Now, the third month began. Her forming seal gleamed faintly with chakra each morning, a quiet, pulsing reminder of her path forward. It shimmered violet in the dim light before dawn, catching on the inside of her wrist like a second heartbeat. The skin around it tingled, warm some mornings, sore on others, just proof that her chakra was knitting itself into something permanent. The gap between her and the boys felt impossibly wide some days. Sasuke's absence echoed like a snapped string in a still room. Naruto's departure was louder; half smiles and words that didn't say goodbye, only wait for me. But there'd been no farewell. No I'll come back to you too. Just a blur of orange vanishing into the trees. But Sakura didn't slow. She poured herself harder into every lesson, thumbs raw from flipping scrolls, knuckles split and red from striking bark until it cracked. Every punch echoed with something deeper than force. Every diagram, sketched by candlelight, mapped theories she didn't know she could build. Compression ratios. Gate harmonics. Deception patterns. Strike with intention. Heal with calculation. Defend like you've already lost. 'If I stop now, they'll leave me again.' She wrote with ink-stained hands, chakra still tingling in her fingertips from training. Her tea sat forgotten at her side, gone cold. Her breath fogged faintly against the window. 'I won't be the girl watching from behind. Not this time.' Because Sasuke had left them behind. Because Naruto had never said goodbye. And because she would make herself into the kind of ninja no one could leave again.

The third month began with a storm of clarity. Under the austere light of the Realm of Awakening, where the sky was always dusk-hued, where the wind moved like breath through stone, Sakura stood motionless. Here, emotions were stripped to their purest essence, untangled from memory or ego. The silence pressed against her skin like a second atmosphere. She focused her efforts on mastering the Execution Form. She had summoned it before, felt its golden chains uncoil from her palms, heard the resounding silence that followed its decree, but now came the deeper trial: refinement, control, and intention. Not just to wield it, but to deserve it. Sekhmet's lessons began not with combat drills, but with stillness. The goddess stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded, her eyes molten with patience. Sakura knelt on stone scorched by astral fire, sweat already streaking down her temples though she hadn't moved in hours. Her heartbeat was the only sound she could feel, thudding slow and deep in her ears. 'Execution demands balance. It is not anger. It is not justice. It is clarity.' She breathed through the heat, through the ache in her thighs, through the flickering pull of doubt. 'This Form sees what I'd rather not. Sees the cruelty. The mercy. The choice.' Her fingers twitched once. She caught herself. Stillness. Again. 'I don't want to become a monster.' 'Then don't,' she answered herself. 'Become someone who chooses not to.' Her chakra pulsed faintly beneath her skin, measured, deliberate, patient. The Execution Form would not come to rage. It came to resolve. And she was ready to stand in its judgment again.

"Justice falls in straight lines," the goddess had said, and for two weeks, Sakura was made to shape her goddess chakra into rigid, vertical currents, blades of truth rather than emotion. Every flicker of her fingers had to align with intent. Every breath, every strike, had to fall without wavering. The vertical chakra currents blazed like spears of daylight through her coils. Lightning Release threaded through each line, sharp, swift, unrelenting, its voltage tempered by the steady pulse of yang-based goddess chakra. It didn't burn. It clarified. When it aligned just right, it hummed in her bones like judgment spoken aloud. Sekhmet conjured simulation after simulation. Her illusions were vicious in their precision: a war criminal surrounded by innocent children, a deserter begging to be forgotten, a trembling shinobi too young to know the weight of their own sin. Blood on their hands, yes, but fear in their eyes too. Sakura's heart didn't race. That was the point.

In one trial, a kunoichi enemy fell to her knees before the strike landed, her chakra already fractured from guilt. Sakura's fingers hovered mid-sigil. Heavenfall Lance burned along her arm, a column of light ready to drop like divine steel. 'She's broken already. Do you punish what's already shattered?' She exhaled and released the jutsu into the sky. The thunder echoed overhead like a warning to herself.

Another time, a male shinobi lunged with blades carved from stolen chakra, rage unrepentant, murder in his smile. Sakura didn't flinch. She let the Weight of Verdict fall, and he collapsed as if the air itself had turned to stone. Her chakra had wrapped around his soul like lead, burdening his limbs with the gravity of every life he'd taken. He gasped against the earth, immobilized by something deeper than jutsu.

