will respect your wishes.”

Before the tension could thicken again, Shisui whistled low, breaking the air. “A lovers’ quarrel this early in the morning? You two certainly know how to keep things lively.”

Sakura flushed, her head snapping toward him. “It’s not--!”

Itachi’s glare cut sharp as steel, but Shisui only grinned, unbothered, leaning back against the desk. “Don’t give me that look. I was just saying what everyone else will be thinking once word spreads that someone slipped into her room last night.”

Tenten smirked faintly at Sakura’s expense, but said nothing, letting Shisui have his fun.

Still grinning, Shisui tapped the parchment once before sliding it aside. “Before you two showed up, Itachi and I were discussing what Tenten and I found in the reservoirs. Midnight deliveries, rune-marked sacks, and this little beauty matches the brand exactly.” He gestured to the parchment, his tone growing more serious. “Whatever’s being moved under cover of darkness isn’t ordinary grain.”

Itachi’s jaw tightened as he listened, his gaze flicking from the parchment to Shisui and back again. “My mother would never arrange deliveries in the middle of the night,” he said at last, his voice low but absolute. “Not for grain, not for anything. She keeps meticulous order over the stores and she would not break that without reason.”

Sakura, standing at his side, folded her arms as her thoughts churned. “Something’s been on my mind,” she said slowly, her eyes drifting to the parchment again. “If whoever is poisoning Mikoto wants to weaken your family, that’s one thing. But why poison the villagers as well? Wouldn’t they want a strong kingdom behind them if their plan is to take over?”

The question settled over the chamber like a chill, its weight pulling even Shisui’s smirk into a frown.

Itachi’s dark gaze lowered, thoughtful, his fingers tracing the edge of the parchment. He didn’t answer immediately, the silence making her words echo louder.

Shisui glanced between them, his usual levity gone. “Maybe the point isn’t to take the throne and rule a strong kingdom,” he said finally. “Maybe the point is to hollow it out first.”

Itachi’s eyes flickered at that, but he stayed quiet, clearly working through possibilities he wasn’t ready to voice.

Tenten had been leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, listening in silence. At Shisui’s words, her brow furrowed and she pushed away from the stone.

“What good would that do?” she asked bluntly. “Weakening the kingdom only makes it ripe for invasion. If the people can’t work, can’t fight, can’t even feed themselves, then what’s left to rule?”

Her voice echoed softly in the chamber, cutting through the weight of speculation.

Shisui tilted his head, meeting her eyes. “Exactly. Which means whoever’s behind this either doesn’t care about ruling… or they have a different kind of endgame altogether.”

Sakura’s stomach twisted as her gaze returned to the rune. The inked lines seemed to curl and writhe under the candlelight, offering no answers, only more unease.

Itachi finally straightened, his tone flat but edged. “Whatever their goal, they had the freedom to slip past my guards and leave this at Sakura’s bedside. That cannot be ignored.”

Before anyone could reply, a firm knock reverberated through the chamber, sharp and commanding. Everyone turned toward the door at once, tension rippling through the air.

Itachi moved first, striding across the room to open it. The heavy wood swung back to reveal Madara, leaning lazily against the frame as though he owned the very stones around him.

“Well,” he drawled, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Good. Everyone is here.” His dark eyes swept the room, lingering on Sakura for a fraction too long before flicking back to Itachi. “The council has called an emergency meeting.”

The silence in the chamber thickened, the parchment with its swirling rune lying stark on the desk between them.

Itachi’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head with composure. “We’ll come.”

Madara stepped aside smoothly, gesturing toward the hall. As they filed out, his stride fell in behind Sakura’s, his presence uncomfortably close. She felt the weight of his gaze flicking toward her, subtle but deliberate.

Before they reached the stairwell, Itachi shifted, falling back a pace until he moved between them. Madara’s smirk deepened, amused rather than deterred.

Without a word, they continued toward the council chambers.

