Contractually Committed

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2

The Game's Afoot

Sakura squinted down into smug, scarlet eyes and clapped her palms together. She held the painted gaze of the small fox tribute—one of the older Uzumaki shrines, back when they worshiped the demon fox as a protector of the forests of their home—and bowed. After a moment, she dropped her eyes to the cement by her feet, and then closed them for a quick, mental, I will not fail.

She'd never bothered to pay tribute to any of the small shrines that dotted sidewalks and parks before. Sure, they'd been ever-present, and yes, many of her good friends came from prominent clan families, but she'd never been weaned on the milk of old legends and myths. Her clan was dead and dust; disbanded nearly four centuries ago. Whatever traditions remained were largely oral and she'd never paid much attention to those—her father hadn't and neither had his father. Her largest nod to the obscure Haruno legacy was her career path.

Straightening out of her bow, Sakura wondered if calling upon the Uzumaki patron would hold any weight. As far as she knew there were no deities that the Haruno aligned themselves to, but seeing as the demon fox represented indomitable will in the face of extreme opposition, she figured it was as good as any.

Hopefully, it wouldn't take offense to a descendant of healers as opposed to its preference for warriors. She kind of needed the pick-me-up after seeing her last test results.

Digging a coin out of her purse she flipped it irreverently into the fountain surrounding the fox's feet. She knew she was doing the whole 'paying respects' shindig wrong, but she didn't really care. If she was at the point that she was even playfully asking for a demon spirit to help her pass organic chemistry, then she was far past the point of caring.

The air was cold and it fogged when she breathed, but even though she planned to dash to the nearest café to warm up, Sakura took another moment to just…look at the shrine. It was derelict in the way that most public properties looked after a decade or so. Not necessarily abused and defaced, but the paint was chipping across the fox's nine tails. Water lines streaked down its face and body, and the small structure it was sheltered beneath was listing slightly backward.

Naruto had often told her that, soon, the shrine properties might be confiscated by the government for preservation purposes. The Uzumaki name was still shiny, but it wasn't as rich as it used to be.

Not like the Yamanaka.

Not like the Akimichi.

Not like the Uchiha.

Sakura spun on her heels with a scowl, shoving her gloved hands into her coat pockets as she rejoined the foot traffic of an average weekday. Noontime in Konoha was busy, and the downtown area even more so as car horns blared and pedestrians jaywalked. She crossed the street with a bulk of fast-moving people, all of them huddled into large coats against the murky day.

Her scowl remained as she thought. It really was nuts, what she was doing, allowing herself to be married. Either to her best friend's big brother, which would devastate him possibly more than getting hitched to a stranger, or to a ghost. Spirit. Patron of the Uchiha name with tilted eyes and a big, fluffy, swishy tail, if the block paintings were to be taken literally. She snorted. Gods, if her dad knew she was marrying a cat he'd probably come out of retirement to help pay for whatever therapy he'd insist on.

One of the only consolations she had was that her marrying a cat wouldn't be all that strange. When he'd met with her yesterday, Itachi had brought with him some cherry-picked records from his families' ancestral home and some of them had detailed other ghost brides. Back in the day where people apparently flung around balls of magic to kill each other off, it was fairly normal to offer up a girl to the family name. Like a living sacrifice.

Besides ceremonial duties and the disturbing insinuations that these ghost brides weren't always entirely willing, they went about their lives fairly normally for the time period.

Sakura took comfort in knowing that it wasn't the first time that this had happened for the long-lived clan, and even more knowing that the more barbaric practices—like the occasional death by fire punishment the Uchiha were known for a few centuries back—were abolished.

With the onset of the modern era, many old-world practices had fallen by the wayside, presumably because of the widespread use of electricity. If their plan worked, it wasn't like she was going to be bound forever inside the walls of the main estate, or wear black for the rest of her life to honor her husband's death. Further, she wasn't going to be helping other brides talk about the big nasty as a traditional matriarch figure, either.

