Chapter 19
Chapter 19: The Puppet’s Legacy
The desert sun had already dipped below the horizon when Sakura, Naruto, and Kankuro arrived back in Suna. The village’s sandstone buildings glowed faintly under the moonlight, their edges softened by the night’s cool air. Despite the successful mission, a tense silence hung between them. Kankuro’s suspicion of Sakura’s puppet techniques hadn’t faded, and Sakura herself had grown increasingly withdrawn.
The only sound in Sakura’s mind was Sasori, his voice carrying a sharper edge than usual.
“Kankuro,” Sasori muttered, almost to himself. “That little thief.”
“What are you talking about now?” Sakura whispered under her breath, careful not to let Kankuro or Naruto overhear.
“He has something that belongs to me,” Sasori replied, his tone as cold as the desert wind. “My body.”
Sakura froze mid-step. “Your body? The puppet?”
“Yes,” Sasori said, his voice darkening with each word. “My masterpiece. My true form. He took it after I died. He had no right.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Sakura hissed quietly. “You were dead. What did you expect him to do? Leave it to collect dust?”
“Exactly,” Sasori snapped. “It wasn’t meant for his clumsy hands. It was meant for me. And I will have it back.”
Sakura’s chest tightened. She felt a creeping unease curl around her thoughts like a vice. Sasori’s possessiveness had always been unsettling, but this was something else—something darker.
Once they reached the Kazekage’s residence, Naruto and Kankuro retired for the night, their exhaustion from the mission evident in their heavy steps. Gaara had already informed them that they’d meet in the morning to debrief. Sakura entered her guest room, her body weary from the day’s events. The cool air of the room should have been soothing, but the tension thrumming through her made rest impossible.
“Sasori,” she said aloud, her voice low but firm. “You’re not doing anything rash.”
“And what if I am?” he replied, a faint chuckle weaving through her thoughts. “Do you intend to stop me?”
“Yes,” she said sharply. “Whatever you’re planning, it ends here.”
“You really believe that?” he asked, his tone softening into something almost pitying. “You’ve let me this far in, Sakura. Do you think you can push me out now?”
She clenched her fists, anger surging. “This isn’t your world anymore, Sasori. You don’t get to take it back.”
“Perhaps not all of it,” he murmured. “But I’ll reclaim what’s mine.”
Before she could respond, an overwhelming wave of chakra surged through her. It was suffocating, invasive, and all-consuming. Her vision blurred as her body betrayed her, moving not by her will but by his.
“Sasori, stop—” she managed to whisper before everything went dark.
The Search for the Puppet
Sakura woke—or rather, felt herself—walking through the dimly lit corridors of the Kazekage’s residence. But it wasn’t her consciousness guiding her steps. Her hands moved without her command, her body gliding silently through the halls like a shadow.
“Sasori,” she hissed in her mind, her voice trembling with both fear and rage. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied, his tone eerily calm. “I’m reclaiming what’s mine.”
“Stop this!” she demanded, struggling against the invisible bonds that held her mind captive. But it was no use. Sasori’s control was absolute.
“Relax, Sakura,” he said, his voice soft and condescending. “You’ll thank me when this is over.”
Her body moved with a fluidity she didn’t recognize, her footsteps silent as she navigated the winding hallways. Sasori’s knowledge of Suna’s layout was unnervingly precise, guiding her to the storage area where Kankuro kept his collection of puppets.
The room was dark, the faint smell of wood polish and old fabric hanging in the air. Shelves lined the walls, each one meticulously organized with scrolls and puppet parts. In the center of the room stood a series of sealed cabinets, their contents carefully locked away.
“There,” Sasori said, his tone laced with anticipation. “It’s in one of those.”
Sakura’s hand reached for a scroll strapped to her hip, summoning her own puppet to slice through the lock on the nearest cabinet. The metal fell away with a soft clink, and the door creaked open to reveal a row of puppets, their lifeless forms illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the high windows.
Sasori moved her forward, her fingers trailing over the wooden frames until they stopped on one in particular. It was larger than the others, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light. The intricate details of its craftsmanship were unmistakable: this was no ordinary puppet.
“This,” Sasori said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. “This is me.”
The Weight of the Past
Sakura’s mind reeled as she stared at the puppet through her own unwilling eyes. She remembered it vividly from their battle years ago—its mechanical precision, its hidden weapons, its aura of cold, calculated destruction.
“You can’t do this,” she said, her voice trembling. “You can’t take it back.”
“Can’t I?” Sasori replied, his tone almost gentle. “This puppet was meant to be my eternity. My legacy. And now, with your help, it will be again.”
“Help?” she spat, her anger flaring. “I’d never help you!”
“Your body says otherwise,” he quipped, his smirk almost audible. “And your chakra threads—they’re the perfect medium.”
“No,” she said firmly, summoning every ounce of her willpower to push against his control. “I won’t let you use me.”
For a moment, her vision blurred, and she felt her hands falter. But Sasori’s grip on her mind tightened, his voice hardening.
“You’re not strong enough to stop me, Sakura,” he said coldly. “Not yet.”
Her body moved to lift the puppet, its weight surprisingly light in her hands. Sasori’s excitement was palpable, his voice humming with satisfaction.
“This is just the beginning,” he murmured. “With this body, I’ll regain my place in this world. And with you... well, we’ll create something extraordinary.”
A Desperate Resistance
As Sasori prepared to leave the storage room, Sakura summoned a surge of willpower, her mind straining against his control. “I won’t let you do this,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”
To her surprise, her vision cleared momentarily, and her hand dropped the puppet. It clattered to the floor, the sound echoing through the room.
“Sakura!” Sasori barked, his voice filled with irritation. “Stop fighting me!”
“No,” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. “This ends now.”
With a final burst of strength, she severed the connection between her chakra threads and the puppet. The backlash sent her reeling, and she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as her body finally became her own again.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of her ragged breathing. Then Sasori’s voice returned, quieter now but no less menacing.
“You’re stronger than I thought,” he said, his tone almost admiring. “But this isn’t over, Sakura. Not by a long shot.”
She sat there for a long time, staring at the lifeless puppet in front of her. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear and determination warring within her. Sasori’s control had been terrifyingly complete, and the implications of what he could do—what he might become—left her shaken to the core.
But one thing was clear: she couldn’t afford to let her guard down again. Not with Sasori lurking in the shadows of her mind, waiting for his next move.
And she had no doubt he would strike again.