In the final days before the exam, Kakashi-sensei decided to train only Sasuke. He hinted to Sarada that the cliffs no longer awaited her and advised visiting the hospital for treatment. Sarada was offended, though she understood the Rokudaime was right. It was Sasuke who had to fight Gaara, not her. Sarada mentally justified sensei and calmed down. After all, the Sixth had given her so much. She'd greatly improved her taijutsu and learned a new, highly destructive technique—the state of their training ground proved it: she and Dad had pulverized the rocks.
Sarada trudged to the hospital, examining her left hand. From frequent attempts to perfect Chidori, the skin was peeling and stinging a bit; seeing the medics was still worth it. The bruises on her right hand had mostly faded, but new ones from Sasuke had appeared.
A friendly medic girl examined Sarada's hand, smeared it with pungent ointment, and rebandaged it. Leaving the doctor's office, Sarada ran into Sakura.
"Oh, Sarada? Haven't seen you in ages. What happened to your hand?"
"Training."
Sakura nodded meaningfully.
"And you?"
"Visiting Lee-san."
"How is he?"
Sakura sadly shook her head.
Sarada's chest went cold. Lee-san had been so badly hurt in his match with Gaara, and in a few days Sasuke would face him. The examiner might stop the fight if needed, but the future Kazekage could still maim Dad irreparably. Disability was hardly the best outcome. If Sasuke ended bedridden like Lee-san, he'd go nuts.
Sakura smiled faintly and suddenly remembered:
"By the way, Naruto's on the second floor. Wonder what's up with him? His main matches are in a few days too."
"Naruto?"
Just a couple days ago, that weird incident happened when the Nanadaime hugged her out of nowhere, then fled mumbling about training, and Sarada still didn't get what it was.
In three weeks of intense training with Kakashi-sensei, the Nanadaime's image had faded, and just as Sarada had calmed her future paranoia, Naruto popped up again—and how! In one swoop destroyed all her efforts to forget him, and now he'd landed in the hospital, the fool.
"Which room?"
Sakura told her. Sarada said goodbye and went to the second floor. She slid open the door, entered the spacious room divided by curtains into sections, and found sleeping Naruto on one bed, with Shikamaru beside him. The future Hokage advisor sat on a stool playing shogi against himself.
"Hi," Sarada said.
Nara looked up from the game, puzzled.
"Hi. Uh... you're Sasuke's sister?"
"Mm. Yes."
Simplest that way. No need for explanations? Stepsister or not; blood or not.
"And you're Nara Shikamaru. Right?"
"Yeah, yeah. Uchiha Sarada, I think we met once long ago."
He scratched his forehead, as if recalling.
Huh, he remembered. She'd spoken to him only once. What a memory for faces.
"There's another stool under the bed," Shikamaru prompted.
Sarada pulled out the spare stool and sat.
Shikamaru's presence was surprisingly calming, like he'd infected her with his unflappable laziness the moment she met his eyes. Talking to him felt like slipping back into familiar times. No tension, worry, paranoia.
In the future, Shikamaru was a bit different: adult man with a goatee, wearing a stylish light cloak with short sleeves, often smoking and flicking his lighter to occupy his hands. He always smelled of cigarette smoke, so strong it tickled Sarada's throat whenever he got close. She'd never paid him special attention. Shikamaru-san was Shikadai's father, respected advisor. But she was endlessly grateful for that time he intervened and let her deliver bento to the Nanadaime rushing to meet her dad.
This scene—sleeping Naruto and Shikamaru guarding his sleep—was a prototype of their future dynamic: Hokage and his shadow.
"What's with him?"
"Beats me. He's been out cold two days now."
"'Out cold'? He's really okay?"
Shikamaru shrugged, turned, and eyed Naruto doubtfully.
"Hm, who knows. Maybe he croaked."
Sarada glanced warily at the future advisor, stood, and approached the Nanadaime's bed. He slept with mouth slightly open. His face paled from sleep but looked so serene that Sarada melted. For once, seeing Naruto flooded her heart with warmth and tenderness instead of panic. Sarada reached for his neck peeking from the blanket and felt his pulse with her finger. Naruto didn't wake.
