Chapter Text
Bored emerald eyes watch as clan heads and council members exchange verbal blows fervently. The harried blonde man at the top of the platform tries and fails to help them achieve peace.
Sakura looks to her left, staring up at her grandmother. A woman as sturdy as a tree named Ume. She had been leading the Haruno Merchants for well over four decades and was still going strong. Her son, Sakura’s papa, was not in line for the family head position since he’s a man, but her mama is a terrifyingly competent woman who O-bāchan absolutely loves.
To her right, her mama’s hand moves rapidly across a notepad, likely taking meticulous notes.
From the few words Sakura can spy, it seems she is recording the arguments and who they’re between.
Is she… keeping track of who hates who?
Sakura is impressed, and as the heiress to the family, she makes a mental note to keep track of the same thing. Having been groomed from the moment she could walk and talk to lead the clan, she is well aware of her role.
(Though she finds the whole idea monotonous and dull. Predictable. Her eidetic memory and quick thinking make the process… mundane. Sakura is five. A toddler in the eyes of society, but even she is self-aware enough to know she lacks motivation. A true desire and want for something. She hopes that one day she will find it-)
A crushing weight falls upon the Assembly Hall. Sakura feels like she’s suffocating. The chokehold the invisible force has on her clutches everyone else, to lesser degrees for some.
(The shinobi clans don’t look as physically sick as she and the civilian clans and attendees.)
The pressure eases, seeming to move elsewhere.
“Let’s keep things cordial, Shimura-sama. Hyūga-sama.” The blonde man sitting at the highest point orders, words neutral but tone icy.
The two men who had been standing up, throwing insults at one another, looked properly reproached as they spat out contrite apologies.
“Apologies, Minato-sama,” The pretty man with long brown hair and pearl colored eyes murmurs.
“Do forgive me, Yondaime-sama,” The old man with a cane, eye patch, and wrapped arm grates out.
Conversations start up again, moving through the agenda seamlessly, if slightly tense.
Sakura’s brow furrows, and she gently pulls on her mama’s sleeve.
Mebuki’s evergreen eyes slide to Sakura as her small but calloused hands brush Sakura’s bangs from her face. A perfect sandy blonde brow rises.
Sakura can read the question in the motion.
Are you okay? What’s wrong?
Sakura nods and gestures for her pen and notepad. Bemused, Mebuki hands her both items. Sakura writes out her question.
'What is a Yondaime?'
Mebuki’s brows raise in shock and embarrassment before she writes back.
'Yondaime means fourth. As in he is the fourth Hokage.'
Sakura’s pink brows furrow at the words her mama wrote. She knew what a Hokage was. While her studies were primarily civilian and merchant in nature, she did have basic knowledge about the political system of Konoha.
The Hokage was the military leader of their village. Approved by the Daimyō himself as well as a council of elders. That was all she knew.
And while her clan did have shinobi customers, they focused mainly on civilians and civilian nobles. Shinobi clans usually had their own outfitters and blacksmiths. Civilian-born shinobi obviously did not, so they were a large part of the audience that visited Haruno weaponries.
Emerald eyes turn toward the large window to the right of the assembly hall wall. Outside the window, in her direct line of sight, is a mountain with four faces. The last face, near identical to the man who had, moments ago, shut down a budding fight.
Sakura scribbles out, 'Is the Hokage a good ninja?'
'The Hokage is always the strongest ninja within the village', her mama writes back.
Sakura pauses at that sentence. Her mama said the strongest. Not the richest. Not the most powerful (politically).
Just strong.
Wide and (for the first time in ages) curious emerald eyes leave the rock monument to stare at the blonde man as he nods along. He seems to notice her stare because his head turns to her, and his deep blue eyes, that resemble her papa’s, brighten at the sight of her. His hands give a little wave, and Sakura tilts her head with a small smile in return.
Sakura begins to catalogue everything she can about the man. He seems to be around her parents' age, despite his “baby face”, as her O-bāchan would say. He is also, without a doubt, a beautiful man. Judging from the many smiling faces that pop up when he speaks, he is also well-liked.
For all intents and purposes, the man is far too beautiful, in Sakura’s opinion, to be a ninja. And when he retires, he should look into a career in modeling or acting.
Sakura’s brilliant mind goes back to the four male faces carved into the rock behind her. All men who are likely from shinobi clans or families.
A new feeling burns in her stomach. A fire sparks, desperate to kindle something.
For the first time in all her cogniscent years, Haruno Sakura has a want.
A desire.
Sakura holds her mother’s hand as they walk back in the direction of their compound.
Gripping the hand extra tight, she turns her head to look back at the Hokage Monument for a second before looking straight ahead.
“Mama. O-bāchan.”
Both women stop talking and look down at their heiress. They don't get to ask her what’s wrong, stunned by the pure determination writ on her little cherub face. Something fierce burning in her large emerald eyes.
Mebuki might not be a born Haruno, but she had their backbone, drive, and terrifying charisma.
Mebuki and Ume know that whatever Sakura is about to say is not up for debate. That they and the clan will have to bend over backwards to help her.
For when a Haruno set their eyes on something it needed to be theirs.
“I’m going to become Hokage,” Sakura declares with stone-cold certainty.
The older women don’t even get to stop, pause, and gape at the young girl, because she has since let go of her mother’s hand and kept walking. Spine straight, eyes on a prize in the far distance.