After days scouring records and instructional journals, Itachi had concluded this unique practice was, more or less (and very ironically), dead. At most, she'd be required to attend some parties as a ceremonial representation of the Uchiha as a whole—which were only about twice a year—and otherwise go about her daily life unaffected. She could absolutely do that for Itachi.

Really the only uncertain thing about this process was the reaction it was going to get.

She sighed heavily, taking a moment to switch the song that was playing on her phone. Upbeat and arrogant wasn't fitting the mood today—more like pensive…and maybe a little nervous.

What if the elders—ancient and traditionalist as they were—weren't going to let this whole thing slide? Itachi was hoping that offering a ghost bride would sooth some wounded pride after he essentially gave them the middle finger. They were hoping a nod to the clan history would appeal to them, but it was just as likely that they'd be mortally offended anyways.

Sakura didn't feel ready to piss off that many people. What if they, like, banned her from ever talking to Sasuke? What if they disowned Itachi? Fugaku—Itachi and Sasuke's dad—was in their corner on this one, apparently looking the other way when Sasuke had been caught eavesdropping, but even his position as Clan Head was limited. If her best friend's family fell apart because of her, she'd never forgive herself.

Equally, she wasn't sure she could forgive herself if she didn't help Itachi.

So. She'd marry a cat.

Nodding resolutely to this, if only to beat back lingering doubts, Sakura kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk and made her way towards the little coffee shop on Memorial Lane. It was a brisk walk, and fifteen minutes later when she swung open the glass door to Sugarplum Coffee and Café, she spotted Ino instantly.

Tall, pale, and with hair around half the length of her body, Ino stood out like a floodlight in a basement. She'd been slouched over her phone, probably checking the traffic on her blog site, when she heard the bell on the door and looked up. Instantly, her eyes lit with a smile.

"Sakura!"

The loud greeting drew the attention of over half the customers. Sakura offered a nervous smile to all the eyes that rested on her, momentary as they were, and shuffled over to Ino. Busy exiting out of whatever app or website she'd had up, Ino didn't see the end of Sakura's knit scarf until it hit her square in the face with a small paff. "Thanks for telling everyone my name, piggy."

"Eck…fuzzies." A few small knit fibers had stuck to her lip gloss and she picked them off daintily. "And there's a billion chicks who're named Sakura, Sakura. You might as well be part of an army."

"Petal power," Sakura said, her voice muffled in the extravagance of Ino's golden mane as she leaned in for an embrace. She must've put in sock curls last night. It was riotous and kinked in an artless style, barely held back by an orange silk scarf that had been tied right behind her ears. So close to her, Sakura could see the overlapping pattern of triangles, all different shades of cheery mandarin, and wondered when Ino had decided floral season was over.

"God, it must be freezing out there." Ino gasped and pulled herself away to shiver a little bit. "Your clothes are really cold."

"I know, right? I can't believe how fast winter is coming this year. I'm going to have to go to storage soon if it starts to snow in the next week."

"Don't trust the forecast," Ino quipped, helping Sakura take off her scarf. The café was blasting heat from every vent and it was already starting to get uncomfortably warm.

It had been unusually cold and wet for the past two weeks. Hail and sleet were becoming weekly occurrences, and the cold fronts that continued to hammer the city frosted the roads. Konoha hadn't seen a winter like this for over a decade, being a reasonably warm area, and citizens were caught unawares while the weather channels struggled to make accurate predictions.

"It's gonna suck by the time we're done," Ino sighed, looking out the glass front door to the scene outside. "Hopefully it won't be dark."

Sakura frowned and glanced at her wristwatch. It read one-thirty. "I thought you said you had to dash at three? Sai, right?"

"Date canceled." Ino waved her towards the register and then snagged the strap of her school bag to pull it down into the nearest chair. Sakura submitted to the manhandling with grace, biting the tip of her middle finger to pull off her first glove. A confused look was enough to ask her question for her.

