Vizem
patreon
Chapter 30 - Confrontation
🕑 Added 2025-05-03 13:02:12 +0000 UTCSAKURA HARUNO
The discussion moved forward without her.
Geography. Logistics. Mercenary patterns in the Land of Waves. Something about old bridges and subtle terrain traps.
Sakura heard none of it.
Or, no—she heard it. She technically registered the sounds. But none of them landed. Not where they were supposed to. It was like her insides were wrapped in thick linen, muted and preoccupied.
Someone spoke to her at some point.
Naruto maybe. Loud and friendly and half-chewing his food, probably trying to crack a joke or ask if she was okay.
Or the waiter.
She didn’t know.
She just nodded. Said something flat and general and instantly forgot the shape of her own words.
That left her feeling rather guilty.
She, of all people, was supposed to be a kunoichi, tactical support, diplomatic liaison. She was the control. The center.
And yet…
She couldn’t even remember what had been said five minutes ago.
Her skin felt too tight.
Her teeth stayed clenched through the rest of the meeting, even when they stood up, slid out from around the small table, and filed out into the soft golds of the street sunset.
Naruto waved goodbye, easily and loudly, bouncing on his heels like nothing was wrong. Sai gave one strange, minimalist farewell that might’ve been sincere.
They turned down the main road together, still mid-conversation.
Leaving her standing behind.
Still.
Outside the Yakiniku Q shop.
The faint clinking of dishware behind her barely registered over the ringing in her ears.
She hadn’t moved. And neither had he. Of course, he hadn’t.
The bastard was still standing to her left, quiet, hands tucked inside in pockets, like he had infinite patience. Like he’d been waiting not for the meeting to end, but for this moment.
For her to speak.
She couldn’t even look at him.
Because the knot in her throat had gotten worse.
“Sakura?” The voice—his voice—was folded silk, laced with concern, but dry. She could almost believe its sincerity. "...Something wrong?"
Her jaw twitched.
Was it pretend, that concern?
Sakura stared ahead. Her temples pounded behind her eyes. She was no longer trusting her lips to open without her rage spilling out.
She wanted to scream.
To slap.
To accuse.
…to hide.
She didn’t trust herself. Not with the emotions frothing so dangerously close to her lips. Her mother’s face still swam behind her eyes. The words. The smile. The nothing-happened attitude.
Her silence stretched.
He did not move.
And somehow, that only made it worse. If he fidgeted, shifted, or gave any indication of discomfort, it would’ve felt human. It would’ve grounded her.
But he didn't.
He wore silence like it was skin.
Eventually—maybe she was shaking, maybe her voice cracked—but the words came out rough and flat. “…We need to talk,” she said.
There.
The ripple.
He nodded once.
Didn't say a word.
Just turned on his heel and began walking, a stroll, like nothing she could possibly say would shock or interrupt him.
Sakura’s heart kicked against her ribs.
She should’ve told him to stop. Should’ve told herself to stop following him.
But she did.
One foot. Then another.
Stillness gave way to motion. Her sandals barely made a sound on the damp evening stone.
They turned left.
Past a stall starting to close up for the night.
Down a side street that narrowed just slightly too much.
Another turn—maybe two? Her feet remembered more than her focus did.
Somewhere mid-walk, the village chatter blinked away behind her.
The shadows changed.
Quieter.
Not ominous. But...
How had she walked this far and not realized?
The alley was narrow, enclosed by soft-toned brick and mortar, wisteria vines clinging to one wall like they were trying to listen.
There were no pedestrians here now.
Just the two of them.
He stopped beneath the overhang of a stairwell, and he turned. Watched her. Still silent. Still waiting.
Motherfucker!
She stopped a safe distance away—if anything about this felt safe.
Her breath was shallow. Arms tensed at her sides. Her hands wanted to do something—clench, gesture, strike—but they hung useless and stiff.
He looked untouched.
He had the fucking audacity to look untouched.
As if her silence hadn’t been weighing the air like storm humidity the entire way down.
