Chapter Text
Sakura sits on the edge of her worn-down bed, feeling the once so soothing band of fabric and metal around her throat tightening like a noose. And her day had started out so well, too...
She'd woken up on time and gone to the market before making her way to the Academy, long since used to the early hours. Living on a budget, you had to do so many uncomfortable things to survive, but this is one of the few things she doesn't mind at all.
After getting groceries for the next two days and splurging a little on a couple deliciously red apples, she hurried back home and put it all away, taking in the mail and putting it aside for later.
Walking all the way from the Uzu' quarters to the main district is a bit of a walk, but she doesn't mind. It gives her time to psyche herself up for the upcoming exam, and even if she weren't doing that, it's always been strangely calming to watch the going-ons of the village, especially at the start and end of a day. - There's something beautiful about a village waking up and falling asleep.
Ready and as prepared as she could make herself, Sakura arrives at the Academy and flies through the written test. She's pretty sure she's aced it, actually, but the longer the wait for the teacher panel and jutsu assessment, the less sure of herself she grows.
Eventually, they call her into the room and she shifts nervously in front of the three blank-faced senseis; easygoing Iruka, caring Mizuki and thoughtful Suzume. When Iruka clears his throat, she nearly jumps out of her skin and has to ball her hands into fists to stop their shaking. He gives her the signal to go ahead and so she does and so she ends up with a headband to her name and a bright future ahead of her.
She nearly skips out of the building after, forehead protector experimentally tied around her neck, so happy that all her hard work has finally paid off. She doesn't have parents who are shinobi, or even aunts, uncles or grandparents that can still give you loads of useful tips. No, she did it all on her own- well, mostly on her own. A lot of her success in school she privately accredits to Mizuki-sensei, who had been assigned to take her under his wing and had gone above and beyond just for her, just because he could.
Long story short, she is sure she couldn't have done it without him and resolves to thank him the next day after they got their team placements. She's sure he put in a kind word for her and got her a nice team, one where she can become the best version of herself that she can possibly be.
That line of thinking makes her stop in the middle of the street, a yawning pit of dread opening up in her stomach. Bile threatens to rise but she swallows it down, unflinching at the acrid taste.
She's worked so hard, so hard, and- Soon enough, none of that will matter. She knows the statistics almost better than the back of her hand; it's a miracle she's made it this far. She's the only non-clan kid to graduate in her year. The other eight of the children in her graduating class are clan heirs or close enough to matter. They are almost guaranteed to pass the tests, or rather, Sakura can't even imagine a reason good enough for their senseis to fail them when they are backed by their clans.
Subtracting them from the equation leaves her: Little pink-haired Haruno Sakura, more brains than brawn. The ninth graduating student from their year and the only one that does not have reason to believe that she will pass muster, what with having nothing of real value to add to a team. Sure, she's pretty good in most of the theoretical aspects of being a shinobi, but being good in theory doesn't really apply all that much to the real world, no?
So in short, she's kind of doomed.
She cannot help but let her mind drift to the last real conversation she had with her parents, or more like, the last screaming match they all participated in like a big, happy family.
Her parents have always been against her dream of becoming a shinobi, pettily sabotaging her in most ways that count. From hiding her self-made lunch boxes up to torn clothes she had given to her mother to mend turning missing, then the fabric appearing around the house, it all spelt out a subtle but devastating message: We will not help you. You are alone.
It all came to a head when her father threw out the blunted training kunai and shuriken she had labourously smuggled from the Academy grounds. The next day, there had been several noise complaints and the subsequent inquiry of the Military Police. Haruno Mebuki and Kizashi could hardly recover from the shame they felt at causing such a ruckus in the affluent upper end of the Uzushio quarters.
One day, her parents left the village with the caravan, not even bothering to say goodbye or leave a note, and they never returned for her.
Oh, there are monthly letters with barely enough money to pay the bills and for some of the cheapest instant stuff, but... it's hardly enough for three proper meals a day or other extravagant purchases. Hardly enough for proper training gear, even if she goes thrifting. But she makes do by the skin of her teeth.