"Well?" Shikamaru asked curiously.
"Alive."
Sarada exhaled in relief and sat back down.
"He's really okay? Will he wake before the main matches?"
"Mendokusee, how should I know?"
Shikamaru scratched his back and stared thoughtfully at the board.
"You play shogi?"
Sarada shook her head.
"I know the rules, but playing..."
"What, try it."
Play shogi with Konoha's top strategist? Pointless.
Sarada hesitated.
"I'll lose anyway."
"Surrendering without starting?"
Did his voice hold a hint of reproach?
Itachi had always taught her a shinobi must be equally sharp in mind and body. Memories of Uncle brought fear and regret, but his advice still guided Sarada on the ninja path.
"No, I won't surrender. Let's go."
****
Staying home was unbearable. She was going mad. Every free minute tormented her with thoughts: Dad's fight with Gaara and the Kazekage's demonic nature; strange dreams, feelings for Naruto; the future more threatened than ever... But she'd thought all that before, and now, on the eve of the Chunin exam third stage, conscience gnawed with another. If memory served, this year, this exam—Orochimaru was supposed to attack the village.
Sarada wasn't particularly afraid of Orochimaru. She'd met him in the future. The former Leaf renegade was unusual, cloyingly sweet, feminine, and by his gaze, very cunning and sly. From such a superficial acquaintance, grasping Orochimaru's true nature was impossible. Sarada suspected that behind the pale handsome face and honeyed politeness, the sannin hid cruelty, ruthlessness, treachery... A good person wouldn't attack their home village or kill their teacher. Even so, Orochimaru paled next to Itachi and that orange-masked stranger. She feared them far more.
Anxiety... Sense of looming threat... But worst wasn't fear of coming war, but knowing all and staying silent, telling even Shisui nothing.
On the other hand, Shisui knew who she was, had heard her speak of the Fourth War, yet never once asked about the future. Well, once—about Mom... But that's it.
Training had distracted her from cursed thoughts before, but now no one to train with, and Sarada sought any distraction. So next day, she headed back to the hospital.
Naruto still hadn't woken. As she'd learned, Shikamaru was also in the third stage, so seeing him again on the stool by Naruto's bed surprised her. Nothing had changed since yesterday. Same bright room, Nanadaime's straw mop, Shikamaru, shogi, and hourglass on the nightstand.
"Shikamaru, why aren't you prepping for the matches?" Sarada wondered.
He glanced at her sidelong.
"Rest is part of training too."
And stared back at the board. Sarada sat on her stool.
"Truth is, no one to train with," Shikamaru confessed. "Choji overate meat and crashed. Mendokusee... So troublesome cleaning this up. Better if I'd lost in prelims."
He stopped the game and reset the board for two players. Sarada puzzled why Shikamaru bothered with her if he beat her in a few moves.
Her brain boiled from intense thinking; she tried anticipating moves but got confused, stalled, played randomly as time pressed. Nara explained his calculations, her mistakes after each game, and it was interesting just to hear his reasoning.
By midday, the blanket stirred. The Nanadaime shifted, mumbled, and sleepily looked around.
"Yo. Finally awake," Shikamaru smirked.
What joy.
She had no idea how to talk to Naruto after that weird incident, but Shikamaru's presence gave confidence and calmed her, as he led the talk.
"Where am I?" Naruto mumbled.
"Hospital. You've been dead to the world three days, bro."
"Three days..."
He lay gazing sleepily at Shikamaru. Then yelled:
"Three days?!"
Naruto flung off the blanket, jumped to his feet on the bed in just underwear and T-shirt, and wildly scanned his visitors.
"Y-you, wh-what?" Shikamaru stammered.
"Ah, Shikamaru, Sarada nee-chan! When are the main matches, dattebayo?!"
"T-tomorrow..."
"Wha-at?!" Naruto screeched piercingly.