"He said work asked him to stay later." She frowned heavily. "They've been doing that a lot this month. I keep telling him to tell his manager to stuff it but he won't."

"Huh," said Sakura, peeling off her other glove. Sai wasn't the kind of person who wouldn't say something to their manager if he didn't like what was going on. Why was he wanting to stay at work?

"Everything okay between you guys?"

"Oh yes," Ino grinned, propping her chin on an upraised fist. She picked up her coffee and swirled it with obvious relish. "He's been extra romantic lately. I'm expecting a reenactment of that drawing scene in Titanic any day now."

"Urk," Sakura gagged, then patted a hand to her chest. "Sorry, acid reflux. I just—" she gagged again, adding an extra dramatic lurch to her body. "I'm just really nauseated, all the sudden, I think."

"Ew. Get a tic-tac. And order already, jeez." She pushed Sakura away with her heeled boot, laughing.

Sakura obediently dropped the act and twirled away towards the black chalkboards that hung behind the counter. She hadn't been to Sugarplum enough to be familiar with their craft drinks. Perusing the options for a mere second, she shrugged when the friendly barista asked what she wanted and ordered for anything with a lot of whip cream and caffeine.

While waiting for her drink, her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She pulled it out to read a message from Sasuke.

Are you with Ino?

Instantly any forgotten irritation of the earlier morning returned. She'd told him to lay off contacting her.

She typed a single "y" and let out a pinched sigh through her nose. For the last week he'd been near bombarding her with little reminders, updates, and advice. He told her to watch out for his family at least twice a day. Just avoid them if you see them, he'd say. The less they think they've seen you the better, he'd say. She'd been pretty patient with it, all things considered. Sasuke had actually thought about ditching his classes and shadowing her throughout the school day until she pointed out that they'd definitely notice if his grades slipped. His paranoia seemed…excessive, to her.

Would it really be that big of a deal if they saw her? So what? She was a student in a busy city who worked and lived. Surely it wouldn't be out of place if she'd run into them at bookstores and on trains. His argument that the more of a stranger she was to them, the better, seemed valid. But with Fugaku, his wife, and the two Uchiha heirs already knowing her, how much of a stranger could she possibly be? Why was he being so crazy?

Her phone buzzed three more times, so close together that they overlapped and she looked down to read:

Good.

Pay attention.

Set up another meeting with her before you leave.

Wrinkling her nose down at the device, she mindlessly accepted the drink that was passed towards her—something loaded with whip cream and smelling strongly of hot chocolate and peppermint—and walked back over to Ino. She set her drink down before typing a short, you're a helicopter mom, and sending it.

She clicked the phone screen off, set that on the table as well, and sat down to get comfortable. "Honestly," she grumbled. "You'd think they'd sent people to spy me, or something. Even though I know it's important, Sasuke's taking this way too seriously."

Ino, who had already confiscated Sakura's order and was taking a generous swipe of frothy whip off the top, only hummed. Her eyes were oddly bright like they'd had some sort of glassy, reflective material laid over them. Not for the first time, Sakura considered she might have befriended a reanimated doll. Not for the last time she wondered if it was a look she could replicate.

Making grabby hand motions got her over-priced coffee back, and after she'd fully freed herself from the thick sleeves of her coat, the two women settled in together. Ino whipped out her tablet, and Sakura withdrew from her bag a battered notebook and a four-color pen.

"Right," said Ino. "I think it's safe to start with your crappy posture."

"You were slouched over your phone when I walked in. We can start with posture."

Ino scowled and abruptly straightened her spine. "I'm sorry, who is teaching who now? Ah, that's right. I'm teaching. So, shush."

"I'll raise my hand from now on, pinky promise."

"Do you want to learn clan etiquette or not, four eyes?"

"Not really." Sakura made sure to push up her glasses with her middle finger. "But I appreciate you willing to try and teach me, anyways. Is posture as significant as lipstick for good little clan-sters?"