The walk through the castle felt heavier than usual. Guards stood rigid along the corridors, their helms catching the torchlight, while servants whispered in corners, their voices dying as the group passed. The air itself seemed to carry the weight of unease, as though the stone walls were bracing for what was to come.

At last, the tall doors of the council chamber loomed before them. A guard pulled them open, and the sound of low voices spilled out.

The chamber was crowded, more councilors gathered than the last meeting, their faces drawn and voices low. At the head of the long table sat Fugaku, stern as ever, but it was the man seated at his right hand who caught Sakura’s attention.

Older than the others, his hair streaked with gray, his face was marked by deep lines. A strip of cloth covered one eye, leaving the other sharp and unsettling. He sat with the kind of stillness that demanded attention without effort.

At her side, Itachi’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly. His shoulders tightened, his hands curling loosely behind his back. He said nothing, but the air around him sharpened.

Confusion flickered through Sakura. Whoever this man was, Itachi clearly knew him, and disliked what his presence meant.

Fugaku’s voice broke the silence. “You’ve all noticed our guest. Danzo has returned to the council, at my request, until this sickness is resolved.”

The name struck the air like a stone dropped in water, rippling unease around the table. Sakura glanced between Fugaku and the man beside him, her pulse quickening with questions she didn’t dare ask aloud.

Madara drifted behind Sakura, close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled, her grip tightening on the satchel strap at her side. She forced her shoulders not to stiffen, but every step with him at her back made her pulse quicken.

At the table, the older man rose slightly. His voice was rough but steady, carrying the weight of years. “My thanks, Lord Fugaku. You’ve done wisely to call me back. I promise I will see this matter unraveled swiftly.” His single visible eye swept over the room, sharp as a knife’s edge, before landing on Sakura. “We cannot afford half-measures in times like these.”

The words were polite enough on the surface, but the implication was clear. Her. Inadequate.

Sakura’s stomach twisted, but she knew sometimes silence was the sharpest blade. She schooled her face into calm, blank composure, letting no hint of irritation or defensiveness slip through. If he wanted a reaction, he would get none.

Danzo’s eye lingered a moment longer, as if testing her resolve, then he eased back into his seat.

At the head of the table, Fugaku’s gaze swept across the chamber. “Enough. Let us begin.” His tone was clipped, leaving no room for protest.

The meeting was called to order.

One of the elder councilors leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. His voice was measured, but the words carried a sharp edge. “We have been receiving complaints from the people. The healer has been in our castle for week, tending to Lady Mikoto. Yet the local apothecaries say she refuses to share her remedies with them.”

A ripple of murmurs followed, agreement rising like low thunder around the chamber.

Sakura’s brow furrowed, confusion striking harder than the accusation itself. “That isn’t true,” she said firmly, her voice carrying over the table. “I sent them a list myself, every remedy I’ve prepared for Lady Mikoto. Instructions, dosages, everything.”

But the councilors exchanged skeptical looks, the weight of their doubt pressing down on her words.

Madara shifted, stepping into the silence with his usual smoothness. “Perhaps you did,” he said, his tone all courtesy while his eyes gleamed. “But the people have seen no relief. While my sister’s life is precious, why should the rest of the kingdom suffer while one woman thrives?”

The murmurs swelled louder this time, and several councilors turned sharp eyes on Sakura.

Another voice cut through: “Is this healer keeping her secrets for herself? Weakening Oto for Konoha’s benefit?”

The accusation struck like a blow, the chamber buzzing now with suspicion and anger.

Sakura stepped forward, her lips parting, anger rising hot in her chest. “That’s not--”

Before she could finish, Itachi moved. He was standing at her side, his presence steady and commanding, his voice cutting clean through the chamber.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” he said, his tone calm but edged with authority. The gathered councilors stilled under it, their murmurs fading. “Sakura has given nothing but her full effort since her arrival. If remedies have not reached the apothecaries, then the fault lies elsewhere, not with her.”

