"Shisui-kun," Grandma Mikoto reproached. "What happened?"
Sarada somewhat recovered, slid off Shisui's arms onto the threshold herself, and muttered:
"Thanks."
Shisui embarrassedly scratched his nape.
"Sorry, Mikoto-san. Seems we overdid it."
"Sarada, you're covered in bruises. Shisui-kun, you did this?"
"No. Itachi."
He hastily slipped out of the entryway.
"Good day!"
"Shisui-kun!" Grandma exclaimed and muttered quietly: "Shameless."
She touched Sarada's chin, examined her face.
"No words. Shameless. Can you walk? To the kitchen."
Sarada removed sandals and slowly followed Grandma. She knelt by the dining table. Grandma put a cup of herbal tea in her hands.
"My fault, Mikoto-san," Sarada murmured. "I wanted to continue training."
She just shook her head.
Sarada was feverish. Her body covered in bruises and abrasions. Clumsy moves brought dull pain from contusions; left arm itched from Great Fireball burn. Sarada breathed herbal tea steam; tangled thoughts circled in her head, no desire to sort them. Something soft settled on chilled shoulders: Mikoto wrapped her in her warm plaid scarf.
"Give hand."
Sarada confusedly extended the burned hand. Grandma opened a small jar, smeared ointment on the burn, bandaged it.
"Oh Itachi, oh Itachi," she muttered.
And suddenly it seemed to Sarada she was in her place. Everything as it should be: her in this house, this family. As if no future, mad time travel.
Itachi's lie somehow convinced even her.
****
"So assassination," Shisui murmured thoughtfully.
They sat on the cliff, their usual secret spot. Naka River flowed at the gorge bottom, especially turbulent right under their meeting spot.
"Danzo allowed one partner, who I trust most. Thought of you immediately," Itachi confessed.
"Kohinata Mukai's excellent shinobi," Shisui said and sank into thought again. Soon he spoke: "No, no... Can't believe he's tied to Mist."
"I know I have no right to ask. But nowhere else to turn."
Shisui smiled condescendingly:
"Because you don't get along with people. Mukai's from Hyuga clan; his family branched generations ago. So he's great at taijutsu."
"Fight at range then."
"Very experienced. Don't think he'll let you."
Shisui's face was thoughtful, as if imagining the battle with Mukai. Good sign.
"You'll go with me?"
"Of course. No one else to count on," Shisui playfully punched his chest. "My little antisocial friend."
From the light chest nudge, Itachi felt warmth and gratitude surge. Shisui was his best friend. Always supported, understood. Never betray. Could only dream of such friends; Itachi thanked fate that six years ago in the grove during training, this super-friendly ninja approached him. Shisui guided him into shinobi world and life. Taught many techniques and moves. Always knew what to do, how best. Shisui was amazingly strong; training with him let Itachi surpass peers before academy. Friend was example, almost big brother; Itachi needed no one else—they paled to Shisui, no point wasting time.
"Actually, I dream you join Anbu," Shisui confessed unexpectedly.
"Huh?"
"No clan in Council. Completely isolated from village rule; all Uchiha in Military Police. In Anbu, you'd be closer to Leaf center, tell rulers of Uchiha pain and hopes. Become bridge between us. And who knows, maybe one day Hokage."
Heart clenched.
Hokage dream. Never told anyone, even Shisui. Itachi feared admitting even to himself he craved Hokage title deep down. But Shisui knew him too well.
Strange hearing his cherished dream voiced by best friend. Warmth from chest rose to throat, eyes, but Itachi suppressed it. Couldn't cry. No.
"First Hokage from Uchiha clan," Shisui said quietly. "I believe you'll make it."
Itachi feared speaking. Lump stuck in throat; one word and composure gone, so he stayed silent. Forest rustled behind; river roared below. Shisui gazed at starry sky; wind tousled his messy hair.
"How's Sarada?" Itachi forced out to change topic.
"You know what I think of her," Shisui cut.
"Still."
Friend looked down. Either inner struggle, suppressing indignation to avoid unpleasant words, or clearer recall of the day and Sarada.
"If not thinking enemy spy..." Shisui's lips curved slightly. "I liked her."
"We might die on this mission."
Shisui tactfully silent.
"While time, I'd like to spend with Sarada."
"What?"
"Good potential. If we die, someone stay with Sasuke."
Shisui squeezed eyes shut.
"Stop-stop-stop. Leave Sasuke with trai..." he faltered. "Even if not traitor, at least his own daughter? Though I don't believe..."
"You do," Itachi interrupted. "I see. Part of you drawn to her, other resists. But first stronger."
"Maybe right," Shisui muttered glumly. "But even if we die, Sasuke has parents."
"Mom too kind. Father... Ignores him entirely. Ignores me too. Only cares about clan."