"More." Ino frowned. "You have contacts, right?"

"…yes," Sakura twirled her pen with a small twist to her lips. Over the course of the past few days, a few different people had been drafted as Sakura's personal makeover crew. Itachi largely took over Uchiha history while Sasuke had focused on teaching her the political web of relationships with other clans, but Ino had been asked to make her look the part. Hence, her appearance hadn't stopped being picked apart by those icy blue eyes.

Her style, her walk, her manner of speech. She felt like Miss Congeniality to Ino's Victor Melling.

"They might see your glasses as proof of genetic inferiority," Ino said bluntly. "No glasses."

"I'm beginning to hope I piss these people off," said Sakura.

"And on the topic of posture," Ino continued seamlessly, reaching forward to tap on Sakura's wrinkled brow. "You should know that your expression counts. The paragon of clan women is a well-mannered, well-controlled, and graceful hostess. She is educated—which you've got down pat, miss smarty pants—and she is charming. So! No more scowling."

Sakura heavily resisted the urge to immediately glare, suddenly grateful that she'd never been invited to any of Ino's special family gatherings. She used to be so hurt and jealous that her name wasn't important enough to be on the guest list, but confronting the strict rules was making her feel as though she'd been living on the greener side this whole time.

And so their session continued along the same vein. Her chin must be held only so high, her back must be straight but relaxed, if she needed to use the restroom she did not say so, but rather created some vague excuse to leave, and she was to shake every hand with a gentle, two-handed grip. If by any chance, she needed to turn sideways to pass through a crowd, she was to turn in the direction that faced the most people head-on, so they won't be offended by her turning her back to them. If a higher-ranking clan member offered her any food or drink, it was beyond insulting to refuse.

At this point, Sakura snidely asked what would happen if someone was offered food they were deathly allergic to. Ino, without batting an eye, said that you would still accept, though find a way to gracefully either set the food or drink down, or politely offer it to someone else. Maybe throw it into a potted plant, if things got desperate.

"Your number one goal is to not offend someone, forehead," she said to Sakura's appalled expression. "You're supposed to make everyone feel at ease and happy. Think how embarrassed the other party would feel if you rejected their offer."

"Hypothetically I'd kind of die if I ate it, though."

"And if you said so they would feel wrong-footed." She waved her hands around as Sakura's obvious incredulity increased. "Look, even if they knew how to cover their asses from that kind of social faux pas, you'd look bad for putting them in that position."

"It's so—"

"Unnecessarily complicated, I know."

"—stuffy!" Sakura finished indignantly. "How does anyone have a good time at these gatherings?"

Ino raised her hands in a half-helpless, half-pleased sort of way. "Looking pretty? I mean, when was the last time you found the excuse to wear a kimono or a ballgown?"

Sakura let her forehead land on the table with a gentle thudding noise, careful to keep her glasses out of the way.

"Speaking of," said Ino. "Are you free sometime this weekend? We need to get you in some of my old kimono's. None of them are too far out of style, and since I haven't worn a classic in a few years it shouldn't be instantly recognizable…"

"Sure, piggy." Sakura sat up and immediately slumped into the backrest of her seat. "What time?"

Ino gave her a sympathetic look. Then the sympathy made room for some intense scrutiny and suddenly Sakura was facing the reluctant mothering Ino offered. "I know you must feel a little wrung out. Are you, you know, sleeping okay? Taking care of your skin and hydration and all the things that I harp about? 'Cause you look like shit."

"Yeah," said Sakura. She nodded her head a little. "Not really. You're brutal by the way."

"Hm. Beautiful people often are."

Sakura picked up her coffee unthinkingly, found it empty, and set it down. "I mean I think I'm doing okay. This is just a lot of pressure, you know? I feel like if I don't get everything perfect that our chance at this is kaput. I need to be perfect. Flawless, compared to any other clan chick that gets interviewed with me and I'm just learning all of this now and, well, I don't even know how many other girls I'm up against. I can barely keep track of the mythology of the clan I'm hopefully marrying into, I haven't even told my dad about all…" She waved her hand, at a loss for a brief explanation. "…this, and-and I failed my organic chemistry test."