His gaze swept the chamber, sharp as steel. “To remove all doubt, I will deliver her remedies to the apothecaries myself.”

From just behind Sakura, Madara’s low chuckle echoed, a sound too smooth to be harmless. “How sweet of you, Itachi,” he drawled, his breath a little too close as his eyes lingered on Sakura’s profile. “Ever the dutiful protector. One wonders if your devotion extends beyond healing work.”

Heat flooded Sakura’s cheeks before she could stop it, humiliation tightening in her chest. She kept her chin lifted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter.

Beside her, Itachi’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn, but his posture sharpened like a drawn blade, his silence promising more than words.

Whispers rippled around the council table, sharp and pointed, fed by Madara’s insinuation.

“Enough.”

Fugaku’s voice thundered across the chamber, silencing the murmurs at once. His hand struck the armrest of his chair, the sound reverberating like a hammer against stone. The air itself seemed to still under his authority.

His gaze swept the gathered councilors, then lingered briefly on Sakura before shifting to his sons. “This discord serves no purpose. The healer has brought her remedies, and she will see them provided to the apothecaries without further delay. Itachi will deliver them personally.”

The words rang final, leaving no room for debate.

But then Fugaku’s expression hardened further, his tone brooking no argument. “And beginning tomorrow, Madara will work with her directly. If Oto is to benefit from her skills, we will ensure her time here is not wasted.”

The words struck like a blow. Behind her, Sakura felt the weight of Madara’s presence shift, closer, sharper, and though she didn’t dare turn, she could almost feel the satisfaction radiating off him.

Itachi’s composure held, but the tension in his stance betrayed his displeasure. His eyes flicked once to Sakura, dark with concern, before fixing back on his father.

The chamber remained silent, the order hanging heavy between them all.

Fugaku’s hand lifted, silencing any stirrings of protest before they could form. His gaze turned from Sakura and Itachi to the dark-haired figure standing a little apart from them.

“Shisui,” Fugaku said, his voice steady, commanding. “Remain. I have an assignment for you.”

Shisui inclined his head, his usual easy grin absent, replaced with a respectful solemnity. “As you wish, Lord Fugaku.”

Fugaku gave a single sharp nod before sweeping his eyes across the rest. “The rest of you are dismissed. See that the remedies are prepared and distributed as ordered.”

The scrape of chairs and the shuffle of robes filled the chamber as councilors began to rise. Madara lingered behind Sakura a fraction too long, his smirk faint but unmistakable, before he finally stepped away.

Tenten shot Sakura a glance that was both protective and uneasy, her jaw set tight. Itachi gestured subtly toward the doors, his presence urging her out of the chamber without further word.

The great doors groaned open, and the group stepped back into the quieter corridors, the heavy weight of the council’s decisions still pressing down on their shoulders.

The heavy doors closed behind them with a dull echo, muting the chamber’s tension but not erasing it. The air in the corridor felt lighter, yet still charged, as though the stone itself carried the council’s whispers.

Tenten exhaled sharply, muttering, “That was a damn--”

Itachi’s low voice cut across her words. “Not here.” He didn’t raise his tone, but the quiet weight of it was enough. His eyes flicked toward the guards standing at the end of the hall, their gazes carefully neutral but their ears far too close.

Tenten clamped her jaw shut, scowling, but nodded.

Sakura let out a slow sigh, pressing her satchel strap tighter against her shoulder. “Then… I’d like to see Mikoto,” she said softly. “After everything this morning, I need to know how she’s faring.”

At that, Itachi’s expression eased just enough for him to incline his head. “Very well. We’ll go to her chambers.”

With Tenten falling into step at her side, the three turned down the corridor, leaving the weight of the council chamber behind.

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The corridors leading to Mikoto’s chambers were brighter than the council hall, the morning light spilling in through narrow windows cut into the stone. Servants moved quickly but quietly, their hushed words carrying a note of something Sakura hadn’t heard since she arrived in Oto: cautious hope.