Sakura opened her mouth—and then closed it.
Then again.
“…My mother.” Her lips moved before her mind had fully finalized anything. The words came out staggered, choked like she was admitting something under genjutsu.
He nodded once. Didn’t blink. “Yes.”
No surprise, nor a protest, or damn fake apology!
The rage should've bloomed from that alone.
But what flared instead was something she couldn’t name.
Her chest tightened. “Don’t pretend this is ordinary. Like it's nothing.”
His brow cocked. Barely an interruption. “I’m not pretending anything.”
That made it worse.
She stepped forward once, without meaning to, green eyes flashing with heat. “You—” Her breath hitched. “You’re manipulating her. You had to have. She’d never—she’s not—", she forced to swallow. “She’s married,” Sakura hissed. “You targeted her.”
“No,” he said, “I didn’t target her. The way you use that word—you want to believe she had no will. Or that I robbed her of it.”
“She has a husband—my father—and she—she let you—”
He didn’t interrupt.
He just watched her.
Like he was studying the tremble of her voice, the front line where her pride broke against disbelief.
“I want to hear you say it,” she said suddenly, before she could stop herself. “I want to hear you say what you did.”
The bastard looked at her fully now.
That was the part that hurt more than she expected. His eyes weren’t cruel. Not even defensive or amused.
“Sakura.” Her name from his lips had a weight she wasn't expecting. “I didn’t force anything. I didn’t ask. I didn’t even initiate.”
Sakura stared at him.
She waited for something—hesitation, shame, an unraveling of the mask. A confession ugly enough to justify the storm in her chest.
But all she got—
Was this….
“You didn’t initiate?” she repeated, eyes narrowing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Still no response.
“It’s my mother. A married woman. Who’s never—never—done anything like this before. What the hell did you do to her? Drug her? Threaten her? Whisper all your quiet-snake little truths while she—”
She cut herself off, breath trembling.
“You want me to believe some noble fantasy that she just… what? Slipped and fell into your arms?”
Her fists shook at her sides.
“You’re lying.”
She hated how uncertain her voice sounded.
“You’re a liar, Eishin.”
She hated that her tongue trembled on his name.
Eishin’s eyes glinted—not with guilt, but amusement.
What the hell is so funny here!.
His voice stayed smooth, low. Indulging her. Infuriating her.
“You’ve heard what she said… haven’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, the insinuation curling in his next words like smoke. “Back when, well you know…… played the voyeur.”
Sakura’s breath hitched.
That word. Voyeur.
It splintered through her composure faster than anger ever could, dragging something rotted to the surface.
Her lips parted—she wanted to scream, shove him, deny—but instead…
“You…”
Her voice cracked. God, no—
It wasn’t just that he knew she’d watched.
Her skin flushed hot, shame crawling like ants across her chest, her neck, her thighs.
“Don’t say that!” she snapped, too fast, too bright-eyed to be composed. “You don’t get to—you don’t know anything.”
He was mocking her. After all he had done.
“You think this is funny?” she hissed. “You think it’s a fucking joke? That I had to see—hear—everything you did to her? In — in their bed?!”
Her voice caught again, but it came out fractured.
He didn’t even blink at her outburst.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “I don’t know everything.”
He took a step closer. She held her ground.
“But I do know this…”
He leaned slower, just enough to make her feel his nearness, but not enough to claim space. She should punch him.
“Spying on your mother while she was having a fun time... that's not the way of a proper daughter.”
Sakura recoiled like his words had struck skin.
Her cheeks flared crimson—not from innocence, not from outrage, but from recognition. Something too close to the truth had nestled under her ribs and was now squirming.
“I didn’t—fuck you, I wasn’t spying!” she snapped.
It came out too loud. Too fast. And now her fists were shaking.
She wasn’t sure what he saw on her face, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth told her it was something obscene.
She growled. “I heard noises! Gross, fucking animal noises! You were the one screwing someone you shouldn't have, in someone else’s bed—their bed, you son of a bitch!”
She can feel tears welling up, but she blinked them away.
