Chapter 8
Chapter 8: Strings of the Past
Sakura Haruno’s evenings had become a ritual she could no longer deny. By the time she returned home from the hospital, the pull of Sasori’s voice, the allure of the book, and the promise of knowledge were too tempting to resist. Each night, she dove deeper into his teachings, mastering chakra threads with increasing finesse. But tonight, as she extended a thread across her apartment and used it to lift a tea cup from her table, Sasori’s voice cut in, sharp and impatient.
“It’s time to stop playing with trivial objects, Sakura,” he said, his tone laced with irritation. “If you want to truly master puppeteering, you’ll need a real puppet.”
She sighed, the tea cup wobbling midair before falling back onto the table with a clink. “We’ve been over this. There are no puppets in Konoha, and I’m not about to commission one. It’s not exactly a popular art here.”
“Shortsighted,” Sasori muttered. “Typical of Konoha’s insular nature. Puppetry is more than an art—it’s a legacy. My legacy. And you won’t reach your potential until you take it seriously.”
Sakura leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her long pink hair. The thought of openly requesting a puppet was daunting. Puppeteering wasn’t just an obscure technique in Konoha; it was a skill associated almost exclusively with the shinobi of the Sand. And he was coming tomorrow.
The next morning, the Kazekage arrived in Konoha, his visit an official but casual one. Gaara’s presence always brought a sense of quiet awe; his stoic demeanor and piercing green eyes commanded respect wherever he went. Sakura hadn’t seen him in over a year, not since the… awkward end to their brief, fiery romance—a secret neither had ever spoken of again.
Standing in the Hokage’s office as Gaara exchanged pleasantries with Naruto, Sakura kept her posture rigid, her emotions carefully hidden. But when Gaara’s eyes briefly flicked to hers, something unspoken passed between them. It was a flicker, a memory, a connection buried under the weight of their duties.
“You’re staring,” Sasori’s voice drawled in her mind, startling her.
“Be quiet,” she thought fiercely.
“Ah, I see now,” he continued, his tone sly. “Interesting history, is there? How charmingly unprofessional of you, Haruno.”
Her lips tightened, and she forced herself to focus as Naruto outlined the itinerary for Gaara’s visit. The Kazekage remained as composed as ever, but Sakura noticed the faintest tension in his jaw when their eyes met again.
Later that evening, during a gathering in the village square, Sakura found herself standing near Gaara, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t want to examine. She wasn’t sure if it was the weight of their history or the fact that she was about to ask him for something outrageous.
“Gaara,” she said finally, her voice steady despite her nerves. “May I speak with you privately?”
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Of course.”
They walked a short distance away from the crowd, the buzz of conversation fading behind them. Gaara crossed his arms, his green eyes watching her intently. “What is it?”
Sakura hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve been studying chakra threads. Advanced chakra control, actually. And I… I want to take it further. But to do that, I need a puppet. A student puppet.”
Gaara blinked, the surprise breaking through his stoic facade. For a moment, he said nothing, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, then closing again.
“You want a puppet?” he asked, his voice low and measured.
“Yes,” Sakura said, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “Not a weaponized one. Just a basic model for practice. I thought perhaps I could purchase one from a crafter in your village.”
The silence stretched, and Sakura’s heart hammered in her chest. She saw the flicker of emotions in his eyes—confusion, curiosity, and something else she couldn’t name.
“You’re serious,” he said finally.
“I am.”
Gaara studied her, his gaze piercing but not unkind. “Why?”
Sakura hesitated, knowing she couldn’t reveal the truth. Instead, she said, “I’m expanding my skill set. Puppetry is a unique art, and it requires a level of chakra control that could improve my medical techniques.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression thoughtful. “This isn’t like you, Sakura.”
“I’m not the same person I was a year ago,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight she hadn’t intended.
Gaara’s eyes lingered on her, and she saw the faintest crack in his composure. Their history hung between them, unspoken but undeniable. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally.
“Thank you,” she replied, relief washing over her.
As he turned to leave, Sasori’s voice cut in, smug and knowing.
“Well, that was entertaining. He still carries a torch for you, doesn’t he?”
“Stop it,” Sakura hissed under her breath.
“Why should I? It’s fascinating, watching you navigate your tangled emotions. Tell me, did he look at you like that back when you were…” Sasori paused, his tone thick with amusement. “Involved?”
She felt her cheeks flush and bit back a sharp retort. “This isn’t your business.”
“On the contrary,” he said smoothly. “Everything you do is my business now.”
A week later, Sakura received a package from the Hidden Sand—a basic student puppet, lightweight and designed for beginners. It was unarmed, its wooden joints smooth and simple, its face featureless. As she unpacked it in her apartment, she felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
“Not bad,” Sasori said, his voice carrying a rare note of approval. “A good foundation. Though it’s a shame you had to grovel for it.”
“I didn’t grovel,” she muttered, adjusting the puppet’s joints.
“Of course not,” he replied with mock gravity. “You merely batted your eyelashes and hoped he wouldn’t say no. Very dignified.”
She ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. Extending a chakra thread, she attached it to the puppet’s arm and experimented with simple movements.
“Better,” Sasori said, his tone shifting to that of a teacher. “Now, link multiple joints simultaneously. The key is precision and coordination. Think of it as an extension of yourself.”
Sakura followed his instructions, her movements growing smoother with practice. Despite his constant jabs, Sasori’s guidance was invaluable, and she couldn’t deny the satisfaction of mastering a new skill under his tutelage.
As the hours passed, she felt a strange sense of accomplishment, her bond with the puppet—and with Sasori—deepening.
“You’re learning quickly,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I almost feel… proud.”
She paused, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected sentiment. “Proud? From you? I must be dreaming.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, his tone sharp again. “But you’re proving yourself more capable than I anticipated.”
Sakura allowed herself a small smile, her earlier frustrations fading. For all his arrogance, Sasori had become a strange and steady presence in her life—a mentor, a critic, and, perhaps, something more.
And as she worked late into the night, the puppet moving gracefully under her control, she realized she no longer resented his voice in her mind. Instead, she welcomed it.