An Inch of Gold

15

Both Sarada and Sakura realise who the newcomer is at the same time; but their reactions are vastly different.

Sarada is intrigued, almost awed. This man standing before them is her uncle—an individual that is more myth than reality to her. Curiosity and confusion overwhelm her, marring her training and better judgement.

Her first impression of him was true: he looks uncannily like her father. His hair is longer, though, and his cheekbones more defined; the rest of his features are somehow more delicate, almost feminine. Even his frame is different—shorter than her father, more lithe than wiry, like a dancer. If the stories of his exploits are true, that would make him fast as well as lethal. The delicate appearance is probably something than many an opponent has misjudged. On top of all that, he exudes a bewildering mixture of frailty and power Sarada can't decide if she is drawn to or terrified of.

Sakura has no such indecision.

The palpable fear in her body-language reminds Sarada of the harsh truth of their circumstances.

If Itachi Uchiha is alive, then he is from the past. Whatever the means by which he came to be here, in his timeline he is a dangerous criminal, not one of the many names chiselled into the memorial stone in Konoha's cemetery. He has not yet carried out whatever action will redeem him, and he is certainly not the hero her father says he is.

She needs to be careful.

"Based on your expressions, you both know who I am," he says, voice sombre and mild. Different again from Sarada's father, who at any age speaks with a hard edge of certainty and arrogance. "I've seen you before—" Itachi's eyes rest on Sakura, who is pale-faced and shaking, eyes firmly planted on the floor. Surprise and confusion cross her features, but he doesn't qualify the statement, instead turning his gaze to Sarada, "—but you're a stranger, it would seem."

He says nothing more, but the tomoe in his Sharingan spin in calculation.

"Keep your eyes on his feet," Sakura whispers to Sarada, voice shaking. "If you look at him, he'll catch you in a genjutsu."

Sarada instantly looks away, shame bubbling up inside her as she realises what an elementary mistake she just made. Even if she can't help it—trying to study the man she feels she's supposed to know but doesn't—it's not excuse to forget her training.

"It's interesting that a young girl would be familiar with the abilities of a Sharingan, rare as it is," Itachi remarks. "You look like you're barely past chūnin level."

Although there is no derision in his words, Sakura blushes in embarrassment. Even if she hadn't caught a brief look at him before her senses caught up with her, she would be caught off-guard by his words. To her, his voice is far too like Sasuke's, and she has become conditioned to feel flustered when praised or criticised by an Uchiha.

"If I had wanted to use a genjutsu, there have been ample opportunities to do so," he continues. "Neither of you pose any risk to me, given your respective physical limitations."

Again, he doesn't need to elaborate. His eyes linger on Sarada's injury and Sakura's shivering form; she is still weak from her healing attempts. On top of that, both girls are crouched in their underthings, their tools and weapons out of reach.

Staring down one of the most dangerous shinobi in Konoha's history, and we're sitting around in our underwear. Because this day couldn't get any worse...!

"However," Itachi continues, "If it brings you some small comfort..."

Sarada chances a quick peek, and watches his eyes fade to black.