Sekhmet's eyes narrowed, neither approving nor condemning. Watching. These weren't just fights. They were judgments. And each left Sakura's hands steadier, her resolve quieter, and her power more precise. The Execution Form remained her most awe-inspiring weapon; majestic, terrible, and beautiful in equal measure. When summoned, the air grew heavier, reverent. Even Sekhmet stood still. The scythe emerged with a soundless ripple, suspended in air beside Sakura like a final breath held before judgment. Its matte-black blade devoured light rather than reflecting it, a void edged in veined streaks of white-gold that pulsed like distant constellations. The hilt; long, elegant, wrapped in untarnished white cloth, radiated a sterile kind of holiness, as if untouched by the world's grime. Above it floated the balance scale of Astra, its twin bowls aglow with cold, celestial light, always shifting, always weighing. And in the field, surrounded by enemies who didn't yet understand, Sakura hovered. Her feet no longer touched the ground. Her skin glowed with a moonlit translucence, shadows unable to cling to her. Each slow inhale brightened her with quiet divinity. Her eyes shimmered, not from tears, but from clarity, and twin lines of gold trickled down her cheeks, unblinking. No rage. No sorrow. Only balance.

The first to charge her never touched her. White Petal Fall answered. She raised a hand, and the enemy's chakra tore away like blossoms caught in an invisible wind, fluttering white petals that dissolved before they hit the earth. The man collapsed to his knees, eyes wide, breath gone, as if even the idea of his presence had been erased. 'Mercy in absence. That's one kind of justice too,' she thought.

The second adversary, a rogue kunoichi with chakra chains coiled around her like serpents, screamed a defiance rooted in old wounds. Sakura whispered, "Divine Verdict," and the Sealing Form answered her call. The chains reformed from starlight and memory, binding the woman midair. They tightened once, gently, testing. In that suspended stillness, the glow from the scales above the scythe dimmed. Regret had been sensed. The fire did not ignite. Sakura lowered her hand. The scythe retreated. 'You live. But remember why.'

The last, a towering brute with laughter soaked in blood, swung a kanabō of hardened stone straight for her throat. She didn't move. With a flat gesture, she triggered Life Void. The world stopped. Wind stilled. Trees curled inward as if shrinking from her. The ground dulled to grey. No chakra flowed, no sound existed. His kanabō cracked mid-swing and disintegrated into inert dust. The man tried to scream, but even his voice had been stolen. In that bubble of nothing, she moved closer, hovering inches from the shell of who he'd been. "You'll grow nothing here," she said softly. "Not even hate." Only when she exhaled did color return to the grass behind her.

Sekhmet finally spoke. "Now," she said, "you are learning what it means to wield execution without becoming it." And Sakura, still floating, still weeping golden tears that did not burn, believed her.  Only truth. No fury. No grief. Only what was earned. Sekhmet had made that very clear the first time Sakura's hands had trembled during training, when she'd hesitated over a deserter illusion whose crimes mirrored Sasuke's too closely. The goddess had stopped the lesson with a snap of her fingers. "The moment you carry hate into judgment, you will fail its purpose." Her voice hadn't risen, but it had pressed into Sakura's bones, as real as gravity.

Now, Sakura stood in the ruins of another simulation. The dust hadn't settled. The memory of the scythe's presence still buzzed in the air like ozone. Her fingers were steady, but her heart beat low and deliberate, like a drum deep underwater. She didn't need to ask what Sekhmet meant anymore. She understood. 'I'm not here to punish. I'm here to weigh.' The Execution Form didn't answer to vengeance. If she reached for it with anything but clarity, it resisted. The blade dulled. The scale dimmed. Her goddess chakra cracked and turned inward like a weapon made to punish the unworthy. It knew her, and it would expose her if she strayed. So she learned to hollow herself in its presence. Inhale. The pain. The memory. The ache of teammates she couldn't follow, of a boy who never looked back. 'Exhale. Let it go.' Her thoughts stilled until all that remained was truth. Who had done what. What had been lost. What could never be returned. And from that stillness, she could strike. She wrote the phrase down in her journal that night in ink thick and sharp: "Only truth survives judgment." Then beneath it, in smaller letters, her own addition: 'And only the strong can tell it without flinching.' The illusion dissolved around her in silence. No ash. No echo. Just stillness, the kind that follows true decisions.