He didn’t rise to her anger.
Didn’t flinch at her yells or the way her voice cracked.
Instead, he shrugged. Like, the whole thing didn’t mean anything. Wrecking someone else's home was all just part of the weather.
“Yeah,“ His eyes met hers, “But you still stayed, Sakura. Stayed and watched.“
Her breath caught.
He let the silence stretch, just long enough to see the war on her face—horror creeping around the edges of her indignation.
“You could’ve left,” he continued, tone soft, maddeningly gentle. “Could’ve shut the door. Covered your ears. But you didn’t.”
The look he gave her now wasn’t accusatory.
She felt sick.
“You wanted to hear what your mommy sounds like when she’s enjoying herself.” A slow smile, lazy as heat spreading through coals. “Didn’t you, Sakura?”
Sakura’s stomach turned, her face burned so hot it felt feverish, while her heart slammed against her ribs, like a wild animal.
“You’re sick,” she whispered—then louder, “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”
He tilted his head, just a fraction, as though intrigued by her diagnosis.
Sakura snapped.
She closed the distance in two furious steps and grabbed him by the collar, fisting the fabric of his shirt with both hands. He was taller—by a lot—and she had to rise onto her toes just to wrench him down to eye level. The move had more passion than control, more naked emotion than she’d ever allow herself to admit.
“Stay the fuck away from my family," she said with gritted theeth. “Do you hear me? Stay away from my parents. Stay away from her.”
Her grip tightened—knuckles white. He could probably break her hold with a twitch of his wrist, but he didn’t. He stayed still. Watching her.
“Because if I even feel like you’re sniffing around them again—”
“Had you kept them?” he asked, cutting her off.
“…What?” She blinked, her fingers loosened at his collar in confusion.
His eyes scanned hers, calm. They were dark, a shade darker than Sasuke-kun's.
His hands came up slowly, palm brushing her wrist, not to push her away, but to still her. It was the gentlest thing about him thus far. And somehow far more violating.
He leaned in, voice so low it skimmed just beneath her anger. “I’m just wondering… if you still have them. Where did you hide them…… like I told you to.”
The words crashed through her chest like a wave of cold water.
Her mouth opened—no words there, only heat. That rush of humiliation, the ash of memory stirring up from under the dresser in her mind. She knew exactly what he meant. Stuffed between old t-shirts, untouched, unspoken of. Just forgotten enough that remembering burned.
Her lips parted. Then closed again.
No response. Just her trembling breath.
He watched her slowly crumble, expression unnervingly calm. Witnessing.
And she hated that. Hated him. Hated herself.
She clicked her tongue in disgust—more at her own silence than him—then let go of his collar with a hard shove against his chest.
“Fuck you,” she muttered as she swatted his hand away from hers — rough enough to sell the illusion of distance. Her face was unreadable now… or maybe just frozen.
“Go near them again, and I'll make sure you regret it.” she said coldly, “Permanently.”
And with that, she turned on her heel.
Too stiff. Too fast. Almost like she was fleeing, she wasn’t.
“But what if it was your mother who came to me?” he said, halting her steps. “What exactly… should I do then?”
She froze at his words, but it wasn’t fear that surged first. It was red, blistering rage. Her blood boiled upward, flushing her vision, her restraint obliterated.
She spun on her heel, practically stomping her return to his space, finger stabbing the air between them.
“Listen here,” she screamed, jabbing her finger at his chest like she wanted it to pierce through. ”I don’t care if it was her, or you, stay the fuck away from her! You understand? I don’t care if it was you or if it was her seeking you as if she was some kind of slut—”
Like your filthy mind made her out to be….. huh?
The sound cracked before she realized what it was. Her head snapped to the side, hair flaring like ribbons in the air. A bloom of heat erupted across her left cheek.
She blinked. Slow. Almost dazed.
He stood in front of her, hand still raised just a fraction. Breathing heavily.
“Don’t talk about your mother like that,” he said.
Her hand raised to her cheek. He…. he just slapped her.