Ino made a soft sound of dismay and set aside her tablet. This, of all the information, was the only unexpected piece. "How bad of a fail?"

"Sixty-two," Sakura grunted, digging her fingers into her forehead. "I'll need to get above an eighty-four or something on the final to even pass the class. And you know that I can't afford any more screwups. I just don't have the time!"

Time. She felt like the seconds were hours that she needed—needed desperately—in order to survive. They slipped by without any care at all for her or her ambitions, just slid away in the stream of days as easily as creek water.

She had known it back when Sasuke first asked that this was going to be A Project. That it was going to be a Time-Consuming Project. But. It hadn't really registered what all that meant for her when she'd initially said yes. She hadn't expected this ridiculous time-table of history lessons and etiquette and politics, and not nearly at the pace that they were presented. She'd been fairly confident that simply growing up around clan kids meant that she understood it all more than most, and in truth she probably did, but it was a drop in the ocean of what was really happening.

She felt like she'd been running on a treadmill with the setting too high, and everyone around her just kept taking turns pressing the speed button. She couldn't stop, though. Itachi was depending on her and she loved him so dearly. No, she wouldn't be stopping.

"I'm running on fumes," Sakura admitted softly. The four-color pen that she'd been using seemed to mock her where it sat on her notebook. As if four colors could properly categorize her thoughts.

Ino frowned deeply at her. She tapped her bright acrylics along the tabletop thoughtfully, and after a moment to process everything, she nodded her head.

"…right," she said. Then louder: "Right."

Pulling her tablet around, Ino clicked on the screen and tapped on it a few times. She handed it across the table to Sakura. On it, was a blank Excel spreadsheet, no bells or whistles, just the bones.

"I'm tabling a motion to revert to sophomore year tactics," Ino said. "There's not many words of comfort I feel like I can offer you here, forehead. This is just…busy. And stressful. And yeah, you've got other shit to deal with that isn't going to go away because you decided to help out. And I want you to know that we're grateful."

She leaned forward to emphasize this point. "Really, we are. Well, mostly Itachi. According to Sasuke, he's sleeping now so we'll assume he hasn't gone full vampire or something. But. Since you are busy, I say we go back to a schedule for, like, everything. I'll help."

Ino was referring to the second college semester of their sophomore year when they both resolved to not only do a more rigorous credit load but to also get a job and keep up their fitness. They had, later on, impulsively paid for dance classes at a local studio that spanned a month of time.

Really, it was a kind of hell. They stopped sleeping, and they often cancelled their gym dates in favor of eating some actual food instead of cup ramen. The situation only changed when they began to pencil in what they considered the non-negotiables, which meant deliberately scheduling a minimum of eight hours of sleep a night, plus a full hour for every meal and at least two hours of secured solitude for studying a day.

Sakura eyed the Excel sheet for a moment—processed whether or not she'd wanted Ino to shower her with comforting noises and pampering before decided that, no, really, this was so much better—and gratefully inputted her class schedule. Somehow, Ino always knew what to do.

"No gym," she said quickly.

"Cometh the era of thunder thighs," said Ino.

Sakura sniffed, holding back a grin. "At least I don't have a kangaroo pouch."

Ino looked down to her stomach, horrified. "Oh god," she said. "The stress is making you hallucinate."

"Shut up." Both of them were smiling now.

"Pack your camp gear, nerd." Ino waggled her tablet and then stuffed it into her oversized purse. At her next words, Sakura felt completely justified in dramatically sagging with relief: "We're done for the day."

