The academy was as dull as she had expected. The teachers droned on about chakra control, kunai techniques, and teamwork, but she was already light-years ahead of the curriculum in mindset alone. Her new body was small, weak, and untrained, but that wouldn't last long.
Every spare moment was spent honing herself. Her fists ached from relentless taijutsu drills, her knuckles raw from striking wooden posts. Kunai flew from her fingers again and again, the metallic tang of blood on her fingertips ignored in favor of perfecting her aim. At night, she pored over scrolls, mapping out strategy after strategy until battle movements felt as natural as breathing.
But she didn't just want to be strong. Strength alone was brute force. She wanted elegance.
She watched the way the elite moved—the effortless precision of the Hyūga, the fluid lethality of the ANBU, the lazy grace of the Nara. She molded herself in that image, ensuring that every movement she made, even in training, had an air of control and refinement.
And it paid off.
The first time she struck Ino in a spar, there was a moment of stunned silence as the blonde girl staggered back, winded.
"Sakura, what the hell?" Ino gasped. "Since when did you hit like that?"
Sakura merely smiled, tilting her head slightly, her voice soft and composed. "I train."
The shift was undeniable. The way people looked at her changed. Whispers followed her through the academy halls. Even Sasuke, with his usual air of disinterest, took note. But she didn't care about Sasuke.
Her attention was elsewhere.