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Chapter 32 - Confrontation III
🕑 Added 2025-05-07 15:31:38 +0000 UTCSAKURA HARUNO
"What did I tell you about insulting your mother?"
She blinked.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came.
Nobody had ever slapped her before. Not even in sparring lessons, not even in her worst academy failures. Her father had never even raised more than a sigh at her — if even that.
And he…. slapped her twice.
It stopped her cold. It wasn’t just humiliation. It wasn’t pain. It was a shame born of confusion.
"A spoiled brat like you has no idea the burdens she bears,” he said. She could hear his anger. “How dare you look down on her? On anything she’s done?"
She flinched. Somewhere deep beneath her ribs, where the heat in her blood churned and twisted into a guilty knot.
What is this?
He wasn’t even angry for himself. He was angry for her. Again.
For her mother. This…..
So unfair.
“I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean—!” she choked, voice cracking. Her hands shook uselessly at her sides. “I didn’t look down on her! I just—I just don’t understand any of this!”
Words lip-slick and desperate spilled before she could hold them back.
“I’m not—trying to be awful,” she insisted, and her voice hitched, odd and wounded. “I’m just hurt—and mad—and I see you saying all these things about her, and acting like it was all meant to happen, and I don’t get it!"
Her throat burned, and her eyes itched, wet, though she refused to cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.
“It’s alright.” she heard him say. His voice curved like hands around her trembling thoughts—no longer angry, no longer cold.
She hated the soothing effect it had on her, and she hated even more not moving away when his large palm touched the crown of her head. It felt wrong, yet a treacherous shiver traced a path down her spine, distinct from the chill of the alley. There was something strange in it, something warmer than his cruelty, firmer than anything she really expected.
She found herself standing still.
“To be confused is understandable,” he said softly. “But you should show some effort to understand her burden. The stress she carries each day.”
His fingers gently threaded some strands behind her ear. He was surprisingly tender… respectful, even, in a way that made her tongue cling to the roof of her mouth, unsure how to speak.
She'd expected him to gloat, to be cruel like the villain she knew he was. Not this….. whatever this was.
“Compared to that…” he added, his voice dropping just slightly, almost like a whisper curling in around her thoughts, “...having some time to relax... from time to time... is…”
He held the pause like a caress.
“…alright.”
Why wouldn't it be? Relaxing. Unwinding. Finding relief, whatever form it took. Even if it was something… unspeakable.
Sakura was a kunoichi. She knew what stress did. It ruined organs and broke sleep and made respectable shinobi slit their throats behind locked doors.
Didn't her mom deserve that?
Didn’t she?
Her jaw tensed, and then loosened again. Her hands twitched and fell still. But it was wrong. What he did. What they did was wrong.
But—
Her mother had always been so composed, so severe. A model of restraint. Polished hair, spotless clothes, crisp words. It hides the pressure. And pressure, Sakura knew, needed release. Otherwise, it cracked foundations, and no one ever saw it coming until the house fell in on itself.
She remembered her mother’s hands trembling as she scrubbed the same plate over and over. The muttered frustrations, the smiles that never touched her eyes. Was it really so evil to seek out a moment of softness in a life that had offered none?
She blinked, chest tight. Her mother was still hers, still the same woman who stayed up late mending her torn flak jacket, who scolded with furrowed brows, but warm meals always waiting.
Maybe it wasn’t about right or wrong. Maybe it was just about surviving. Choosing to breathe instead of suffocating in silence.
Wasn’t that what people needed sometimes?
Time to breathe.
To feel not like a machine keeping families and obligations together, but just… a woman. A human being.
Even someone like her mother.
Even someone like… her.
Because wasn’t she tired too? Burnt out from tiptoeing around what was allowed, what was forbidden, what parts of herself she was permitted to express?
What exactly was the line—and why did being on the other side of it feel so wrong if it clearly brought others peace?
Maybe it wasn’t about right or wrong at all.
Maybe it was about how strong you were—or weren’t. And how much weight were you allowed to put down?
Her mother had just wanted to feel something that wasn’t pressure.
And maybe… maybe giving in once in a while was just the price for keeping sane.
Maybe that’s all it was.
And if that was true—if she could accept that—then maybe she didn’t have to hate her. Maybe she didn’t have to hate him, either.
