The world of shinobi did not reward the weak.
Sakura understood this better than anyone. Strength wasn't just muscle or jutsu—it was presence. It was the weight of one's name, the silent force that made others hesitate before daring to stand against them.
She would not be overlooked.
She would not be the pitiful girl sighing after Sasuke, nor blindly following Naruto's ideals.
She would become a kunoichi of elegance and lethality—impossible to ignore. And in doing so, she would make sure that Shikamaru Nara would never look away from her again.
The Foundation of Power
Her training began long before sunrise.
Every morning, before the academy gates opened, she slipped into the training grounds—avoiding the crowded areas in favor of quieter, less-used sections where she could work in solitude.
Her first focus was taijutsu.
Her body was still that of a child, but that was no excuse. Her strikes had to be efficient, controlled, and beautiful in their deadliness. She studied movements not just from academy drills, but from watching experienced shinobi—the Hyūga, with their economy of motion; the ANBU, with their ghostlike fluidity. She borrowed from every style, molding it into something uniquely hers.
A strike wasn't just a strike. It was a statement.
She practiced her footwork relentlessly, ensuring that each pivot, each sidestep, was executed with the precision of a blade sliding into its sheath. Balance was everything. There was no room for wasted energy.
At first, her muscles burned, and her body protested. But she embraced the pain. It meant growth. It meant progress.
And she needed to be undeniable.
The Art of the Blade
Kunai were standard, but they lacked grace.
Sakura wanted a weapon that embodied her philosophy—swift, elegant, and utterly lethal. She found her answer in the tanto, a short blade favored by ANBU operatives. It was light, versatile, and deadly in close combat.
She trained with it obsessively.
Each stroke was deliberate, her movements fluid. She didn't just hack or slash; she painted with the blade, each cut as precise as a brushstroke on canvas. The tanto became an extension of herself, its silver gleam whispering promises of future victories.
She trained in silence, visualizing her future battles. She saw herself cutting down enemies with effortless grace, her form untouchable, her name spoken in hushed, awed tones.
And in her mind's eye, she saw Shikamaru watching her.
Planting the Seeds of Obsession
Sakura understood one undeniable truth:
Possessiveness was not given. It was created.
She wouldn't beg for Shikamaru's attention. No, she would make him need her.
It was a slow process, a careful dance.
She started by ensuring that he noticed her absence when she wasn't around. She stopped engaging in casual chatter with him. She withdrew slightly—not enough to seem cold, but just enough so he would feel the gap when she wasn't there.
In class, she never sought him out. But when she spoke, she made sure her voice was measured, her words intelligent, her presence something he couldn't ignore.
During sparring matches, she made sure their fights stretched just long enough that he had to work to keep up. She never let herself be an easy win. She allowed him to analyze her, study her, memorize her movements.
And then she changed them.
Every time he thought he had her figured out, she shifted—introducing a new technique, a faster strike, a move he hadn't seen before.
It frustrated him. She could see it.
Good. Let him chase the answer. Let him wonder.
And when she walked past him after a match, her voice always soft, just for him:
"You'll have to try harder next time, Nara."
She didn't have to look back to know he was watching.
The First Crack in His Composure
The moment she had been waiting for came after an endurance drill.
The academy had set up an obstacle course—designed to push students to their limits. Most struggled, panting and exhausted by the end.
Sakura finished the course with steady breath, sweat glistening on her skin, but her posture unshaken.
And Shikamaru?
He was watching.
Not lazily. Not with his usual disinterest.
He was watching her.
Not Ino. Not any other girl. Her.
For the first time, there was something new in his gaze. Something that wasn't just curiosity.
Something darker.
Sakura allowed a small, secretive smile to touch her lips before she turned away.
Let him simmer. Let him think about it.
This was only the beginning.
A Shadow's First Step Toward Possession
That evening, as she left the academy, she felt it—his chakra signature lingering just within range.
He wasn't following her. Not exactly. But he was there.
Observing.
She didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge him.
Let him come to her. Let him wonder why he cared.
By the time he realized it, by the time the seed of need had fully taken root…
It would be too late.
---