Chapter 4
Chapter 4: A Thorn Among Roses
Morning sunlight filtered through Sakura Haruno’s apartment, painting the walls with golden hues. She had woken to the sound of birds chirping outside her window and, to her dismay, the faint, sarcastic drawl of Sasori in her mind. Though the book remained shut and locked in its box, his presence was becoming harder to ignore.
“Up so early?” Sasori quipped. “I imagined you as more of a late sleeper, given your penchant for overworking yourself.”
Sakura groaned and rubbed her temples as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Unlikely,” he replied smoothly. “You’re the one who brought me back, remember? Consider this your reward for curiosity.”
Ignoring him, she pulled her long pink hair over one shoulder, brushing out the tangles with practiced efficiency. As her fingers glided through the silken strands, she felt a prickle of annoyance as Sasori's voice cut in.
“Hmm,” he mused. “I must admit, I prefer your hair this length. It suits you better than that ridiculous bob you had when we first met. Very unflattering.”
Her hand froze mid-brush, irritation flaring in her chest. “Why would I care what you think about my hair?”
“You don’t,” he said lightly. “But I do find it fascinating. Cutting your hair back then was such a bold statement, wasn’t it? A symbol of defiance, of leaving your childish self behind. Yet here you are, letting it grow out again. What does that say about you, I wonder?”
“It says I’m not wasting chakra on haircuts,” she snapped, tying her hair into a high ponytail with more force than necessary. “Now stop psychoanalyzing me.”
Sasori chuckled, the sound faintly smug. “Touchy, aren’t we?”
She shook her head and pushed him to the back of her mind. She had a long day ahead—training, then dinner with friends—and she wasn’t going to let the ghost of a long-dead puppeteer ruin it.
Sakura stood in the middle of Training Ground Seven, the familiar clearing that held so many memories. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of grass and pine, as she focused her chakra into her fists. She struck the wooden training post with a thunderous blow, the impact splintering the wood and sending a satisfying shockwave through the ground.
“Impressive,” Sasori said, his voice as cool as ever. “If brute strength were art, you might rival me.”
“Do you have to comment on everything I do?” she muttered under her breath, landing a flurry of punches on the post.
“Of course. Someone has to provide feedback. And let’s be honest, your technique could use refinement. All that power, yet no grace.”
Sakura gritted her teeth and moved to the next post, channeling her irritation into a devastating upward strike that sent shards of wood flying. “Not everyone fights with strings and puppets.”
“True,” Sasori said smoothly. “But even a marionette can have elegance. Your style is… blunt, like a hammer. Effective, yes, but uninspired.”
She ignored him, switching to chakra control exercises. Balancing a single leaf on her fingertip with focused chakra, she tried to tune out his incessant commentary.
“Ah, back to the basics,” Sasori said, his tone dripping with condescension. “Didn’t you master this years ago? Or are you regressing?”
“I’m maintaining control,” she retorted, her focus faltering for a moment.
“Control is an illusion,” he replied. “True mastery lies in adaptation. But by all means, keep balancing leaves if it makes you feel accomplished.”
Her fingers twitched, and the leaf fluttered to the ground. She groaned and glared at the lockbox she had brought with her, now sitting at the base of a nearby tree. It was sealed, but its presence felt heavier with each passing hour.
By the time she met her friends for dinner, Sakura was exhausted—not from training, but from the constant tug of Sasori’s voice in her mind. She arrived at Yakiniku Q, where Naruto, Sai, and Ino were already seated around a table laden with sizzling meats.
“Sakura-chan!” Naruto called, waving her over. “You’re late!”
“Blame the training ground,” she said with a smile, sliding into the booth beside Ino. “Some things needed breaking.”
“Still smashing things like a caveman?” Ino teased, flipping a piece of meat on the grill. “You’ll never find a boyfriend with that attitude.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want one,” Sai said innocently, earning a glare from Ino.
Sakura laughed, grateful for the distraction. For a while, she managed to lose herself in their banter. But even as she listened to Naruto’s exaggerated stories and Sai’s blunt observations, Sasori’s voice crept in.
“Charming,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Dinner with friends. So… quaint.”
Her grip on her chopsticks tightened, and she forced herself to smile as Naruto poured her a drink.
“They’re good people,” she thought, trying to push him away.
“Are they? Or are they distractions?” Sasori mused. “Tell me, Sakura, how many of them would still sit with you if they knew you were talking to a dead man? If they knew you’d willingly brought me back into your life?”
She swallowed hard, her appetite fading. “You don’t know anything about them.”
“Don’t I?” he said, his voice soft and mocking. “Your little group thrives on appearances. Naruto, the ever-optimistic leader. Ino, the insecure extrovert. Sai, the awkward observer. And you, the glue that holds it together. How tiring it must be, pretending everything is fine.”
Her hand trembled, and she nearly dropped her chopsticks.
“Sakura?” Ino asked, her brow furrowing. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sakura said quickly, plastering on a smile. “Just tired from training.”
“Don’t overdo it,” Naruto said, shoving a plate of meat toward her. “You’re no good to us if you burn out!”
She nodded, forcing herself to eat. But Sasori’s voice lingered, his words sinking into her mind like poison.
Later that night, Sakura sat at her desk, the book once again in front of her. She hated how drawn she was to it, how its presence felt both oppressive and magnetic. Running her fingers over the cracked leather cover, she let out a shaky breath.
“Why do you keep doing this?” she asked aloud.
“Doing what?” Sasori replied, his tone light.
“Talking to me. Mocking me. What’s the point?”
He was silent for a moment before answering, his voice unusually thoughtful. “Because you’re interesting, Sakura. You remind me of someone I used to be.”
Her heart twisted, both at his words and the unsettling sincerity in his tone. “I’m nothing like you.”
“No?” he said, his voice soft but probing. “You seek mastery. You thrive on control. And yet, you’re surrounded by chaos. You’re an artist, Sakura, even if you don’t see it yet.”
“I’m a healer,” she said firmly.
“For now,” he replied. “But art takes many forms. And one day, you’ll realize that true art is eternal.”
Sakura clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She hated how his words made her doubt herself, how they unearthed truths she didn’t want to face.
“I don’t want your kind of legacy,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Then create your own,” Sasori said simply. “But don’t waste it on mediocrity.”
She stared at the book, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She hated him for invading her thoughts, for unraveling her carefully constructed world. But deep down, she feared he might be right.
And that terrified her more than anything.