Itachi opened the carved door, and they stepped inside.

The chamber felt changed. Gone was the heavy dimness and clinging odor of sickness. Curtains had been drawn back to let the sunlight flood in, glinting on polished stone and spilling across the rug. A clay pot of lavender water steamed by the hearth, sweetening the air.

And there, framed by light at the window, stood Mikoto.

Her frame was still slender from weeks of illness, but her spine was straight, her shoulders proud, her skin no longer the washed-out pallor of the bedridden. She turned, a smile blooming warm and bright, and walked toward them with slow, deliberate steps that carried both fragility and triumph.

“You’re here,” she said, her voice no longer weak but sure.

Sakura’s breath caught, her throat tightening. “My lady… you’re standing.”

Mikoto chuckled, though the sound was softer than it once might have been. “Yes. Standing, walking, even breathing feels easier today. Thanks to you, Sakura.” She reached out, clasping Sakura’s hand with both of hers, her grip firm. “You’ve given me back my feet.”

Sakura blinked hard, fighting the prickle in her eyes. “It’s your strength, my lady. The remedies only gave you a push.”

“Strength needs something to stand on,” Mikoto replied, giving her hand one last squeeze before releasing it. “And you gave me that.”

Her gaze shifted then to her son. “And you, Itachi.” She studied him closely, her dark eyes sharper than her smile. “Tell me what has been happening. I may have been ill, but I am not blind. There’s tension in this household I have not felt before.”

Itachi hesitated, his face composed, but Sakura saw the faint tightening of his jaw. “The council is restless,” he admitted. “There are disagreements… about the cause of your illness, and the best way forward.”

Mikoto tilted her head, unimpressed by his measured words. “Disagreements,” she repeated, her tone wry. “That’s a polite way of saying factions are forming again.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Sakura, then back to her son. “And you are carrying the weight of it.”

Itachi inclined his head slightly, a wordless acknowledgment.

Sakura stepped in gently. “The remedies are working, my lady, and soon we’ll have more answers. What matters most is that you’re stronger.”

Mikoto smiled again, though her eyes never left her son’s face. “Perhaps. But strength is more than a body healed.” She touched Itachi’s arm lightly. “Be wary, my son. Power shifts like water in this castle, and not everyone will swim with you.”

The quiet lingered, sunlight warming the chamber while her words cooled the air.

At last, Mikoto straightened. “For now, I’ll make my own meals until this matter is resolved. I won’t give anyone the chance to weaken me again.”

Itachi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone was calm. “A wise choice.”

Sakura nodded in agreement, her heart swelling with admiration. “I’ll help you choose what’s safest, and together we’ll keep watch.”

Mikoto’s expression softened, the sharpness easing into warmth as she looked between them. “You’ve both grown close in these weeks.” Her smile turned faintly mischievous, maternal amusement shining through her fatigue. “Perhaps closer than you realize yourselves.”

Sakura’s cheeks flushed instantly, her gaze dropping. “It’s not…I only…” She fumbled for words, mortified by the gentle teasing.

Itachi remained composed, though the slight tightening at the corner of his mouth suggested the comment had landed. He did not deny it, and that silence only made Sakura’s blush deepen.

Mikoto chuckled softly, the sound brighter than any medicine. “Good. Then perhaps I’ll rest easier, knowing you look after one another.”

Her hand brushed Sakura’s shoulder, light but reassuring, before she returned to the window. “Go now. Let me enjoy the sun while it lasts.”

They obeyed, stepping back toward the door. As Sakura glanced back once more, she saw Mikoto framed in the light, fragile still, but standing proud, her shadow cast long across the chamber floor.

For a moment, the three stood in the corridor, the sunlight from narrow windows cutting slanted beams across the stone floor.

Itachi turned to Tenten, his tone calm but certain. “I’d like to speak with Sakura alone.”