Sarada covered her ears. No, definitely, his personality hadn't changed in six years. Same loud voice, ocean of energy.
When I thought he was calmer than Boruto, I was way off. Boruto's got nothing on him.
Naruto knelt on the bed, yanked Shikamaru by the clothes, and yelled in his face:
"You didn't wake me on purpose, huh?! No time to laze here, ttebayo! Where's the pervert? Where's the hermit-pervert, dattebayo?! We still gotta train!"
Poor Shikamaru.
She was shocked.
"Huh?" Nara blurted. "What the hell are you on about? Suddenly busted loose!"
Naruto let him go and rummaged his bed.
"Clothes gone, ttebayo! Where? Where-where-where?!"
The pillow flew off the bed. Naruto stood on all fours, butt toward Sarada and Shikamaru in baggy undies. Shikamaru clutched his head. Veins bulged on his forehead from stress.
"Damn, out cold a minute ago, now trashing the place."
He glared disapprovingly at Sarada, then Naruto's rear, and yelled:
"Settle down! Girl here, idiot! You're in undies like... And babbling about perverts!"
Naruto froze, butt still out. Five seconds for his friend's words to sink in. He spun, yanked the blanket to his neck, and darted panicked eyes between Shikamaru and Sarada.
The lazy strategist exhaled:
"Listen up. Panicking the day before matches is pointless!"
Loud gurgling came from under the blanket.
"What's with you?" Shikamaru asked again, seeing Naruto ignore him.
"I'm hungry."
Nara slapped his forehead and softened a bit.
"You'll drive me nuts. Mm. By the way," he leaned and pulled a fruit basket from under the bed. "Choji brought it, but doc banned him, so split three ways?"
"Yes-yes, let's!"
Shikamaru raised to toss Naruto an apple, but Sarada's fingers clamped his wrist like iron.
"What?" he wondered.
"Washed?"
"Uh..."
"Then wash it."
Her glasses glinted menacingly in the hospital light. Shikamaru sighed and relaxed his hand.
"Mendokusee."
He went to the sink across the room. Then lobbed the wet apple to Naruto.
"Hey, Sarada, toss a couple more. Wash yours too," Shikamaru grumbled indulgently and deftly caught the fruits midair.
"Thanks, dattebayo!"
Naruto wiped the apple on his shirt and crunched into it. Sarada just shook her head. The Seventh acted like nothing happened. As if that encounter a couple days ago never was.
Starving Naruto stuffed his face with fruit; Sarada and Shikamaru, finishing their apples, tried ending their shogi game, but the Nanadaime's yells distracted too much.
"Damn-damn, where'd the hermit-pervert go?" he whined to himself. "Three days... Three days, dattebayo! That's how it is. Abandoned me."
Shikamaru rolled his eyes.
"Pervert again. Mendokusee... Get what he's on about?"
Sarada shook her head and asked:
"What do you mean, Naruto?"
She addressed him directly for the first time. Naruto stared with blue eyes and blinked rapidly.
"The hermit-pervert. Promised to train me, ttebayo!"
He hugged his belly and squinted resentfully.
"At least something cleared up," Shikamaru muttered and moved.
Sarada propped her cheek on her hand, eyeing the board pieces, pondering how to save her bishop from the trap.
"Still, where's my clothes?"
Naruto crawled from under the blanket, utterly unashamed before Sarada. Parading underwear before a girl bothered only Shikamaru, not the future Hokage.
Soon a doctor peeked at the yells and declared no discharge without checkup. Naruto started yelling at the doc, but the medic was firm.
Shikamaru and Sarada finished their game, visited Choji—who despite bans munched away—sat with him, and returned to Naruto's room. He wasn't back from checkup yet, and until evening they could play shogi in peace.
"Not fun with me," Sarada said, conceding another game. "How do you still put up with me?"
She raked fingers through her hair. Head boiling.
"Even less fun alone," Shikamaru replied lazily, resetting pieces. "No one else. Asuma and Dad busy; Naruto and Choji... You saw."
