[Hokage's Office - Hidden Leaf Village]
Sakura pushed open the Hokage's office door without knocking.
"Reporting for duty, Granny," she said, with the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. "Or were you just missing me?"
Tsunade didn't look up. "You're early."
"You sounded urgent. I figured the paperwork was finally killing you."
Tsunade set down her pen with a quiet clack, casting a sidelong glance. "You're not nearly important enough to rescue me from paperwork."
"Yet," Sakura replied, stepping into the room with a casual roll of her shoulders. The long gloves on her arms creaked slightly as she stretched. "But keep assigning me cleanup jobs and I'll be Hokage before you blink."
Tsunade sighed. "Border incident. Land of Rivers. Small group. Five, maybe six. Hit a merchant caravan yesterday."
Sakura's expression shifted subtly. Still light, but focused.
"Leaf affiliates?"
"Two among the dead. Low-rankers, but they had our license. We answer it clean."
Sakura nodded. "Names?"
Tsunade slid a folded mission report across the desk. "You'll find them inside. No backup. I want this one quiet."
Sakura picked up the scroll, unrolling it briefly before slipping it beneath the sash of her combat yukata. The flowing fabric clung to her like shadow and silk, her long hair falling loose as she moved with a grace sharpened for blood. She looked ready to dance—and to kill—all at once.
"No prisoners?" she asked, almost too casually.
Tsunade met her eyes. "Not this time."
Sakura turned on her heel, about to leave—then paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
"I assume you want it elegant?"
"I want it quiet," Tsunade replied. "If it's elegant, that's just your ego."
Sakura grinned. "No promises."
The door closed behind her, soft and confident.
---
[Land of Rivers Border]
Sakura moved with ease through the trees, boots silent on damp bark, her breath steady. Her long pink hair was tied into a compact bun, not a strand loose. The air smelled of wet earth and cheap campfire smoke.
The chain of her kusarigama looped around one gloved wrist, weight swinging gently with her steps.
She didn't need to check the map again. Tsunade's orders were clear. A rogue cell camping along the border. Five, maybe six. No prisoners.
"Five bodies. Quiet disposal. And maybe a little cardio," she whispered, lips curling into a faint grin.
From a branch above the clearing, she spotted them.
Two by the fire—one dozing, one gnawing on dried meat. Another sitting on a crate outside the tent, picking his nails with a kunai. Inside? She couldn't see. But she could hear movement. Two sets of boots. Sloppy pacing.
"Three out, two in. Zero awareness."
The chain slid free with a familiar weight.
She dropped from the tree without a sound.
The crate-sitter looked up—just in time to see her chain flash.
One.
The blade met his throat before he could cry out. He fell with a whisper.
The second heard it—too slow. He stood and reached for his blade.
She was already behind him.
Two.
He choked on steel, staggered, and collapsed.
The third started to scream.
She silenced him before he finished inhaling.
Three.
She stepped toward the tent, blood flicking from the chain with each turn of her wrist. Footsteps inside. Voices panicking.
She didn't wait.
The flap opened—and she was already there.
A few seconds later, there was only the sound of the fire crackling.
Five.
Sakura stepped back out, her gloves were red at the knuckles. The chain swung loosely from one hand, dripping onto the grass. Her gaze swept the bodies.
It was clean. No witnesses. Efficient.
And yet...
She wasn't satisfied.
Not completely.
---
[Training Ground 7 - Hidden Leaf Village]
Sakura stepped into the clearing just as the sun dipped low, casting long golden beams between the trees. The old familiar space—Training Ground 7—sat empty. Quiet. Peaceful, almost.
It didn't feel that way to her.
Her gloves were tucked beneath her sash, forgotten. The kusarigama rested at her hip, chain slack, one blade still darkened from the field. She hadn't reported in. Hadn't spoken a word to anyone.
She just... walked here.
The wind caught her bangs as she tilted her face up to the sky, the combat bun holding firm behind her head. Her muscles still buzzed faintly, the last traces of adrenaline refusing to fade. Her mouth tasted like metal and dirt.
She moved to the center of the field, letting her boots settle into the familiar divots carved by years of sparring. The silence stretched out around her.
It wasn't enough.
She clenched her fists, eyes narrowing.
It should've been. Five targets. One mission. No casualties, no noise. Textbook perfection.
And yet...
There was a tightness in her chest. A tension in her fingers. A low, silent craving for more.
More movement. More resistance. More blood.
She hated that.
She breathed in, sharp and quick. Dropped to a crouch beside one of the old posts and leaned back against it.
"What the hell's wrong with me..."
The words were quiet, lost to the rustling trees.
She closed her eyes. Let the field hold her for a moment. Let the sun try to wash the rest of the mission off her skin.
It didn't.
She stayed there until the sky began to shift, until the sound of birds changed, until the tension in her knuckles finally started to loosen.
Later—She would have to report to the lady Hokage.
But for now, she sat alone in the middle of a familiar battlefield, unable to tell if she was angry with herself... or scared.