Eight

Fortitude

Sakura truly wasn't much for attention, Konan noted as she watched the teen from the corner of her eye.

She breezed through reports in the days spent at the Tower, gathered information as easily as breathing as she weaved through the streets like she'd never left them, and put forth practical suggestions in answering reports and concerns filed by the citizens.

Everything she did was with pin-point precision and efficacy from information gathering to threat neutralization, yet when it came to the acknowledgment of the things she'd done, she politely deferred credit to 'only completing duties under Tenshi-sama's jurisdiction' and retreated to that spot half a step behind Konan's left shoulder while the people bowed and prayed their thanks.

Little Sakura basked in affection. She had always leaned into her father's embrace, beamed at praise, held on tightly to Konan's own hand out of sight and out of the rain so that he would never see—

"You're upset."

"She could be happier. She could have friends her age, mentors that would gently correct her mistakes, a life outside this endless battle for peace."

—and with no one but a swordsman and an angel to raise her, there was little comfort in life. She read and studied and trained until her legs gave out and she could no longer force herself to smile.

This Sakura barely let any emotion slip by her impassive mask unless it was just her and an Akatsuki, then there were brief flashes of fear or confidence or something darker.

Konan hummed under her breath. They were in her own offices within the Ameonna situated at the north of the Pillar, as opposed to Nagato's spaces along the spine of the Shinigami statue. Here, she sorted through the paperwork that God didn't have the chance to attend to. The other Paths lent their aid every now and again, but it was mostly her with the meetings and the inspections and the problems not just anyone could take care of.

Sakura sat at the main desk, brows drawn and gaze flickering through a twenty page document requesting approval of the updated legal information pertaining to the village's chuunin level shinobi. Konan had already gone over it once and it never hurt to be thorough—and it gave her time to sit here. Observe. Mull over this little girl who was no longer little and who could pull a man out of the street and shove a kunai under his ribs without a single person to notice something amiss.

"She was born to a rogue who's giving his life to this cause. This was never a choice for her to make."

"Then maybe it was a choice we should have given her."

"This job doesn't suit you," she said, and Sakura raised her eyes once in acknowledgment before they were back down at the papers. "Your work is wonderful, but you're stiff and dismissive. Unhappy." Konan took a seat at the corner of the desk, one knee crossed over the other, and folded her hands in her lap. "Though, you could also be unhappy simply because you're here."

Sakura's jaw tightened as she set down her pen. "I made the choice to come here, and both you and Leader-sama have our gratitude for granting us asylum." She still didn't look up. "If this is where you need me, this is where I'll stay. I have no objections."

Konan reached out to brush pink strands behind the teen's right ear where her new piercings glinted in the light, and in that moment, she wished for nothing more than to take out every single metal piece and cast them out into the streets below. Material was important here: Akatsuki members wore their rings as a show of loyalty and as a means of communication, the rain monitored all that it touched, and the piercings directly connected Nagato to his Paths. He'd pulled them from his own body years and years ago, warping them into receptors for high-frequency chakra signals—for his own use, it was a brilliant tool to push chakra into other bodies like the perfect puppeteer Sasori once strove to be.