But—
“But what about my dad…?” she finally asked. Her voice came out thinner than she wished. Not angry—unsure, like she was asking something she thought she already knew and didn’t want confirmed. “He didn’t deserve it. To be… cheated on.”
The moment the words left her, she hated how fragile they sounded. Like a child whining for fairness. Like someone too naive to understand how heavy the world really was.
But it was true.
He didn’t deserve it.
She could still picture his face, grinning with that shitty low-effort laugh that only he seemed to think was funny.
He was so clueless.
Almost sweet in how clueless.
What killed her most was knowing he'd still look at her mom the same way even now, probably. Would still laugh from across the table with a mouthful of rice, no idea what she'd done, no clue what parts of her she'd given to Someone Else.
That blind, bumbling loyalty—it made her want to scream. Or cry. Or punch something.
She felt his hand brushing against her head, patting her. It was warm and big, and she’d almost forgotten it was even there. She remembered she hadn’t stepped away yet. Why hadn’t she?
The thought dug its little claws into her belly as something else curled there too, quiet and traitorous.
She bit her lip, eyes drifting downward, too full to name—heat, guilt, confusion; she was a mess.
And just like that, her mouth rambling without meaning to.
“He wouldn’t even care about a massage,” she muttered, as if defending him. “Or hugs, or, or…” She trailed off, cheeks flushing when her mind conjured more. Things were too far from acceptable to attach to her mother in any conscious sentence.
“I’m not saying it’s okay,” she added quickly, sharply, protectively. “It’s not. My dad would… if he knew, if he figured it out, it would ruin him.”
Why did she sound like she was convincing herself?
His voice slipped back in only when her silence had started to feel like drowning.
“You’re right, Sakura,” he said. Calm. Not defensive. Just... composed. “He didn’t deserve it. That’s what made it so hard for her. Sometimes, people do things they’re not proud of… not to hurt the people they love, but to survive loving them.”
He was not deriding her or defending anyone, just… explaining.
Sakura had expected some judgmental sigh or a shrug. A quiet “you’re too young to understand.” Or worse, a smile that meant “that’s just how marriage works sometimes.”
She wanted it. Needed it. Needed him to say her dad deserved it so she could finally snap. Fight back, hate properly, burn the damn lie down.
If he had just said something cruel, her anger would’ve roared to life. At least that would’ve made sense.
“Your mom didn't do it out of malice, Sakura,” he murmured. “Your mother was suffocating….. it was the only way to hold the marriage together without losing herself.”
Her jaw tensed.
No. No—that wasn’t the answer. That wasn’t the thing.
So why did it feel like it landed somewhere deep between her ribs?
She hated how calm it sounded. Like the logic of it had already been neatly folded into the shape of a truth. Something airtight. Something impossible to punch through.
“People handle stress in ugly ways,” he added. “Some talk, some scream, some violent way. Pretending it never happens doesn’t stop it. And ignoring needs, real needs… it just makes people disappear without ever leaving.”
She wanted to interrupt him. She wanted to say something sharp, feral, childish.
But her throat was tight.
Needs.
That word made her stomach twist.
Her mom had needs?
That was the part that kept stinging the worst. Not even the betrayal, not the sex, not even the lying.
It was that every quiet part of her mother’s life had been like Sakura’s, just older, deeper, more exhausted.
And maybe—maybe if nobody gave her anything, then someone had to take that role.
Her dad hadn’t.
And now this man with his gentle voice and patient silences, who wasn’t even flinching under her anger, was brushing aside the parts of the story that made her feel righteous—and replacing them with compassion. Toward her mother. Which wasn’t fair.
She wanted someone to blame.
The petting wasn’t helping.
Except—it was.
His palm dragged lightly down her scalp in slow, comforting strokes. He hadn't moved it, hadn’t even shifted tone, as if this whole conversation was happening from far away—but the touch made her shiver, electricity firing down her spine and into her toes.
She hated how her shoulders relaxed without permission.
“Don’t do that,” she muttered, but didn’t pull away.
Her voice shook. Her hormones raged. And her skin was on fire under every point of contact.
“Don’t act like it makes sense. Don’t act like it’s okay.”
He just kept petting her hair like she wasn’t one twitch away from either crying or clawing at his shirt.