Thus, the end of the work session announced, they packed up and left the café. Sakura was startled to see that, indeed, the sky outside had begun to darken. The horizon line was obstructed by buildings and monorail tracks, but she could still see the dying embers of a sunset streaking across the sky and lighting the clouds orange. Ino whined about the further temperature drop, but even though she grouched and sniffled the whole way she still walked Sakura to the bus stop without having to be asked.

They parted ways with a smile and a wave, with a promise to meet up to try on kimono's either Friday or Saturday.

As the bus pulled away from the curb, Ino blowing a sarcastic kiss from her sanctuary under the bus stop, Sakura thought that at the very least she had someone who was willing to be her grounding rod. Simply put, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that Ino would let Sakura mope off into an imaginary land of clouds for too long.

Settling back into the crappy bus seat, Sakura dug out her headphones and put on some peppy, cheerful tunes. With tongue in cheek, she wondered if she could sick Ino on Sasuke.

She snorted, then sank blissfully into the routine of thinking about dinner and meal prep, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her chest.

Ino watched the bus turn the corner at the light with bright eyes. As soon as its taillights winked out of view, she turned on her heel and started marching home. It was so cold. Why, oh why, did she move to a hot place only to still have to deal with temperatures below freezing? Wasn't it the Country of Fire? Hello?

Dropping her chin to nuzzle further into her high-collared coat, she thanked her lucky stars she was too lazy to move her excess wardrobe into storage as Sakura did. She still had all her winter trench coats—all so cute with their buttons and belts—and her thigh-high boot collection. The only thing she regretted about today was that she hadn't brought earmuffs.

Well, one of the things she was regretting. The other thing was that she hadn't been a little more forceful in her pow-wow with the Uchiha squad last week.

Digging into her purse, she snagged her phone, connected it to a wireless headphone set, and dialed Sasuke's number. She kept one earphone out so she could navigate traffic, but otherwise bundled her clothing close to her and shoved both hands deep into her coat pockets.

The dial tone sounded once…twice…

"What?"

"Hi," she said pointedly.

"Yes?"

"So! I just said bye to our favorite cupcake."

"Did you set up another meeting?" Sasuke's voice was slow as if he wasn't sure why they were talking right now, but Ino's smile was beginning to look a bit sharp.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, we did, so there isn't any need to text her and ask. We're planning for sometime this weekend, but I have to look at her schedule."

"Good." Silence was born. A heavy one. It lasted a moment more while Ino deliberated how to approach her topic without sounding too much of a bitch—poor Sasuke was stressed too.

She could practically hear Sasuke raising his eyebrows over on the other end of the line, and sighed. She just knew he was going to get all huffy and defensive, but to hell with it.

"So…she has kind of a busy schedule."

"I know."

"I don't know if I think you think you know, to be honest. You may think you know, but since I know-know, your sort-of-know isn't really valid, I don't think."

"…what?"

Ino sighed harder. Really, it would be best just to send a picture of the Excel sheet to him, but she wasn't up for it at this exact moment. Sakura's schedule was unforgiving—Ino counted seven classes, and only two were the filler courses the university demanded as general education. Another two classes had attached lab hours that met once or twice a week, further eating up her time. No wonder she's stressed.

"Look," she said. "I know you're pretty freaked about this whole thing, but I really think we all need to work around Sakura's other priorities."

"I knew she complained to you. I knew it. Ino, I—"

"She's not villainizing you, monkey-brains," Ino cut off Sasuke's angry defense with a huff. "God, no one is trying to gun you down, okay? We didn't just spend four hours in a café talking shit, so just hear me out?"

"Hn."

"Thank you. All I'm trying to suggest is that we all get into a more scheduled…schedule, I guess. She's failing one of her classes already, and she starts to lose her sense if she doesn't sleep. Everybody's on edge, and since we can't tell Sakura the whole picture I just—" She pursed her lips, angry that she couldn't just shake Sakura and have knowledge pour into her ears. She'd had dreams that she'd just illegally transplanted everything into her brain and been upset to wake up from them.

