The leaves have fallen from the trees, which makes her escape from the house louder and less discreet. She shoots one last look over her shoulder at the house she loves so much.
It's not the end. She'll be back, just like him.
It's scary to imagine what Mama's reaction will be once she learns that her beloved daughter has run away while she was still at home folding laundry.
She's relieved she's not going to be here to see it.
Her feet carry her quickly in the direction of the gates, the wind hitting her face. There, as he's talking to a guard, she sees him. Her Papa draped in his dark long cloak.
She licks her lips nervously when he looks past the guard, his eye widening.
"You shouldn't be here," he says coldly, as if he did not give her the warmest embrace a moment ago.
"Papa," she says quietly, her bravado quickly crumbling down as his one-eyed gaze pierces through her and chills her to the bone, "I want to come with you."
"Go home, Sarada."
Her hands ball into fists at either side of her thighs. What is he going to do? Force her back home? She doesn't believe even someone as strong as Papa can do that.
He takes one step towards her.
"W-why?" she asks him, sniffing as the tears threaten to come out, "Why can't I come with you?"
"You're too young," he tells her, and, after raising his voice that usually leaves no room for discussion, adds, "Go home."
*
The desire to go with him doesn't disappear, not even two years later. Her mother is reading the new edition of Trendy Kunoichi Magazine and applying fresh nail polish when she first brings it up.
"Papa won't let me go with him."
"Go where?" her mother asks, and hums as she frowns at something on the stupid magazine.
"Wherever he's going when he's not with us," she says, stabbing at her rice with her chopsticks.
Her mother eventually looks up from her magazine. "Oh."
The green liquid drips onto the table. "I wouldn't let you go with him, either. It's too dangerous."
"You told me Papa was the strongest shinobi in the world."
"I did say that," she huffs, and for some reason—blushes, "But even the strongest man is weak when the one he loves is in danger."
"Pff… Like that'll ever happen."
"It already has," her mother says, leaving that sentence hanging in a way that is unintentionally enigmatic. The magazine remains open as she stands up and blows on her nails.
"Shannaro! They really sell the cheapest things these days."
Sarada stares at her cold breakfast, and sighs.
*
She comes home not later than a week after and finds her father lying down on their couch, hand curled possessively around his sword.
"You could rest in Mama's-I mean, in your room, you know. The couch can't be good for your back."
"Sakura's not here," he says, and pushes himself up to sit up on the couch.
She's confused.
"...And?" Even if her mother does use the room more often, the room is theirs.
"And it's not right if she's not here," he says, and yawns, "How was your day?"
That revelation confuses her even more. But this is her father's effect. It's strange to adapt between a parent who wears her emotions on her sleeve and another who leaves you with more interrogations than answers. Well, she still has decades to try to figure him out.
"Good. I finished my mission early so I spent the rest of the afternoon with Mirai," she grins.
"Who?"
It's sometimes hard to believe her father was born in this village.
"Nevermind," she plops down on the cushions next to him, "So... Mama isn't around?"
"She's not." He looks pained by that.
She holds her breath, not believing her chance. The moments she was left at home alone with her father had been… rare to say the least.
"She said something the other day… about… "strong men being weak for the ones they love" or something like that…"
Her father's purple eye is unveiled as he stares at her, waiting for her to go on.
"...She said that when the one they love is in danger, they become weak," she mumbles, "I guess that's what she meant."
"She's right," he responds instantly.
She groans. "I knew you'd say that."
"I don't understand. What do you expect me to say?"
Her gaze lands on the framed picture of her grandparents posing with her teenage mother. The frame is a little dusty.
"She said that was the reason you wouldn't take me with you," she admits without looking at him.
He doesn't respond right away, pondering his answer.
"I have many enemies. If something happened to you on my watch, I…"
It's the first time she's heard about those enemies. There had been Shin, but she never heard from him or the clones again after he had been dealt with.
"But you traveled with Mama. And I was born outside of the village…"
"Your mother was stubborn," he reveals, "She was determined to go with me no matter what I said. She refused to go back to the village when she was pregnant with you."
He stands up.
"There will come a time when I take you with me. Until then, stay here. Where you are safe."
He never lets her have the last word.
*
That time comes less than a year later. She wakes up to whispering voices and the sound of the floor creaking.
Papa came home last night!
She rubs the sleep off her eyes and slips out of her room, searching for the source of the voices.
"She's still young. Give her some time," she can hear her mother whisper.
"It's only a matter of time before she hears a distorted truth from the villagers. She needs to know."
It's her father's voice. Authority so thick in his voice that her mother immediately grows quiet.
"She won't like what you have to say," she says after some time.
There's no response from him, because he turns to her.
"Sarada. Get dressed."
She nods. "A-are we going to train?"
"I'll wait for you outside."
Sarada looks at his retreating figure, and then at Mama.
"Your father has something to show you," she's flattening the hem of her apron over and over, visibly uneasy.
What is it that makes her Mama so worried?
Papa is by himself outside. If she doesn't hurry, he'll leave her again and she'll never know.
