Chapter 9
Chapter 9: Threads of the Unconscious
The rain fell steadily over Konoha, a soothing rhythm that blanketed the village in a muted gray haze. Water dripped from rooftops and trickled down stone paths, the cool air carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and blooming greenery. Sakura Haruno stared out of her apartment window, her fingers idly toying with a thread of chakra as it danced between her fingertips. Outside, the village carried on, the rain failing to deter its shinobi from their daily routines.
But inside her apartment, another routine had taken hold. Every night, Sakura practiced. Every night, she fell deeper into the world Sasori was teaching her.
And now, she was falling even deeper, even in her sleep.
It began subtly at first. Sasori's voice had always lingered on the edge of her thoughts, but now, in her dreams, his presence felt more substantial. The first time it happened, she had been dreaming of the hospital—mundane paperwork and patients filling her unconscious mind. But then, in the sterile dream-world, Sasori appeared.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he remarked, his form faint but recognizable. He wasn’t solid—more of a ghostly figure composed of shifting shadows and glowing lines. His scorpion insignia pulsed faintly on his chest, and his face held its usual condescending smirk.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, both startled and annoyed.
“I was wondering the same thing,” he said, studying their surroundings with a detached curiosity. “It seems our connection is... evolving.”
In the nights that followed, he appeared again and again. At first, he seemed more interested in understanding the strange phenomenon, but as he grew more comfortable in her unconscious world, his curiosity turned to exploration. He began asking questions—about her life, her work, her past. At first, Sakura resisted, but in the dream world, her defenses were weaker, and Sasori was nothing if not persistent.
One night, after hours of practicing with her puppet, Sakura fell into a restless sleep. The rain outside intensified, tapping against her windows like the patter of fingers. In her dreams, she stood in the middle of a vast, dark desert, the sand stretching endlessly under a starlit sky. Sasori stood beside her, his expression unreadable.
“Interesting setting,” he said, looking out at the dunes. “I take it this isn’t random.”
“It’s just a dream,” she replied. “Dreams don’t have to make sense.”
“Don’t they?” he countered. “Dreams often reveal more than we want them to.”
Before she could respond, the scene shifted. The desert melted into the village square, and Sakura realized with a sinking feeling what her subconscious was dragging her toward. Gaara stood a few feet away, his red hair glowing faintly under the moonlight. His green eyes were softer than she remembered, and he wore the faintest smile.
Sakura’s heart clenched. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about him—not fully—for months. But here, in her dreams, there was no escaping her feelings.
Sasori’s voice cut through the moment, low and sharp. “Ah. The Kazekage.”
“Don’t,” she warned, glaring at him.
But Sasori didn’t listen. He watched the scene unfold, his expression darkening as Gaara stepped closer to her dream-self. The warmth in the Kazekage’s eyes was unmistakable, as was the way Sakura looked at him—like she was drawn to him, despite everything.
“You still want him,” Sasori said, his voice cold.
“It’s none of your business,” she snapped, turning away from him.
“On the contrary,” he said, his tone growing sharper. “Everything about you is my business now. And this? This… attachment? It’s a liability.”
“It’s not a liability,” she said defensively. “And it’s not your concern.”
Sasori’s form flickered, his frustration palpable. “He’s a distraction, Sakura. Nothing more. You’re deluding yourself if you think otherwise.”
Her dream-self turned to face Gaara, and for a moment, the two seemed on the verge of speaking. But then the scene dissolved, and Sakura woke with a start, her heart pounding.
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the air crisp and cool as sunlight broke through the lingering clouds. Sakura stepped out into the village, hoping the fresh air would clear her mind. But her thoughts were heavy, and the events of the night lingered like a weight she couldn’t shake.
As she approached the training grounds to practice with her student puppet, a familiar figure appeared. Kakashi Hatake leaned casually against a tree, his silver hair catching the sunlight. His ever-present book was nowhere to be seen, and his visible eye held an uncharacteristic sharpness as it watched her approach.
“Kakashi-sensei,” she greeted, masking her unease.
“Sakura,” he said, pushing off the tree. “Mind if I join you?”
She hesitated. “I was just going to practice. Nothing exciting.”
“That’s fine,” he said with a smile, though his expression didn’t quite reach his eye. “I’ve heard you’ve taken up a... unique hobby.”
Sakura’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t told anyone about her puppetry practice—at least, not intentionally. But she should have known Kakashi would find out. He always did.
“I’ve been working on chakra control techniques,” she said carefully. “Puppetry helps with precision.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Puppetry. The art used by Sasori, the man who nearly killed you.”
Sakura flinched, but she quickly recovered. “It’s just a tool, Kakashi-sensei. It doesn’t define me.”
“Maybe not,” he said, his voice calm but probing. “But it’s unusual, don’t you think? You’ve always been practical, Sakura. Why would you choose something so… niche?”
“I told you,” she said, keeping her tone steady. “It improves my chakra control.”
Kakashi watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he gestured to her puppet. “Show me.”
She hesitated, but she knew refusing would only make him more suspicious. With a deep breath, she extended her chakra threads and began moving the puppet. It darted smoothly across the ground, its limbs moving with surprising fluidity for a beginner’s model. She manipulated it through a series of intricate movements, even incorporating basic defensive maneuvers.
When she finished, Kakashi’s expression had shifted to one of mild unease. “You’re good,” he said finally. “Too good for someone who just picked this up.”
“I’ve been practicing,” she said simply.
He didn’t respond, but she could feel his unease lingering as he turned to leave. “Be careful, Sakura,” he said over his shoulder. “This path you’re on… it’s not what I would have expected from you.”
As he disappeared into the trees, Sakura felt a pang of guilt. But as much as she respected Kakashi, he couldn’t understand what she was learning—or why she was learning it.
Later that evening, Sakura met Naruto and Ino for dinner at Yakiniku Q. The smell of sizzling meat filled the air, and the chatter of nearby tables created a lively backdrop. But as they ate, Sakura couldn’t ignore the way her friends kept glancing at her.
“You’ve been weird lately,” Naruto said bluntly, pointing a chopstick at her. “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” Sakura said, her tone firmer than she intended. “Just busy with work.”
“That’s not it,” Ino said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re… different. Quieter. And what’s this about you learning puppetry? Since when is that your thing?”
Sakura’s grip tightened on her glass. “It’s just a skill I’m learning. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s weird,” Naruto said, frowning. “You hate Sasori. Why would you want to learn something he was good at?”
“It’s not about Sasori,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “It’s about improving myself. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do as shinobi?”
Her outburst left both of them staring at her, their concern clear. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. Can we drop it?”
They exchanged a glance but didn’t press further. Yet the silence that followed was heavy, and Sakura couldn’t shake the feeling that her friends saw more than she wanted them to.
That night, as she returned home, Sasori’s voice greeted her, quiet and reflective.
“They’re worried about you,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, her voice weary.
“They don’t understand,” he continued. “They can’t. But I do.”
Sakura sat at her desk, staring at the book. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “You’re driven, Sakura. You seek mastery, not for recognition, but because it’s who you are. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you keep listening to me.”
She didn’t respond, but his words struck a chord she couldn’t deny. As much as she hated to admit it, Sasori understood her in ways no one else could. And that terrified her more than anything.