"Since we can't let her in on the big, bad secret the next best thing is to get her as prepared as possible. And we can't do that very well if we're disorganized."

There was a tense silence, and after a swift inner debate over whether or not to somehow continue the argument on Ino's part, Sasuke groaned. It was a long, emotionally-charged sound—the kind students make in the libraries around finals week. The kind that was deliberately drawn out to make noise for the sake of making noise.

"I just wish we could tell her. She's part of it. Her own damn histories talk about it. Just because her grandpa decided to leave it doesn't mean she doesn't have a right to it. It's her legacy."

"The Council wouldn't see it that way," Ino reminded him. Perhaps if they had more time, perhaps if they weren't hatching a scheme to essentially change the identity of the future Uchiha matriarch, they could've approached Sakura's inception into clanhood with more finesse.

But.

Their hands were tied. And so were their tongues.

If Ino so much as breathed a word it would be discovered. Her blood contract would burn, and then her mind would be sorted through and shuffled around like a librarian browsing the newest selections.

If Sasuke or Itachi spoke a toe out of line, well. She didn't know exactly what would happen since the Uchiha were secretive pricks—always had been—but it was sure to be as thorough as any other method.

Ino mournfully considered her boyfriend, Sai, as well. He had a seal painted directly into his mouth. Even she didn't know his family name or clan or histories, and they'd had a few conversations about marriage for heaven's sake. She didn't even know what the seal would do to him if he did say something—he couldn't tell her.

Their closest bet to making Sakura look twice had been Naruto, but he could only shrug a little and promise to just set off chakra pulses around her. With his inner fox spirit, perhaps the raw energy could trigger her own dormant abilities. Clans couldn't gripe too much when a person started shooting off chakra at random and inopportune moments, and at that point, she could've been formally adopted by one of them as a ward.

Would've made this stuff a helluva lot easier, Ino thought, kicking at the sidewalk.

She momentarily lost herself in a mild daydream: a world where she could've just told her best friend that she was a mind-reader, at a gradual and non-threatening pace. Oh, the fun they would've had…

Frowning abruptly, Ino thought of the potential hazards of their current plan. The daydream shattered only to be replaced by a familiar, hypothetical situation. One where Sakura was thrust into this whole marriage without them being able to tip her off in time, and then being forced to accept that maybe the myths of old were a little more literal than anyone really believed. That she would be horrified or scared of them all was…well it just hurt Ino' heart.

"I know I've been intense," Sasuke near growled into the phone. "But she just doesn't get it. As soon as my elders see her on the bride roster there are going to be people sniffing around. She has a better chance of being selected if they do that after she's a little more presentable."

"You're talking like I don't know, Sasuke." Ino sidestepped a puddle that was icing at its edges, her voice dry. "But all of this is frankly moot if she's too stressed to function at game time. She's already kind of freaking out. I want us all in an agreement of a schedule, dammit, for all of our sakes."

"Fine." Sasuke bit, obviously frustrated. "But we can't slow down the pace."

"I can't ask that," Ino said. "Not without jeopardizing this whole op we've got going on. God, it's like we're organizing a coup."

"Fine," Sasuke said again, softer this time. "I was hoping we could meet again, just to see if there's any other way we can let her know. She's not taking any of the mythology Itachi's been teaching her seriously."

Of course, Ino thought. Sakura wasn't going to consider any of what they knew to be history as more than some grandiose collection of creative works. Unless she had proof, she had no reason to do anything other than memorizing the information.

"Sure," Ino grouched. "Maybe we can, like, convince her that the elders are actually insane and they believe it, so she should take it seriously. Or something."

"Maybe. Just brainstorm. I'll send out an email in a bit."

After Ino agreed, Sasuke ended the call. She listened to static sound in her ear before pulling out her phone and flipping to her music selection. She swiped through a few songs—her usually heavy beats and saucy lyrics just not seeming to fit the mood. Something more…pensive. And maybe just a little bit nervous.

She really hoped all this worked.