She dresses and grabs a bite. She ignores the concerned look on her mother's face as she runs out of their home and rushes to where her Papa is sitting on the engawa.
"Sakura worries too much," he muses out loud, his eye scanning the expanse of their large garden where their osmanthus have recently bloomed, "We'll be back before she knows it."
How funny that he'd say that. He's never home for more than a few days.
The long cloak of her father makes a rustling sound. He's standing up, his purple bag swinging on his hip.
She understands that he's waiting for her. He wants her to walk by his side.
She's actually never had the chance to do just that.
"I'm ready," she tells him, a little jittery.
"Are you?" He studies her face. She's seen that thoughtful look on the face of her handsome father many times, and doubt as well. Though not as often.
"You are," he confirms.
The surge of comfort that surges through her is unlike anything she's ever felt. She almost catches herself reaching for his hand, but it's not the time. They're not going on errands in the village. They're doing something else.
As they travel away from home, she asks:
"Are we going on your mission?"
She didn't eat breakfast, and her uniform is light. She hasn't said goodbye to Mama.
Besides, it's morning. Papa rarely leaves in the mornings.
"We're paying a visit to someone dear to me," he says in one breath.
She knows the people dear to Papa: Mama, Uncle Naruto, and, though he would never admit it—Uncle Kakashi is included. She knows this because she heard Mama tease him about it.
Not another word is spoken until her father's pace slows down. They reach a place where a tower half covered in grass rises above them.
There's something regal about this place, but also macabre.
"Come."
Her father walks her through steps and slippery rocks. Then—engraved on the stone, she sees it.
The Uchiha symbol. She often wondered why he rarely wore the symbol Mama wore proudly on her back.
"This is where my brother rests," he declares solemnly, not even looking at her.
Brother? Uncle. She's never heard of him. Not even once from Mama's mouth.
She looks down at the foundation that was improvised as her uncle's grave. Hard to tell a body rests underneath.
"What happened to him?" she wants her father to look at her, but he's staring at the sigil.
"He died."
She knows this. It's not what she meant.
She feels sorry for the poor man. Sorry for never meeting him, for being able to honour his memory. She stays silent.
She reads on the grave the name that belonged to her father's beloved brother.
Uchiha Itachi
She looks to the right.
Uchiha Mikoto
Uchiha Fugaku
Her mouth becomes dry. A strange feeling of unease makes her lose her balance, her sandals slipping on the polished stones.
Her father's hand steadies her.
Who are they, she wants to ask. Why are we here, why did Uncle die.
She stays frozen in place.
Papa's hand moves to rest on her shoulder.
"Itachi. This is my daughter," he tells the grave, "Her name is Sarada."
Sarada should say something. Because obviously, Papa is talking at it. Like it's alive. Like he has known the man in the past. And Sarada supposes he did, since he's her uncle.
Then why has she never heard of him before?
"Papa?"
Her father tears his gaze away from the grave to look at her.
Her heart skips a beat as she recognises the look of utter defeat on his face.
She wants to go home.
"That was fast," Mama comments as they both take turns removing their sandals.
She's drying a glass with the corner of her apron, not really looking at her. She's giving her father that silent look that only he knows the meaning of.
It doesn't really matter to her. She wants to lay down on her bed and forget this happened.
She sneaks a peek at Papa. He's struggling to open the clasp of his cloak.
Mama helps him, flinging his cloak over her forearm.
"I'll take a nap," his sword is placed against the cabinet in the living room.
"Now?" her Mama asks, "It's nine in the morning."
They exchange another look, and Papa's footsteps are light as he heads towards their bedroom.
She's never seen Mama ever question Papa, but her agitation betrays her thoughts. She sits at the kitchen table, hurting her fingers by attempting to peel vegetables.
"Mama."
Mama looks at her, as serious as ever. "Come sit, Sarada."
"What happened to Uncle?" she asks her, tears welling her eyes.
Her mother lightly sets down the knife. "Your uncle made a sacrifice to save your father."
"Did he?" she's crying freely. It's a feeling she can't describe. She's crying over Papa's brother, a man she has never known.
"Your father loved him very much," Mama says softly. Unlike Papa, Mama never tries to stop her from crying. The tone of her voice is gentle as she looks through the window of their kitchen, looking at something far away.
"But…what happened? Why did he have to die? Why was Papa in danger?"
She wants to ask about the other names on the grave.
Her mother taps on her forehead with two fingers. "This is a story for another time."
Her hand touches her forehead as she looks at her mother. Unaffected, she stands up and occupies herself with cleaning the table.
She knows she shouldn't be going there, but Sarada walks away from the kitchen, and heads for the second door on the right to the stairs.
The door is not closed. She steps inside the room, and the answer she seeks is still far away, because the rare sight of her Papa lying on the bed greets her. His eyes are closed, he lays there, still wearing his black shirt instead of the dark blue sleeping attire Mama bought for him.
She thinks, with a smile on her face, that there's still time to discover Papa's secret.