Tenten arched a brow, glancing between them. The corner of her mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Of course you would.” She adjusted the strap of her weapons harness, then shrugged easily. “Fine. I’ll be in our chambers when you’re finished.”

Sakura flushed at her tone, opening her mouth to protest, but Tenten only waved a hand dismissively as she strode down the hall.

When she disappeared around the corner, Itachi shifted his gaze back to Sakura. For a heartbeat, he seemed to weigh something silently. Then, in that steady, quiet way of his, he said, “Follow me.”

He turned, leading her down a corridor she had never taken before, away from the bustle of servants and guards, deeper into the castle’s quieter veins.

Sakura hesitated only a moment before stepping after him, her shoes soft against the stone floor. The corridor narrowed as they went, the walls changing from smooth-hewn masonry to rougher stone, as if the hand of the mountain itself was reclaiming the space.

Torches thinned until only one flickered every several paces, their flames sputtering against the faint breath of cool air drifting from unseen cracks. The silence deepened, broken only by the echo of their footsteps.

Sakura glanced at the walls. Veins of ore shimmered faintly in the dim light, threads of silver and copper glinting like starlight caught in rock. Crystals jutted here and there from the stone, their sharp edges gleaming pale against the shadows. It was unlike the polished halls of the upper castle, raw, ancient, alive.

“You know these corridors well,” she murmured, half to herself.

Itachi inclined his head slightly. “I’ve walked them since I was a boy. They’re quieter than the main halls. Less… suffocating.”

As they turned another corner, the air grew warmer, carrying the faint scent of minerals and damp earth. Water dripped softly in the distance, a slow rhythm that echoed like a heartbeat through the stone.

Sakura pulled her cloak closer, though the warmth rising in the air was not unpleasant. A sense of hidden depth wrapped around her, as though she were stepping into a secret heartbeat of the castle, one that only Itachi knew how to follow.

At last, he paused before a narrow arch cut directly into the rock. Beyond, the faint shimmer of steam curled in the dim torchlight.

“This way,” he said quietly. Itachi pushed aside the faint veil of steam, and Sakura followed him through the archway.

Her breath caught the moment she stepped inside.

The cavern opened wide before her, the ceiling arched high like the ribs of some ancient beast. Stalactites glittered faintly with mineral sheen, and veins of crystal ran jagged through the stone, catching the dim torchlight and scattering it into fractured rainbows. Steam curled lazily in the air, carrying the clean, metallic scent of heated water.

At the center lay a pool, its surface rippling with faint waves that reflected the shifting light in shimmering patterns across the walls. The water glowed faintly where it lapped against the stone, pale blue from the minerals that seeped into it, as though the mountain itself was alive and breathing.

Sakura stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide. “It’s… beautiful.”

Her voice echoed softly in the cavern, almost admiring. She had grown used to the cold austerity of Oto’s castle, gray walls, sharp edges, silence pressed into every hall. But this place was different. Warmer. Alive. A secret heart hidden beneath the weight of stone.

She tilted her head back, gazing at the crystals overhead. Their fractured light cast soft glimmers across Itachi’s face, making him look less like the stoic prince and more like some guardian spirit belonging to the mountain itself.

“I never imagined something like this existed here,” she admitted, her tone quiet with awe.

Itachi’s eyes softened faintly as he watched her reaction. “Most don’t. Few come this far into the mountain.” He stepped toward the pool, steam rising around him. “When the walls of the castle close in, this is where I come. To remember that there is more than duty and shadow. That Oto is not only stone and silence.”

Sakura hugged her satchel to her chest, still staring at the glowing water. “It feels… untouched. Like it’s been waiting for someone to see it.”

Itachi inclined his head slightly. “Then let it wait for you as well. When the weight grows too heavy, I hope you’ll come here.”

Her heart thudded, warmth rising in her chest that had nothing to do with the steam. She turned her gaze away quickly, afraid he might see the flush in her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and meant it.