And yet, Sakura fears she will be out of a home soon enough. Being a shinobi is all she's ever wanted to be, all she's ever studied to be, and she is afraid she will have gotten disowned and humiliated and bullied for... nothing, in the end. To fail, at the precipice of a life she could have built with her own two hands alongside people she cherishes? It's a horrible thought.
She wonders how cruel the world can possibly be; if, by the same time next week, she will not only be orphaned in all but name, but then without hope for the future, too.
That night, Sakura hardly gets any sleep at all. She drifts in and out of consciousness but never really settles enough for dreams to take hold. By the time she gets up, she feels more tired than the day before.
She's shaky with stress and dead on her feet from the loss of sleep when she makes it to the Academy, already sick to her stomach before she finds a seat in the unusually empty room. There's only Nara Shikamaru, head resting in his arms and likely feigning sleep, and shy Hyuuga Hinata passing the time by staring at the clock as if time will go by faster if she wills it enough. None of them say a word.
It's only when the more boisterous boys enter the classroom that the oppressive atmosphere starts to fade. Inuzuka Kiba and Uchiha Sasuke start throwing barbs at each other the second their eyes meet, Uzumaki Naruto soon joins in and spurs them on to create more and more creative insults. Some of them make Sakura blush, others cringe at their crassness. You'd expect better from the village's jinchuuriki (Uzumaki) and the second-oldest descendant of a village founder (Uchiha).
There's something to be said about them and their infectious humour, though, because she feels some of the tension draining from her body as she watches their friendly banter devolve into a wrestling match. Somewhat unsurprisingly, it's Naruto that wins. Iruka enters the room just as the boys seem to want to have another go at it, looking at them with fond exasperation.
Something in her stomach curdles and sours. If that were three non-clan kids, three non-heirs, even two clan kids and one civilian-born, his reaction would be pretty different. Sakura would know.
(She thinks of Ami and Yuzu and Momori, all long since gone by now. It's not easy being a non-clan kid in a world where the value of your life is the value of your blood.)
They get off with only a light scolding and trudge over to their seats, Iruka rolling his eyes when Kiba accidentally trips into an unsuspecting Sasuke's back. The Uchiha doesn't rise to the bait though, well... he does make an obscene hand sign at him. Naturally, both go unreprimanded. How typical.
Iruka adopts a severe expression, arms crossed. No one is really all that impressed by it, except maybe Naruto.
"From the original class size of eighty-six, you are the only nine students that graduated. Good work, Genin." There's a brief cheer. "But then, from today onwards, you will be considered fully-fledged shinobi of the village. You will train, you will go on missions and then you will train some more. And most importantly," he says, making eye contact with each of them, "you will have your teammates at your side and the guiding hand of an experienced Jounin-sensei at your back. Strive to become the best version of yourself you can be, and you will naturally become a valued member of the shinobi force."
A pause, and then it almost feels like he is directing his next words at her specifically from the way his eyes linger on her longer than on the others: "It's now up to you individually." He smiles, large and toothily. "I expect great things from you." He does not look at Sakura.
She receives the message loud and clear: He does not expect her to succeed. She is, for all intents and purposes, mere fodder to him. He does not think she will make it past her second mission out of the village at most.
She feels sick. She wants to talk to Mizuki-sensei, suddenly afraid about her team placement. Where is she assigned, when this is what he thinks of her? He has the most say and it terrifies her.
"Now, what you have all been waiting for; your placements." Naruto and Sasuke elbow each other playfully, Shikamaru lazily puts his head down and Aburame Shino's hive goes eerily quiet.
Sakura feels clammy and wrong-footed; she's worked towards this moment for so long, and now that it's here she finds it's even worse than begging shop owners for unsolicited discounts with other patrons in plain view.
"Team Seven," Iruka recites when she tunes back in. Naruto gasps and whispers something to Sasuke and Kiba, who paused an arm-wrestling match for it. Sakura frowns. Is that an important number? She doesn't know.
"Uzumaki Naruto," Naruto's cheer is more like an over-enthusiastic scream, "Uchiha Sasuke," a brief nod of acknowledgement towards Iruka before the three boys stick their heads together, "and Haruno Sakura."
Oh no.