True, imagining Naruto sitting hours over a board was impossible. He'd last thirty seconds tops.
Sunset glowed through hospital windows.
"Yess!"
Naruto burst in triumphantly, shaking his orange outfit finally issued post-checkup.
"Now home time!"
Naruto tossed clothes on the bed and pulled on pants. Shikamaru covered his eyes and massaged eyelids wearily.
"By the way, why're you still here?" the Nanadaime wondered.
He was flattered by friends' attention but sought the catch.
"Why are we still here?" Sarada thought. "Probably nowhere else to go. Kicked from training, Shisui vanished. Shikamaru... probably same, doesn't wanna stay home. All anxious before tomorrow, but together—you don't think about it."
"Get dressed already," Shikamaru grumbled and packed pieces.
Leaving hospital, they dropped by Choji, left him a whole pineapple— he'd eat anything, bans be damned.
Outside was nice. Evening cool with dusk, lanterns and festival strings lit, distant music played.
"Hey-hey, Shikamaru. Ready for your match?" Naruto asked.
He strode left of Sarada, hands locked behind head.
"Mendokusee... Why bring it up? Time will tell."
They walked silently, avoiding festival streets.
"And you ready, Naruto?" Sarada ventured.
Naruto dropped hands to pockets.
"Dunno," he admitted, looking away. "Got stronger, but not sure... not sure tomorrow'll go well. Neji after all..."
"Main thing, don't think now," Shikamaru advised. "Clear your head, my advice. Thoughts won't help. Just psych yourself out and sleep bad."
He scratched temple and added:
"Though you've slept a week ahead these days."
Unnoticed, they reached Naruto's house.
"See ya tomorrow," Shikamaru offered fist.
"Yeah."
Nanadaime absently bumped it and looked lost into Sarada's eyes, like not expecting the walk to end so soon. He clearly wanted to tell her something but held back with Shikamaru there.
"And you... where to?"
"Walking Sarada."
"Right... Uh, but I could come too."
"Idiot, we got you home," Shikamaru said boredly. "Gonna loop the village? Rest—you got a tough day tomorrow."
"You too."
"I've got one more little errand. Mendokuse, quit yapping already. Get going.
Naruto shuffled uncertainly toward his house, glancing back over his shoulder.
Shikamaru adjusted the board under his arm and walked away unhurriedly. His gallantry made Sarada feel a bit awkward. Few boys made her so acutely remember that she wasn't just a genin of the Leaf, but also a girl. The last one, oddly enough, had been Michi.
Had he died that night too? Most likely. If only Dad and Shisui survived...
But Michi had courted her persistently and clearly with selfish intentions, while Shikamaru did it automatically, without any romantic plans. It felt nice. And at the moment Naruto left them, the invisible steel hoops squeezing her head snapped. She was once again enveloped in that lazy calm, which the future Seventh Hokage had previously suppressed with his frantic energy.
"Shall we take the main street?" Shikamaru suggested. "I want to stop somewhere."
"That 'little errand' of yours?" Sarada realized.
"You could say that. Need to see my dad. Didn't tell Naruto so as not to upset him extra. He's an orphan, after all."
Sarada felt a pang of conscience. Fearing for Boruto's life, she'd left Naruto alone with himself. Fear kept her from talking to the Nanadaime, and yet she was drawn to him—that's why she'd come to the hospital. If this had been six years ago, she'd have said goodbye to Shikamaru and stayed with Naruto to support him before the decisive battles. But now... she couldn't. And she didn't know if she was doing the right thing or not?
The main streets were so noisy, it was as if the restless Uzumaki had dropped on their heads again. Shikamaru readjusted the slipping board and peered into one of the dives.
"Hey, commander!..." a loud voice called out.
Sarada cautiously stepped inside behind Shikamaru. The rich smell of booze and fried meat hit her nose. Three adult men sat at the counter.
"O-oh, reinforcements! Come on over, we'll order you something," exclaimed a large round-faced man with a shaggy mane of red hair.