The steam curled around them, softening the edges of the cavern, and for a long moment Sakura let herself breathe in the quiet. Yet the weight that had been pressing on her since the council chamber refused to lift.

She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the glowing ripples of the pool. “Itachi…” Her voice was low, almost hesitant. “Starting tomorrow. I…” She faltered, her throat tight. “I’m worried. I don’t trust Madara.”

The words echoed off the stone, her confession fragile in the cavern’s vastness. For a moment, there was only the drip of water and the faint hiss of steam. Then she felt Itachi’s presence move closer, steady and grounding.

He reached out, his hand finding hers with quiet certainty. His palm was warm, his grip firm but not demanding, as though offering strength without forcing it upon her.

Sakura’s breath hitched, her gaze darting to his. The crystals overhead caught in his dark eyes, making them gleam with sharp light and hidden depths.

“You will not face him alone,” Itachi said, his voice low but resolute. “Not while I stand here.”

Her fingers trembled faintly against his, but she didn’t pull away. The heat of his hand seemed to root her to the moment, to the promise in his words.

Sakura’s gaze lingered on their joined hands, her pulse quick beneath her skin. The warmth of his touch steadied her, but it also made her chest tighten with something she couldn’t quite name. She swallowed, forcing her voice low.

“Itachi… Madara is already planting false ideas about us before the council.” Her eyes lifted to his, earnest and conflicted. “If you stay close to me only because he is, it’ll only make those whispers grow louder. It will give him more to twist against us.”

The words trembled at the edges, but her tone was firm. She wasn’t only afraid of scandal, she feared giving Madara more fuel to manipulate, to press her into corners she couldn’t escape.

Itachi’s hand tightened slightly around hers, the smallest shift, but unyielding. His expression was calm, yet there was a fire beneath it, steady and immovable.

“I do not move at Madara’s will,” he said quietly, each word deliberate. “Nor will I change my steps to ease the council’s gossip. Let them whisper if they wish. My reasons for standing beside you are my own.”

His eyes held hers, unwavering, leaving her unable to look away.

The silence stretched, heavy with meaning, but Sakura found herself the first to glance away. She drew in a careful breath, her free hand tightening around the strap of her satchel.

“Itachi…” Her voice was softer now, steadier. “Please. Don’t push any further than you normally would. Things have to remain as they are until this is figured out, until I can learn whose side Madara is truly on.”

Her words echoed gently against the cavern walls, fragile yet firm, like a thread she refused to let snap.

Itachi’s grip lingered a moment longer before he released her hand. His gaze softened, but his silence told her he didn’t fully agree. Even so, he inclined his head, giving her the respect of her own boundaries.

For a time, neither of them spoke. The steam drifted between them in slow curls, carrying the scent of warm stone and minerals. Sakura rubbed her thumb against her palm where his hand had held hers, still feeling the trace of his warmth, both steadying and unsettling.

She turned back to the pool, its faint blue glow rippling against the cavern walls like the heartbeat of the mountain itself. This place felt untouched, sacred even, a secret sanctuary Itachi had chosen to share with her. That trust should have eased her mind. And in some ways, it did.

Yet as they left the cavern and began the long walk back through the narrowing stone halls, the unease returned. She thought of Madara’s smirk in the council chamber, his shadow lingering close behind her, the parchment on her bedside table marked with the swirling rune. He was already shaping the council’s perception, twisting her presence into something dangerous, something suspect.

Her chest tightened. If I let myself lean too heavily on Itachi, if I let them see even a sliver more than they already suspect… Madara will have exactly what he needs to destroy us both.

Still, when she glanced at Itachi walking just ahead of her, steady as ever, a flicker of warmth broke through the dread, his vow echoed in her ears. For now, she would hold to that. Balance between comfort and danger, between secrecy and truth.

Until she uncovered the hand behind the poison and the rune, she had no choice but to walk that edge.

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