Chapter 15
Chapter 15: Strings of Conflict
The sun was setting over Konoha, bathing the village in hues of amber and gold. Sakura Haruno stood in the clearing of the training grounds, her fists clenched as she glared at the lifeless wooden puppet resting a few feet away. Her chakra threads dangled loosely from her fingertips, the faint glow of her control dissipating into the evening air.
“You’re holding back,” Sasori’s voice rang out in her mind, sharper than usual. “That puppet is useless without proper enhancements, and you know it.”
“I’m not turning it into a weapon,” Sakura snapped aloud, her voice carrying across the empty field. “I’ve told you that before.”
“You’re limiting yourself,” Sasori retorted, his tone biting. “Your strength is wasted on this. Puppets are meant to be instruments of power, not glorified training tools.”
Sakura bristled, pacing back and forth as her frustration bubbled to the surface. “I’m a medic-nin, Sasori. I save lives—I don’t take them.”
“And yet, you’ve killed before,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with condescension. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re above it. You’ve seen battle, Sakura. You know what it takes to survive.”
Her heart pounded, her hands trembling as she retracted her chakra threads and turned away from the puppet. “I don’t need weapons to be strong. My own hands are enough.”
“Ah, yes,” Sasori drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Your fists—brute force wielded with reckless abandon. Effective, but so... primitive. You could be so much more, Sakura. Yet you cling to these ideals, as though they’ll protect you from the reality of our world.”
Sakura’s breath hitched, her anger rising. “You don’t get to lecture me about ideals, Sasori. You gave yours up the moment you started turning people into puppets.”
“And yet here you are,” he countered, his voice soft and cutting, “learning from the very legacy you claim to despise. Tell me, Sakura, how long do you think you can straddle the line between who you were and who you’re becoming?”
She had no answer. Her emotions warred within her—anger, guilt, defiance. She hated how his words struck a chord, how they forced her to confront truths she wasn’t ready to face.
Before she could respond, the faint rustle of leaves behind her caught her attention. She turned sharply to see two masked ANBU emerging from the shadows, their movements silent and precise.
“Haruno-san,” one of them said, his voice muffled by his mask. “We have new information about the puppets from the border village.”
Sakura straightened, her frustration momentarily pushed aside. “What did you find?”
The ANBU stepped closer, handing her a sealed scroll. “Our investigation uncovered traces of chakra signatures in the remaining puppet fragments. The signature matches an individual associated with the Land of Earth—a rogue puppeteer who was expelled from Sunagakure years ago.”
“Expelled?” Sakura repeated, her brow furrowing as she took the scroll.
“His name is Shiroku,” the ANBU continued. “He was once an apprentice under one of Suna’s master craftsmen, but his methods were deemed too dangerous. He fled before he could be captured and hasn’t been seen since—until now.”
Sakura’s grip on the scroll tightened. “And you’re certain it’s him?”
“The chakra signature is a match,” the ANBU confirmed. “We also found fragments of notes embedded in the puppets’ cores—schematics and seals that bear his distinct style.”
“Where is he now?” she asked, her voice steady despite the unease growing in her chest.
“We’re not sure,” the ANBU admitted. “But we believe he’s operating out of a hidden workshop near the border of the Land of Earth. We’ve dispatched scouts to confirm.”
Sakura nodded, her mind racing. “Thank you. I’ll report this to the Hokage.”
The ANBU disappeared as swiftly as they had arrived, leaving Sakura alone once more.
As she walked back to her apartment, the weight of the new information pressed heavily on her. Shiroku’s name was unfamiliar to her, but the idea of a rogue puppeteer operating on such a scale was deeply unsettling. And Sasori, of course, had his own thoughts on the matter.
“Shiroku,” he said, his tone contemplative. “I remember him—a pathetic, overambitious fool. He lacked the discipline to become anything more than a second-rate imitator.”
“You knew him?” Sakura asked, her surprise breaking through her frustration.
“Briefly,” Sasori replied. “He sought to replicate my work but failed spectacularly. His techniques were crude, his puppets sloppy. He’s nothing more than a parasite, clinging to the scraps of what I created.”
“Then why is he so dangerous?” she pressed.
“Because desperation breeds recklessness,” Sasori said simply. “He has nothing to lose and everything to prove. That makes him unpredictable.”
Sakura’s chest tightened at the thought. “What do you think he wants?”
“To surpass me,” Sasori said, his voice laced with disdain. “To carve out a legacy of his own, even if it’s built on lies and stolen techniques. But he’ll fail, just as he always has.”
Sakura’s mind whirled as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She wanted to believe Sasori’s assessment, but she couldn’t ignore the devastation Shiroku had already caused. If he was willing to target entire villages to achieve his goals, who knew what he was capable of next?
That evening, as Sakura sat at her desk, the tension between her and Sasori finally came to a head. The scroll containing the ANBU’s findings lay open beside her, but her focus was on the puppet in front of her—her puppet, still bare of any weapons or enhancements.
“You can’t face him like this,” Sasori said, his voice sharp with irritation. “That puppet is a liability. It won’t protect you.”
“I told you, I’m not turning it into a weapon,” she said firmly, her hands gripping the edge of the desk.
“Then you’re a fool,” he snapped. “Shiroku won’t hesitate to kill you, Sakura. Do you think your ideals will shield you from his blades? From his poison?”
“I’ll find another way,” she insisted, though doubt crept into her voice.
“There is no other way!” Sasori barked, his voice echoing in her mind. “You think you can fight a master puppeteer with your fists alone? You’ll die, Sakura. And for what? To preserve some misguided sense of morality?”
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I’m not like you, Sasori. I don’t need to be like you to win.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Sasori’s voice returned, quieter but no less intense. “You’re more like me than you want to admit.”
The words struck her like a physical blow, and she turned away, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “I’m not doing this with you right now,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Very well,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “But when the time comes, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As the night wore on, Sakura worked in silence, her mind a battlefield of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She couldn’t deny the truth in Sasori’s words—Shiroku was a threat unlike any she had faced before. But the idea of fully embracing the techniques Sasori had taught her, of turning her puppet into a weapon of destruction, felt like a betrayal of everything she stood for.
And yet, as she stared at the puppet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing at a crossroads. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: she couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not with so much at stake.
Sakura closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Whatever came next, she would face it on her own terms. But as Sasori’s presence lingered in the back of her mind, she couldn’t ignore the shadow of doubt creeping in.
And she couldn’t ignore the quiet voice that whispered: What if he’s right?