Sarada felt awkward. She already regretted coming in.
Next to the fat guy stood his buddy with long light hair tied in a high ponytail. He stared hypnotized at the table, ignoring the newcomers. But the one closer to the exit turned to them. He had the same hairstyle as Shikamaru and Shikadai, and two deep scars crossed the right half of his face.
Shikamaru scratched the back of his head, sighed tiredly, and approached the counter.
"Dad... Time to head home, yeah?"
The tipsy man froze with a square cup in his hands and squinted.
"Whaaat? What's the hassle, why aren't you having fun at the festival?"
Shikamaru clicked his tongue.
"Mendokuse... Why would I want your festival?"
The man craned his neck, making his vest of matted fur shift a bit, and looked at Sarada, who stood awkwardly huddled by the door.
"Oh, Shikamaru, your girlfriend?"
Sarada blushed. Shikamaru grew noticeably nervous.
"Dad, cut it out. Let's go home."
"And where's your youth, Shikamaru-kun?" the fat guy chimed in cheerfully. "Relax, have fun, you've got such a lovely companion. Leave the old man be."
"Mendokuse..."
"Baka..." Shikamaru's father exhaled in a thick raspy bass and downed the square cup in one gulp. "In our day at your age... The big fights were like holidays for us."
"Yeah, but tomorrow they're on me. What a pain in the ass. Cut it out, Dad, I don't wanna drag your sorry butt home."
Shikamaru's father set down the cup and stared drunkenly at his son for a long time. Finally, he gathered his thoughts and said:
"And you... you're participating or what?"
Shikamaru tensed but then exhaled, shook his head, and shuffled out of the dive. Sarada nodded timidly and followed him. After the booze and stale air, a breath of fresh air was incredibly pleasant. Those men she'd seen at the counter were clearly the grandpas of her classmates from Ino-Shika-Cho. Men... Brutish and drunk. They had their own "manly" atmosphere, and Shikamaru's father's indifference to his own son shook Sarada to her core.
Her dad was different. She couldn't imagine a father who would get blackout drunk on the eve of her decisive battles and make her drag his unconscious body home. He didn't care about her, but he was always off on missions, while Shikamaru's dad was right there in the village. Couldn't he have found out in that month that his son was in the main exam fights for chunin?
"Sorry," Shikamaru said strainedly. "Didn't want to drag you into this. Just had to hint I'd come get him soon."
"It's okay..." Sarada muttered.
****
Shisui stirred the meat and vegetables in the pan with a spatula, humming some tune under his breath. Sarada and Sasuke sat at the small kitchen table, silently watching him.
"Didn't think you could cook, Shisui-san," Sarada finally admitted.
Sasuke snorted.
"And who do you think cooked for us before you showed up?"
"Naruto lives alone, though," Sarada thought. "Probably eats at Ichiraku and instant ramen. What if you guys are the same?"
"So you think men don't cook?" Shisui asked cheerfully.
"Yeah."
The scene from that evening flashed before her eyes again: the older generation of Ino-Shika-Cho. How different Shisui was from them! Imagining him in a place like that with company like theirs was impossible. Incompatible things. Sarada wondered: was it because he was twice their junior? No, even twenty years from now, he'd sooner cook them a home dinner than booze it up at a festival. All the men close to her from the Uchiha—adult father, Shisui, even Itachi, whom she remembered as a boy—had some aristocratic refinement. And it made Sarada unexpectedly pleased.
Sasuke snorted again.
"She grew up with her mom since childhood, how would she know what men do and don't do?"
"Yeah, I grew up with Mom," Sarada replied, adding reproachfully, "Because Dad didn't give a damn about me!"
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away angrily. Shisui burst into ringing laughter as if Sarada had said something hilarious, while Sasuke felt uncomfortable because he couldn't detect anything funny in his pretend sister's words.
Over the past month, Sarada had grown very close to him, albeit forcedly. They spent entire days training with the Rokudaime: heading out together in the morning, spending the whole day together, and coming back the same way. Her life consisted only of father, mentor, and occasionally Shisui if she caught him home in the evening.