She turned her face slightly—not quite toward him, but not away either. She let herself lean forward half an inch. Just half. But it was enough. Her limbs felt heavier, warmer. Her bottom lip felt full and bitten. Too much heat in her cheek. Too much nothing in her chest, stretching wide.
She didn't know what to say now.
She didn’t even know what she wanted to say.
She just knew she didn’t want him to stop touching her. She should. But she didn’t.
“But… it’s still cheating,” Sakura said, trying once more, and immediately winced at how thin her voice sounded.
It wasn’t even a protest. Just a small, breathy attempt to keep her last piece of moral high ground intact.
Still, perhaps this time he’d laugh and mock her?
He didn’t.
“Yes,” he agreed softly, almost sadly. “It is cheating. But can you blame her?”
Why? Why?! Why are you being so…. so….
“Your mother loves your father,” he went on, voice low. “I don’t doubt that. But love doesn’t make stress disappear. Love doesn’t fill needs if the other person won’t see them. So, what was she supposed to do?”
He gently brushed her bangs from her forehead.
“She’d a hard choice to make. Let the weight kill their marriage? Let herself rot inside it? Or do something—anything—to hold them together while she still had pieces left?”
No. She needs to do all she can to save her marriage, but….. but
She wanted to argue—dig into the word “betrayal” and make it work. But it wouldn’t come out. Her lips just sat there, flushed, silent.
She wished he hadn’t explained it.
She needed someone to be guilty besides her mom.
She barely noticed how close she was now. How she’d let it. How her body leaned toward him in increments she didn’t even see coming until she was there.
“Now it’s your turn to make a choice, Sakura.”
“A choice?” she echoed, like the word had never been used on her before.
“Do you want to save your parents’ marriage? Or destroy it?”
There was something obscene in how simple he made it sound.
That’s not fair. That’s so cruel.
This wasn’t a daughter’s decision. That was too much. This was the wife’s burden, somehow falling sideways onto her teenage hands.
“You don’t need to choose right now.”
The warmth in his tone made her feel like crying again.
Maybe this wasn’t a trap, even though her whole body felt baited.
“Take your time. But for now… let me first show you the proof we talked about earlier. Then you’ll know what to do. Alright?”
Sakura blinked fast.
“Proof…”
She gave a small nod, eyes cast low.
It felt too pathetic the second she did it.
Apparently, he thought so too.
His fingers slid from her cheek to her chin, and suddenly, his grip changed. Firmer. Purposeful. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew hesitation when he saw it—and knew how to correct it. Under that purposeful touch, her body felt like it was yielding without her permission, heavy and weak.
Sakura gasped quietly as he tilted her face upward, his thumb pressing just enough into the soft skin beneath her jaw to make her breath catch.
Her eyes met his, and her throat suddenly felt dry, while a confusing flush spread lower than her cheeks.
“Do you want proof, yes or no?”
Sakura froze. He was so gentle a moment ago…. She felt… flustered. Stupidly, hotly flustered. Not because she was scared. Perhaps she was. Something pulsed low in her belly now, echoing the beat in her neck, and her thighs tightened, then softened. Her legs suddenly felt like they were made of syrup. Soft and slow and syrupy.
What was this?
But she has no time to think about it. He expecting her to answer. So she did.
“I—” she started, her voice barely a whisper. “Y… yes.”
“Yes what?”
His voice again, still not satisfied.
Sakura’s breath hitched, and the tiny nod she'd given suddenly felt worthless. Her eyes darted up to his, confused, embarrassed that she hadn’t answered right. Again.
Why did he keep cornering her like this? Pulling answers from her in humiliating ways?
“Yes, I… I want proof,” she muttered. She clenched her fists in her lap even as her cheeks burned.
He stared a moment, expression unreadable, then exhaled, the sound sharp and….. disappointed.
“You’re so vague,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Eishin’s hand, still on her jaw, tightened—and before she could react, he pulled her in, roughly, just inches from him. So close she could feel his breath on her eyelashes. Her heart leapt like it wanted out of her throat.
“You really only know how to use that mouth for insults, huh?” His voice, low and rough, seemed to vibrate through her bones, leaving her feeling weak and utterly bewildered by her body's response.
Sakura gasped, stuck between outrage and disbelief.
But even as the insult sliced through her, something colder flashed inside her from the way he said it. She felt that heat rush up again, the hot sting of his voice, and that she couldn’t explain made it worse.