"And his daughter excellent guardian," Shisui snarked.
"She has character. You saw today."
Shisui sighed, firmer:
"Don't know what happened to make you believe her. But hope you know what doing.
Itachi returned home late. All asleep. Passing Sarada's room, he paused, quietly slid door panel aside.
Bedroom dark. Niece curled on futon under blanket, knees to belly. Icy moonlight filtered through windows. Itachi noiselessly approached Sarada, squatted. Defenseless... Her sleeping face so serene.
He smiled, quietly exited to corridor, closing paper door.
Sleep, Sarada.
****
"Nii-san, but you promised!"
"Mission, Sasuke. Ask Sarada," muffled Itachi voice from corridor.
"What?! But she's not even shinobi!"
"Don't yell. With shuriken and kunai she can help fine."
"But nii-san..."
"In your interest, Sasuke. Academy soon. Don't waste time."
Itachi must've flicked brother's forehead; Sasuke yelped:
"Ow!" and indignant: "Nii-san, liar!
Sarada reluctantly crawled out from under the blanket. Her muscles ached—the merciless training was making itself known.
Breakfast was already waiting in the kitchen. At home, Sarada was used to cooking breakfast herself, both for herself and for her mom, so this kind of care from her grandmother felt unfamiliar and pleasantly surprising. In addition to breakfast, an angry little dad was also waiting in the kitchen.
It seemed that Itachi's advice had fallen on fertile ground and could bear fruit any minute. Sasuke was clearly unhappy that instead of his genius brother, they were foisting some unfamiliar girl on him, who had no right to pull some of the attention and care from his parents and brother onto herself. But at the same time, he understood that Itachi was right: he needed to train.
"Hey..." he finally muttered. "You... Nii-san said you'd help me with kunai."
His tone wasn't pleading—it was arrogant. As if Sarada were his servant and his older brother had already sorted everything out for him, leaving Sasuke just to remind this insignificant person in the house of their duties.
"And you, daddy, are rude," Sarada thought.
"Sasuke, Sarada is tired from yesterday's training. Don't bother her, let her rest," Mikoto intervened as she approached.
"But, Mom!" Sasuke protested desperately.
It had been hard for him to approach Sarada, and he had probably spent a very long time gathering his thoughts to do it, finally squeezing out the most contemptuous pompous words he was capable of. And then Mom ruined all his efforts.
"I'll think about it. If you ask really nicely," Sarada said meaningfully, raising an eyebrow.
Little dad puffed up and scowled. Sarada wrapped the checkered scarf draped over her shoulders tighter. Over the past day, she had grown attached to it. She was still a bit chilly, and the scarf was so warm and soft. Plus, it smelled like grandma. Such a familiar yet unfamiliar scent that she didn't want to let go of.
"Well... Please," Sasuke squeezed out. "Help me with training."
Sarada saw how hard those words were for him and appreciated his action.
"Alright. We'll go to the training ground after breakfast."
And she thought to herself: "If I can learn to walk again."
"Are you sure, Sarada?" Mikoto asked.
"Yes, thank you for your concern. I think a walk will do me good. The weather's nice."
"Well, alright then."
"I'm going to get ready," Sasuke announced and bolted out of the kitchen.
"And where does all that pride come from in you, Dad?"
She was surprised to realize that her father from the future wasn't like that. Or if he was, he had far more reasons to be proud of himself than a six-year-old boy who couldn't throw kunai.
The weather really was nice.
Sarada, wrapped in the checkered scarf, sat in the grass at the training ground, while little dad tormented the log with the target.
"Show me how it's done properly!" Sasuke demanded. "You promised you'd train me."
"My arm won't lift," Sarada waved him off listlessly. "Throw it yourself. I can already tell you what your mistakes are."
"They don't stick."
"Because you're twisting your wrist. Don't twist."
"I'm not twisting."
"I can see that you are."
Dad bristled angrily. In reality, he was doing pretty well. The kunai hit the target and even the center sometimes, but not always: every now and then they hit flat, and that drove Sasuke crazy.
Sarada watched the training and thought about her own things.
The first step toward saving Mom had been taken: she had warned Naruto. But was that enough? What if he already forgot? She needed to find him and remind him, hammer that thought into his mind. He should wake up and fall asleep with it.
"The main thing is that I don't mess anything up and he still becomes the Nanadaime Hokage. Otherwise, it'll all be for nothing," Sarada mused.
Things with the clan were more complicated. She didn't know what to do. By deliberately bringing up the topic in conversation with her uncle, Sarada had hoped he would set everything straight and tell her how to proceed. But Itachi unexpectedly forbade her from interfering. Sarada had clearly seen the turmoil he fell into upon hearing the news of the clan's destruction, but it didn't affect his decision. Sarada thought differently. So instead of accepting her uncle's decision and calming down, she began to doubt even more.
