Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Strings Attached
Sakura sat cross-legged on her apartment floor, the ancient tome open in front of her despite every logical reason to avoid it. The lockbox she’d sealed it in had done little to quell its pull. Sasori's faint whispers, sly and ever-persistent, had needled her thoughts for days. Now, after hours of resistance, she found herself leafing through the yellowed pages again, unable to ignore the gravitational force of its dark knowledge.
“So, back for more already?” Sasori’s voice purred in her mind, laced with amusement.
Sakura stiffened, her hand hovering over a diagram of a chakra network modified for puppet use. She scowled at the empty room. “I’m not here to talk to you.”
“Oh, but you are. Don’t lie to yourself, Sakura. You’ve already acknowledged I’m the most interesting thing in your life right now.”
Her jaw tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m studying the book to find a way to destroy it—and you.”
A slow, sardonic chuckle echoed in her thoughts. “Destroy me? Fascinating. Tell me, how do you plan to kill something that’s already dead? You must admit, it’s a bit beyond your skill set.”
“I killed you once, didn’t I?” she snapped, her chakra flaring as her frustration mounted.
The voice fell silent for a moment, and she felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction—until he responded, his tone dripping with mockery.
“Killed me? Is that what you told yourself to sleep at night? Let me clarify something, Sakura: you never killed me. I let you win.”
Her breath hitched, and she clenched her fists. “That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” Sasori’s voice grew sharper, his tone tinged with disdain. “Think back. Why would I, a master puppeteer, leave an opening so large that a novice like you could exploit it? I had dozens of ways to turn you and that old hag into living puppets. But I didn’t. I handed you the victory.”
Sakura’s mind raced back to the battle in the cavern. The way Sasori had remained eerily calm, even as the poisoned blade pierced his heart container. The moment he could have dodged but didn’t. Her heart pounded.
“You’re lying,” she said again, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her.
Sasori’s chuckle was low and pleased, like a predator toying with its prey. “Believe what you want. But ask yourself—how did it feel, knowing you couldn’t win without Chiyo? That without her, you were out of your depth?”
The words stung more than she wanted to admit. “I’ve grown stronger since then. I don’t need anyone’s help anymore.”
“Oh, I know,” Sasori said, his voice shifting into a mocking sing-song. “You’re Konoha’s great medic-nin, a student of the legendary Tsunade. But tell me, how’s that strength working out for you when you’re sitting here, talking to a dead man?”
Sakura slammed the book shut, her chakra surging with irritation. Her hands trembled as she tried to focus on her breathing. He wasn’t wrong, and that infuriated her more than anything.
“Temper, temper,” Sasori chided, his tone light and sarcastic. “I can feel your frustration, you know. It’s almost cute.”
She glared at the book as if it were a living enemy. “What do you want from me?”
“For now, entertainment. You’re far more amusing than I expected. Your fire reminds me of that other apprentice—what was his name again? Ah, yes. Orochimaru.”
Sakura froze. Her heart skipped a beat as an icy dread crept up her spine. “How do you know about him?”
“Oh, come now,” Sasori said, his voice practically dripping with glee. “You were his guest not too long ago, weren’t you? I imagine that meeting was... tense.”
She felt her throat constrict. Memories of her undercover mission to infiltrate Orochimaru’s lair resurfaced unbidden—his snake-like grin, the oppressive atmosphere, the way her skin crawled under his gaze.
“How do you know about that?” she asked again, her voice tight.
“Let’s just say I have my ways,” Sasori replied cryptically. “Orochimaru and I were… colleagues of a sort. Though I always found him insufferably theatrical. All those serpents—compensating for something, perhaps? But tell me, how did it feel to be in his presence? Did he slither as much as I remember?”
Sakura’s stomach churned. “You’re disgusting.”
“Me? Disgusting?” Sasori laughed, the sound hollow and sharp. “I’m not the one who willingly walked into the lair of a maniacal snake. Tell me, Sakura, did you really think you were safe? Or did you simply hope your naivety wouldn’t get you killed?”
Her fists clenched, and she forced herself to calm down. Sasori’s goal was obvious—he wanted to rile her up, to make her doubt herself. But she wouldn’t let him.
“I wasn’t naïve,” she said firmly. “I had a mission to complete, and I succeeded.”
“Oh, of course,” Sasori said, feigning admiration. “You’re a true professional, aren’t you? Risking life and limb to infiltrate the lair of a lunatic. How noble. But tell me, Sakura, do you ever wonder how much of that encounter he planned? How many steps ahead he was, even as you thought you were in control?”
Sakura’s pulse quickened. The truth was, she had wondered. Orochimaru’s cryptic remarks, his knowing smirk—they haunted her even now.
“You don’t know anything about it,” she snapped, but her voice faltered.
“Oh, but I do. Orochimaru was always playing games within games. Do you think you were the only one observing him that day? He probably saw you as just another pawn in his schemes. And now look where you are—entangled with me. Quite the track record you’re building.”
Sakura felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, and anger flared in her chest. “I’m not a pawn,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I’m not entangled with you. You’re just a voice in a book, nothing more.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Sasori said smoothly. “But if I’m just a voice, why do I bother you so much? Why do you keep opening my pages? Admit it, Sakura—you’re curious. You want to know what I know. And deep down, you realize I’m right about one thing: you’d never have beaten me without my permission.”
Her nails dug into her palms as she struggled to maintain her composure. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” Sasori’s voice softened, almost teasing now. “You’re not so different from me. You’re a perfectionist, an artist in your own way. You crave mastery, control. And, whether you admit it or not, you’re drawn to my craft. Otherwise, you’d have burned this book already.”
Sakura didn’t respond, her mind spinning. She hated how much of his taunting felt true—hated the way his words wormed into the corners of her mind and took root.
“You’ll see,” Sasori said, his voice fading to a whisper. “Sooner or later, you’ll understand. We’re not so different, you and I.”
The room fell silent, save for Sakura’s uneven breathing. She stared at the sealed book, her thoughts a tangled mess. Despite her anger, her fear, and her determination to prove him wrong, one undeniable truth loomed in her mind.
She was curious. And that terrified her.