She turned her face slightly, trying to pull back—but he held her tight, his fingers at her chin like hooks.
“You’re—! I said I want proof!” she barked, voice shaking.
Tears started rising — not because she was weak, she wasn’t — but because everything was wrong and hot and claustrophobic and confusing and he was looking at her like that again—
“And?” he asked, “what proof do you want?”
What did he want from her?
What did she want?
Her throat tightened.
“I want proof,” she muttered, nearly spitting it, “that Mom wasn’t forced—that she wanted it—proof she isn’t being blackmailed or drugged or—or gross! And that she knows what she’s doing and isn’t going to ruin everything—and that maybe—maybe—it’s really okay and not just insane and—!”
Her pitch escalated.
She wasn’t even sure what she was saying anymore. The words kept unraveling as her face flushed and her chest burned.
Eishin’s face barely changed while she spoke. And she caught it. He was amused.
At her.
Lis she was some — like she was — like some—
That did it.
Her fist tightened, useless and shaking with all the rage and fire he had half-choked out of her over the last hour.
Without thinking, she surged forward.
How dare he laugh at her?!
Sakura threw a punch, awkward, off-balance, full of tear-choked fury.
And hit absolutely nothing.
He stood now, two feet back somehow. She hadn’t seen him move, but he had. Effortlessly.
Of course, he had.
She stumbled forward and caught herself, dread twisting in her stomach before she could speak. Her eyes flew up to meet his, panting, flushed, wild with shame.
And there he was.
Still calm. Still…..
He chuckled.
A bastard.
“That’s more like it,” he said, voice trailing somewhere between dry amusement and subtle approval. “I knew you were a good girl.”
Her fist, still curled at her side, twitched. She wasn’t sure if her nails were gripping her gloves or holding her soul in.
Her breath caught quietly in her throat, and she felt exposed, but he was already turning. Walking away like everything that had just happened was normal.
“Once this mission ends…” he said without looking back, “I’ll give you the proof.”
Her mouth opened.
Some instinct shot up—rage, retort, protest—whatever emotion was still clinging for dear life in her scorched chest after everything he’d just done to her.
Asshole!
Don’t you walk away like that!
I don’t need your proof!
She didn’t know which one she was going to say. Maybe all of them.
But the words didn’t land.
Because….
….. good girl…..
Her jaw snapped shut.
She stood there, caught in place like her sandals had welded to the pavement. Rage blew out of her like a candle flame.
Sakura could still feel the leftover fire in her chest, but it wouldn’t behave or rise again. It puffed and vanished like breath into winter air.
“Ugh… goddammit.”
Her teeth clenched as she forced herself to scowl, hoping it was working. Her throat felt raw, but her face wouldn’t show it. She wouldn’t let it.
She wouldn’t give him any more satisfaction.
The smooth click of his boots leaving her behind echoed once and then didn’t at all. He was gone, just like that.
The alley felt colder.
Sakura stood frozen for a few seconds longer in the shadow where he abandoned her, still trying to look like she didn’t care. Like she could dismiss the whole thing with a sneer.
She hated that she could hear it in her bones now. Those two simple words felt like chains cinched tight against her chest as the last of her defenses snapped.
Her jaw quivered before anything else did.
Then her arms.
Then her whole face buckled.
And finally, her legs gave out, and her body folded downward. She sank to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest and burying my face in them, the sobs finally starting to wrack my body.
All Sakura could do was let it bleed from her and hope, quietly, that when dawn finally reached her, she wouldn’t feel so, so like this.
— — — — — — —
A/N: And here we are -- part four of what was supposed to be a single chapter.
I swear I didn’t mean to drag it out this long. But once I started peeling back Sakura’s headspace, things kept unfolding. Originally, this was meant to be wrapped up quickly (Sakura’s a long-game catch, after all, and I don't want to give false expectations), but I kept following the thread, and… yeah. I'm really bad at this planning thing.
This chapter’s nearly 3.2k words, and it could be more, but I tried to rein it in and not drag it out too much. If the ending feels a little abrupt, that’s me trying to slam the brakes. Hope it still flows alright.
As always, thanks for reading! Comments really help me figure out what's working and what’s spiraling out of control, so feel free to yell at me (please don't, I’m held together by vibes and caffeine) in the replies.