Grandma, grandpa, Shisui, and even Itachi himself—there was no place for any of them in the future. Only Dad survived. What could have happened to the great clan, at the mere mention of whose name enemies were seized with superstitious terror? How could such unimaginable power just vanish?
Sarada didn't know. And how could she save the Uchiha without knowing what threatened them? Besides, if such a powerful clan couldn't stand against the force that destroyed it, what could she, a weak worthless genin, do? After training with her uncle, she had barely hobbled to the training ground and couldn't even lift her arm to show Dad how to hold a kunai?
"I can't handle this alone," Sarada thought sadly.
She suddenly remembered her conversation with Shisui. If she had a clear goal and people she wanted to protect, could she stand strong on her own?
But no, apparently Shisui's theory assumed immersing yourself in your goal completely, without hesitation. And Sarada was doubting whether she should interfere and try to save her clan. She didn't want her newly met relatives to die. But at the same time, she feared what her uncle had warned her about: that upon returning to the future, she would find not a peaceful metropolis ruled by the Nanadaime Hokage, but the deserted ruins of the Hidden Leaf Village.
And if before, Sarada had feared she had no time at all and that a wave would soon sweep her back to the future, now she feared the opposite: that there would be no new wave at all. What if that very wave that caught her the day after the Kyuubi tragedy was supposed to carry her to the future, but not six years ahead, but further, to modern Konoha? But it didn't. What if she had already used her one-way ticket back and would have to live out her life in the past?
Sarada couldn't figure out which prospect scared her more: returning to the future to learn that all her efforts were in vain and Mom still died; or staying to live with her family in the past. Yes, she liked living with grandma and grandpa, who had accepted her so warmly. And she liked her uncle. But she was still a stranger here. Her place was there, in the noisy metropolis, with Boruto and Mitsuki, with Chocho, Inojin, and Shikadai.
"Nee-chan!" a familiar voice squealed in her ear, and some sticky little hands choked her neck.
"Nanadaime?" Sarada gasped in surprise and tried to break free from his embrace. "You'll choke me..."
The tousled blond kid with shining eyes landed right in front of her and peered into her face:
"Nee-chan, why'd you disappear from the tea shop, dattebayo? You... you... Shinko nee-chan said you're a shinobi now, right? Is it true?"
But Sarada didn't have time to answer because Naruto noticed Sasuke.
"Hey!"
Sarada covered her ears. Naruto's piercing voice could shatter a glass, let alone eardrums.
"And what are you doing here, dattebayo?!"
"Shut up," Dad snorted. "You're in the way. Get lost!"
"Eh?"
"Why me?" Sarada thought.
"I came here to train too!"
"Idiot! I got here first. This is my training ground. Scram, I said!"
"You..."
"Sasuke," Sarada called angrily. "This isn't your training ground. Don't be a brat."
Little dad fell silent, offended, and Sarada felt a secret pleasure. They had switched places. It felt so good to put her overly proud parent in his place; sweet revenge for the conversation on the way from the cemetery that would happen decades later in the future.
Naruto, feeling supported, puffed up instead and proudly stood opposite the training log with the target. But he was terrible at it. Not only did the kunai hit the target by the handle or flat, they rarely even hit the log.
"You're a loser," Sasuke declared and launched two kunai into the target, one from each hand.
Both blades sank into the center of the target. He hadn't expected such a result himself and embarrassedly rubbed his nose, but immediately assumed a majestic air, as if it were nothing special. Let Naruto think it wasn't luck, but the norm.
Sarada smirked.
"You're underestimating me, ttebayo!" the Nanadaime roared. "I'll surpass you and become Hokage!"
"A loser won't become Hokage," Sasuke attacked.
"I'm not a loser, bakayaro!"
"Idiot, you can't even hit the log."
Sarada watched in confusion as her father and little Nanadaime went at it.
"And these are best friends? I can't believe it."
"Teme, I'll become Hokage, and everyone will recognize me!"
The endless clanging of kunai hitting the target by the handle and the bickering gave Sarada a headache.
"Hey, enough arguing. Train! Naruto, you're throwing wrong."
She felt less like a sensei and more like a shepherd.
"I don't know how to do it right," Naruto faltered.
Sasuke snorted and accurately launched another kunai into the center of the target.
"Raise your arm," Sarada commanded.
The Nanadaime obeyed.
"Step back one and a half steps. Arm higher. Bring it a bit behind your head. Don't look around, focus on the spot you want to hit. Relax your arm, tense it at the last moment when you release the kunai..."
Naruto threw the kunai, and it hit the target handle-first with a clang again.
"...and don't twist your wrist," Sarada added boredly.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan