A fine drizzle veiled the air. An oil-paper umbrella was unnecessary. Having lived in this village for several years now, Itachi had once found its damp climate extremely uncomfortable. Yet with the passage of time, when the misty rain fell upon his body, he now felt an unexpected sense of ease.
It was not the scorching heat of sunlight, nor the gentle warmth of spring. He had once loathed the perpetual moisture that clung to everything—but today, he had not only grown accustomed to it, he even found himself enjoying it.
Like standing in the wind and deliberately savoring that faint trace of humidity, it left his entire body feeling strangely refreshed.
Just like any other day, today was once again wrapped in fine rain.
As for how he had returned to the village, Itachi could not quite remember. He only knew that he was back.
Using the word "return" for this village had once shocked him. He had been stunned that such a sacred word could be applied to such a small place—and even more startled that a land so lacking in sunlight could replace something so deeply rooted in the heart.
Return.
That word should belong only to one place.
Home.
His home was Konoha—the village bathed in sunlight, warm enough to sting the skin, where even the shade carried warmth beneath the ever-present sun…
Kisame had brought him back.
Kisame had once said, If you're really worried about your little brother, go talk to the boss and make a trip to Konoha.
One word was return.
The other was go.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella, Itachi stepped outside. Sitting beneath the eaves, watching the hazy drizzle, was Kisame—his body still riddled with injuries.
"You're injured like this and still going to look for her? You need rest."
"I'm a little worried," Itachi replied. "After all… she's Sasuke's contemporary."
Kisame burst out laughing.
"Still using your brother as an excuse. Being honest won't kill you."
It wouldn't kill him—but it would be embarrassing.
Itachi thought.
When he turned back to look at Kisame, he still couldn't help asking,
"Do you look down on me?"
Kisame tried to shrug, but his injuries made the motion impossible, so he gave up. Instead, he waved a hand, soothing Itachi's unease.
"Life is long. When has Akatsuki ever cared about other people's eyes? If we truly did, how could Konan still be standing here today?"
It counted as comfort, at least a little. Itachi smiled faintly and stepped into Amegakure.
"Thank you. I hope one day you find something you truly care about, too."
Something to care about?
Kisame tilted his head back, watching the endless drizzle, calm and unhurried.
…
Was it Amegakure that soaked his clothes, or his tears? Itachi couldn't quite tell. But when the oil-paper umbrella opened, it blocked at least some of the bone-chilling cold.
Sakura's current emotions were not unfamiliar to him. On his first New Year's midnight after joining Akatsuki, fireworks had once filled the sky—and in that moment, he had thought of Sasuke. He had thought of Konoha, beautiful as a flower in bloom.
Now there were no fireworks—only the diamond-shaped mark on her forehead, yet it was enough to awaken every strand of longing.
The Byakugou Seal.
A technique so limited by talent that countless people were stopped at its threshold. There were innumerable medical ninja in the world—yet only one Tsunade.
Sakura lifted her head. Her eyes still shimmered with moisture, blending with Amegakure as it rolled down her cheeks. She did not look fragile—because Haruno Sakura had never been fragile.
This land of constant rain did not nurture delicate flowers. Neither did Kitagawa Kita, nor Yomuna MiKonan—nor Haruno Sakura standing here now.
"Y-you're awake? Your injuries haven't healed yet—you can't move. You need rest. And it's raining—if you catch a chill, it'll worsen your condition, you—"
The blue cloak draped over her pink hair cut off her words entirely.
"It's beautiful."
Itachi's voice was hoarse. As Sakura had said, he shouldn't have been out in Amegakure, much less climbing to the highest tower of Amegakure while gravely injured.
"W-what?"
"The Byakugou Seal is beautiful. Congratulations—you've completed the training for an S-rank technique."
Sakura forced a smile and raised her fingers into a peace sign.
"Thank you. Ah—this is nothing, really~"
The script had finally played out as she imagined—only the roles were completely reversed.
Swallowing her grievances, Sakura braced her knees and stood up from the stone platform atop the tower. Time had numbed her legs; her body swayed unsteadily.
She didn't fall into Amegakure—not because Itachi caught her arm, but because Uchiha Itachi pulled her into his embrace.
One hand held the umbrella, the other circled her slender frame. His large palm rested against her damp short hair. With only a slight tilt of his head, he could see the forehead protector tied like a ribbon—its Konoha symbol split cleanly in two.
"If you don't want to smile, then don't," he said softly. "It looks terrible."
"When you're sad, cry. When you're happy, laugh. That's what humans are meant to do. Sakura, missing someone—missing your parents, missing your home—isn't something shameful."
"Don't force yourself. You're clearly hurting, yet pretending nothing's wrong. That's exhausting. I don't want you to be that tired."
Sakura wasn't as strong as Itachi—strong enough to slaughter an entire clan at thirteen and still appear unmoved. She wasn't as resolute—able to kill her parents for her brother's survival.
All her courage had been used on that one day, that single moment—when the kunai sliced through the forehead protector.
The pain twisted her heart like an incurable disease. Yet she couldn't speak of it. It had been her own choice.
Letting Sasuke know about her peanut allergy years ago.
Leaving the village to live on as a medical ninja.
Every step had been her own decision. She had trusted the wrong person. She had been ignorant. This was the only thing she could cling to—penance for an immature childhood romance, for feelings that had never fully grown.
She had to pay the price.
She had to atone.
If she couldn't even do that—then what was Haruno Sakura worth?
So she could only cry. She couldn't say anything at all.
She cried until Itachi felt pain in his chest.
Cried until her eyes were swollen.
Cried until she could once again force a smile.
"Thank you, Itachi."
Her voice was hoarse. Amegakure had stopped. Their clothes were soaked through.
Itachi smiled—just like the first time she had ever seen him smile. Gentle, warm, like the older brother next door. He raised a hand and wiped away her tears.
"There's no need to mind it."
"Y-you're not going to ask what happened to me?"
Itachi shook his head.
"You're strong enough. You don't need my comfort. All I can offer is my shoulder."
Sakura didn't blush at the words borrow my shoulder. She had never been a flower meant for a greenhouse. She was a cherry blossom blooming in the wilderness—battered by wind and rain, yet bursting into color when spring finally came.
She laughed, open and unburdened.
"You're clearly a heinous criminal—so how can you be this good with words?"
"Well," Itachi replied lightly, "when you're living under someone else's roof, you naturally learn some verbal finesse. Cough, cough."
"H-hey, are you okay? Honestly—why did you come out into Amegakure in the first place? You're still injured! This is bad—you've got a fever. Hurry back and take medicine."
"Cough… Sakura, put me down. I—I can still walk."
"Don't talk. Your injuries aren't healed, and now you're chilled—honestly! Yesterday's treatment was completely wasted!"
━━━━ ❖ ━━━
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