Sarada had started seeing Sasuke differently. He wasn't friendlier or opening up, but they'd caught that thread connecting them and understood each other without words. Plus, an old talk with Shisui had made her look closer at her father.
Sasuke was cold and rude, and his arrogant manner irritated Sarada at first, but over time she stopped noticing his "tch" and snorts. Deep down, Sasuke was a good person. He had a sense of honor, felt responsibility for those close to him, and somehow she'd entered that circle. She treasured that thin thread of mutual understanding because in the future, she'd never achieved such closeness with her father.
Shisui portioned out dinner onto plates and set them on the table.
"Now, now, Sasuke-kun, you'll be a good dad, right?"
"Too early for me to think about that," Sasuke replied sullenly, taking his chopsticks. "I've got one unfinished business."
"Thanks," Sarada muttered.
She knew exactly what "business" Dad meant, and the reminder of Itachi spoiled her appetite.
Someday they'd meet, and would Sasuke have enough strength to defeat his deranged brother? Sarada worried for her father: both for the future clash with Itachi and the third-stage fights starting tomorrow.
Shisui wiped his hands on his apron and sat at the head of the table.
"You want to revive your clan," he said with a quiet smile. "So you gotta think several moves ahead. That's the basis of shinobi survival. Whoever plans more moves ahead wins. And your big brother, Sasuke, thinks dozens of moves ahead, so things usually go his way. I'd take it on board."
Sasuke darkened and gripped his chopsticks tightly. Memories of the tragedy and Itachi were hard on him, as on all of them.
"Shisui, you coming to the arena tomorrow?" Sasuke asked somewhat casually.
But Sarada guessed it mattered a lot to him deep down. He wanted to show Shisui how much he'd grown. How much both of them had grown: him and Sarada. Shisui couldn't judge since their training together stopped the day the Rokudaime took over Sasuke's exam prep.
"Sorry, Sasuke," Shisui replied with a sad smile. "I've got a mission tomorrow."
Sasuke gritted his teeth.
"A mission on a day like that?! Why didn't you turn it down?"
"Because while you're defending the Leaf's honor in the arena, I'll be protecting it from outside. Someone's gotta man the wall during the exam—that's why I took the mission. I want to protect what's dear to me: you guys and Konoha."
Silence hung over the table. Both Sarada and Sasuke digested their older comrade's words.
"Bon appétit," Shisui said cheerfully and dug in. "Mmm, turned out pretty good! Eat up before it gets cold."
****
Sarada tossed and turned on her sofa, unable to sleep. Thoughts of tomorrow's fights and knowing about the impending tragedy while staying silent tormented her like never before. Alone in the empty living room. No Kakashi-sensei here, no Shikamaru with his shogi, no noisy Naruto. No one. And no one to distract her from the agonizing thoughts.
Before, Sarada would've run to Itachi and spilled everything. About her fears, how everything would unfold in the future. But now...
Not a chance. No one learns anything more. Not a word. Not Dad, not Shisui, no one else.
Old Third had saved her from Danzo; she was grateful. Plus, he was Konohamaru-sensei's grandpa, and knowing about the Sandaime's death while planning to stay silent gnawed at her bleeding conscience. But cynicism stirred in Sarada's heart at the same time.
If it's meant to be, let it be. I won't interfere. I don't want the world to change even more. All I care about is my loved ones' lives and my friends' parents'. They mustn't die, and for that alone I'm ready to intervene. Nothing else. See, Shisui-san? I'm a lousy Hokage. Too selfish.
The only thing that could shake the pillars of Sarada's cynicism was the thought that there was no Shisui in her future and that her silence was killing him. Sarada tossed from side to side, tempted to get up and talk to Shisui, but something always held her back. Namely, the memory of her talk with Itachi and its consequences. She feared knowledge of the future would transform Shisui like it had Itachi once, and that fear was so strong no doubts could make her tell anyone about the attack prepped for tomorrow.