My hand froze mid-air, suspended like a guillotine that had suddenly lost its purpose. Below me, Sakura trembled—her long pink hair cascading over her face, shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs.
Had I overdone it?
No matter how much of a bastard I was, seeing a girl cry still made my chest tighten like a rusty vice.
"Shh, hey, hey... It's alright," I murmured, letting my hand drop to her hips instead. The hand I'd kept pressed to her lower back—keeping her steady, keeping her in place—reached around to her shoulder.
Gently, I pulled her up and turned her toward me, drawing her trembling form into my arms until she sat sideways across my lap.
She didn't resist—not even a twitch of muscle fought against the movement. Her body was soft and pliant against mine, like a bird that had exhausted itself fighting a storm.
I wrapped my arms around her shaking form, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back while the other smoothed over her silky hair like I was petting a wounded kitten. She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her breath hot and unsteady against my skin.
Interesting. Already learning to find comfort in my touch.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against my neck, voice muffled and broken. "I'm so sorry, Eishin-sensei. I didn't mean to—"
"I know." I kept my voice low, soothing. My hand continued its steady rhythm through her hair. "Just breathe."
"I'm so stupid." Her grip tightened on my shirt. "I always mess everything up. I should have listened, I should have—"
"Sakura." I shifted slightly, letting my thumb trace along her shoulder blade. Small movements. Getting her used to gentle touches after the harsh ones. "What's done is done."
"But Naruto and Sai could have died because of me." Her voice cracked. "And you—you had to—"
Another sob escaped her. I felt her body press closer, seeking comfort even from the person who'd just punished her. Perfect.
"They could have," I didn't deny it. "But they're alive," I murmured into her hair. "That's what matters now."
"I'm weak." The words came out bitter, self-loathing. "I'm the weakest on the team. Even Naruto—even he's better than me. I can't do anything right."
There it is. The real wound and her delusions.
I let my hand drift lower on her back, just above where her red shirt had ridden up. Testing boundaries. I'll not be a jerk if I didn't take advantage of this situation.
"You think too much," I said simply. "Gets you in trouble."
"I wanted to prove I was strong enough..." She pulled back slightly, green eyes red-rimmed and glistening. "But I'm not. I'm just—I'm just dead weight, aren't I?"
You are asking me that? Me? Girl…. did you have amnesia?
I met her gaze steadily, my thumb now tracing slow patterns on the exposed skin of her lower back. She shivered but didn't pull away.
"You want honesty?"
She nodded, even as fresh tears spilled over.
"You made a mistake that could have cost lives." I watched her flinch. "But you're here. You're learning."
Don't reassure her too much. Keep her hungry for approval.
"I hate feeling so useless," she whispered. "I hate that everyone has to take care of me instead of the other way around."
"So get stronger." My hand moved to cup the back of her neck, thumb stroking the soft skin there. "Stop wallowing in what you're not."
She leaned into the touch despite herself, confusion flickering across her features. I could practically see the war in her head—the anger she wanted to feel versus the comfort she was actually receiving.
"But what if I can't? What if I'm just—"
"Then you'll keep trying anyway." I interrupted, voice still gentle but firm. "Because that's what you do."
Propped her up a bit.
"I don't know how to be better," she breathed, and there was something almost desperate in her voice.
Perfect. Lost and looking for guidance.
"One step at a time," I murmured, letting my fingers card through her hair again. "Starting with learning when to keep your mouth shut."
She flinched slightly at the reminder, but didn't pull away from my touch. If anything, she seemed to sink deeper into my arms.
"I really am sorry," she said again, smaller this time.
"I know you are." My hand settled at the small of her back, thumb drawing lazy circles. "That's why we're here instead of in a disciplinary hearing."
The logic was simple, circular. I was the problem and the solution. The punishment and the comfort. And she was already getting used to both coming from the same hands.
Yet….. she was being surprisingly pliant. More than planned, actually. Even for someone who defers to authority as Sakura, like a good little kunoichi, this level of... submission was noteworthy.
And this breakdown…..
I let my mind work through the equation as my hand continued its steady rhythm through her hair.
The past few days had been a special kind of hell for her, hadn't it?
First, catching her mother cheating with me. That alone would have shattered most girls her age— so fresh and unformed — seeing the person you trust most in the world betraying everything you thought you knew about them.
Then watching me spin it, twist it, make her complicit in keeping the secret. Making her doubt her own perceptions, her own right to be angry.
Then the mission. Days of constant stress, constant proof of her inadequacies. Struggling against half-starved farmers playing at being bandits—civilians who should have been no challenge for a genin. She'd been clumsy, hesitant, and second-guessing every move.
Then came her mistake that I may had exaggerated a bit. But still, nearly getting Naruto and Sai killed had eaten at her.
Layer upon layer of inadequacy, stress, emotional turmoil. Add volatile hormonal youth to the mix, and honestly? It was impressive she'd held herself together this long.
Most adults would have cracked under less pressure.
Sakura was at that age where everything felt like the end of the world, where every emotion hit like a physical blow. Old enough to understand the weight of her failures, young enough to lack the coping mechanisms to handle them.
No wonder she's falling apart.
The timing couldn't have been better if I'd orchestrated it myself. Which, in a way, I suppose I had.
The sobs eventually quieted to occasional sniffles, her breathing slowly evening out against my neck. I kept my touch steady—fingers threading through her hair, thumb tracing the edge of her collar where it met skin. Comforting, but just a shade too intimate for a teacher.
She felt it yet remained seated in my lap.
Minutes passed in silence before she spoke, voice muffled against my shoulder.
"I hate you," she said, "I should hate you."
"Should?" I kept my tone light, almost amused. "That's a pretty lukewarm commitment to hatred, Sakura."
"You are…." She shifted slightly, but didn't lift her head. "You're awful... you and my mom... and you did all that to me and…. and then you act like—like this." She paused. "Like you actually care," then muttered.
"Maybe I do care." My hand drifted to the nape of her neck, fingers barely grazing skin. "Maybe that's what makes this complicated."
"It doesn't make sense." There was frustration bleeding into her voice now, confusion. "I want to be angry with you. I am angry. But then you—when you touch me like this, I—"
She cut herself off, and I felt her tense.
"You what?" I pressed gently, thumb stroking the soft skin behind her ear.
"I don't know." The admission came out small, almost defeated. "I don't know what I feel about anything anymore. Everything's all... mixed up."
Perfect. Confusion is good.
"Welcome to being human," I said with a slight chuckle. "Feelings rarely cooperate with our sense of logic."
"That's not helpful." But there was no real heat in it. If anything, she pressed closer, seeking more of that contact that confused her so much.
"You know what I think your real problem is?" I murmured, letting my hand drift lower along her spine, fingertips tracing the bare skin just above her shorts. "You've never had proper guidance. Real teaching."
She stiffened slightly. "I have teachers—"
"Do you?" I interrupted softly. "When's the last time someone actually invested in your potential? Really pushed you to be better instead of just... tolerating your presence on the team?"
The question hit its mark. I felt her breath catch. Of course, I kept Kakashi's name out of it, lest she would raise her defenses. No need to spook her up, she was already where I wanted her.
"I could teach you," I continued, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Proper medical techniques. Advanced chakra control. Things that would make you truly valuable."
"You'd... actually teach me?" There was something painfully hopeful in her voice.
"I'm a very demanding teacher, Sakura." My thumb brushed along her lower back where her shirt had ridden up. "I'd expect complete dedication. Complete trust. Can you handle that kind of... intensive instruction?"
"I…. you…"
The confusion was written all over her face as she finally pulled back to look at me. Those green eyes were wide, searching, trying to reconcile the man who was sleeping with her mother with the one offering her everything she'd ever wanted professionally.
"I don't understand any of this," she whispered, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm such a mess. I cry at everything now like some stupid—"
"Hey, hey, hey." I caught her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears. "It's alright, it's alright."
Dammit, she was devastating like this. All that carefully constructed stubbornness stripped away, leaving just raw vulnerability. Her bitten and plush lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed and damp, those impossibly green eyes looking up at me with tear-streaked devotion despite everything.
I wanted to ruin her. Wanted to pin those wrists above her head and show her exactly what kind of teacher I could be. Wanted to hear her say 'sensei' while I—
"Teaching isn't just about jutsu," I said instead, voice rougher than intended. "It's about understanding yourself. Your limits…. How far can you be pushed."
Sakura was a smart girl. Brilliant in theory—top marks, perfect recall of textbook knowledge—but years in the Academy had kept her sheltered from the darker realities of shinobi life. She understood jutsu mechanics but not the psychology of power.
She could recite manipulation tactics from her books, but couldn't recognize them being used on her.
"So…. you're alright with me pushing your limits?" I asked, hands still cradling her face, thumbs stroking across the soft skin of her cheekbones. "Really testing how much you can take?"
Even her sobbing couldn't keep me soft for long. I was rising again. Wonder if she could feel it.
Can't tell. But she did miss the suggestive tone in my words.
Her skin was impossibly soft, still slightly damp from tears. I could feel the delicate bone structure beneath, how small her face really was in my hands. She was looking up at me with those wide green eyes, like a kitten waiting to be picked up, all trust and vulnerability.
Does she even realize she's sitting on my lap? How her hip is pressed against me, how every small movement makes her shift against my—
The answer was written in her expression—complete innocence.
In the end, there was never really any question whether she would accept my offer. Despite her pride getting in the way, Sakura had already hinted at wanting me to teach her—the longing was there in every hesitant glance, every carefully measured word.
Sakura was a shinobi in name, but fieldwork had already exposed how fragile that title could be. Book-smart, sure—but academic knowledge doesn't stop a blade or silence doubt in the dark.
Her parents certainly hadn't done her any favors—a spineless father who couldn't even keep his own wife in line, and a vain, social-climbing mother more interested in status than substance. The woman had spread her legs for me easily enough when I'd shown her the slightest attention. Neither of them had prepared their daughter for anything resembling the harsh truths of shinobi life.
She was still just a lost girl beneath all that determination. No bloodline to fall back on, no clan techniques passed down through generations, nothing but raw ambition in a world that devoured the weak without hesitation. In the shinobi world, being unremarkable was a death sentence, and Sakura Haruno was painfully, devastatingly ordinary.
A young thing clawing for validation in a world that didn't hand it out gently.
She broke eye contact first, then, in an endearing way, forced herself to meet my gaze again.
She fluttered her eyelashes. "Yes," she said quietly. Took a breath, squaring her shoulders with visible resolve. "Yes, I want you to teach me." A pause, then softer. "Sensei."
Oh.
I'd coaxed her to use the title before, but this time she meant it. This time it came with submission wrapped in silk—like a flower offering itself to be plucked.
"Good girl," I murmured, and was rewarded with the sweetest little smile blooming across her tear-stained face.