Sakura stood alone in the center of the training field Sekhmet had conjured, the scythe floating gently at her side, scales balanced, untouched by blood or fire. Her breathing had evened. Her chakra was smooth and clean, no longer trembling with overcorrection or hesitation. Sekhmet stepped forward from the haze beyond the field's edge. Her eyes, gold and unfathomable, scanned Sakura from head to toe. The goddess's expression betrayed nothing, until she spoke. "It is done."

Sakura blinked. "What?"

Sekhmet's gaze didn't waver. "The Execution Form is no longer a weapon that masters you. It responds only to your judgment now. You have refined it in calm, wielded it without anger, passed sentence without letting grief carry your hand. You are worthy." For a long moment, Sakura said nothing. Her limbs felt heavy, not from exhaustion, but from release. Three months of shaping herself, sanding down impulse, reworking instinct into something cleaner, colder, quieter.

She looked down at her hands, steady. Then to the hovering scythe, obedient. And then to the goddess who had never once praised her without cause. "...I thought it would feel like victory," Sakura murmured. "But it feels like... quiet."

Sekhmet nodded. "Because justice is not loud. And you are no longer chasing power. You've become it." Sakura closed her eyes. Her heartbeat was no longer trying to outrun something. It had found its pace. 'I did it.' She didn't cry. She didn't smile. But for the first time in weeks, she let herself breathe.

In the second half of the month, Sakura advanced to Form Chaining; an intermediate technique involving seamless transitions between Purposeful Forms mid-combat. Wisdom, War, Execution, each one summoned not just by chakra seals but by the surge of feeling deep within her. Sekhmet's summoned guardians, looming specters of gleaming obsidian and flickering gold, advanced silently, their eyes like burning coals piercing through the dim training hall. The air thickened with tension, each breath Sakura took heavy and deliberate, her heart hammering a steady rhythm beneath her ribs.

The first guardian lunged with lightning speed, claws slicing through the air, their movement precise but merciless. Sakura's body reacted before her mind could catch up; she twisted, feeling the rush of wind graze her cheek and the sharp scent of ozone fill her nose. Her fingers flared with chakra as she shifted seamlessly into War Form, every muscle coiling like a spring. But this was no mindless fight. Sekhmet's voice echoed softly in her mind, 'Power is born of feeling, not suppression.' Sakura let the frustration she'd held inside fuel her movements, channeling it into fluid strikes that were both fierce and measured. Her instincts sharpened, every flicker of motion, every breath of the guardians, she read with clarity born of raw emotion. When the second guardian closed in, she let intuition guide her, eyes narrowing as she invoked the Wisdom Form mid-flow, her hands weaving sealing signs as glowing glyphs flickered in the air. The guardian's assault slowed, caught in precise barriers of light. With a sharp inhale, Sakura dove forward, heart pounding, emotions no longer shackles but wings. The fight became a pulse, a dialogue of strength and feeling, each strike a sentence in a conversation only she could hear. The final blow landed with a whisper of power, and she stood, breath ragged but eyes bright, knowing she had crossed a new threshold. 'Control is no longer just discipline,' she thought, 'it is the harmony I've been searching for.'

The air in the chamber grew thick, shadows coiling like living smoke around Sakura's feet. The flickering light cast shifting shapes that morphed into familiar faces, teammates turned traitors, smiles twisted into betrayals. Her breath came shallow, heart pounding against ribs as doubt crept in like a cold fog. Each trial unfolded like a nightmare stitched from reality: a mission where hesitation meant loss, where mercy could become a fatal weakness. The scent of damp earth and faint iron hung in the air, mingling with the metallic taste rising in her throat. Every instinct screamed to lash out, to protect, but Sekhmet's voice was absent, only silence filled the space, heavy and accusing. Sakura's eyes burned with unshed tears as she faced illusions of comrades pleading, enemies disguised, and innocent lives teetering on the edge. The weight of choice pressed down like a mountain; no chakra seals could erase the burden she felt. Her hands trembled, but she steadied them, focusing inward. 'This is not about reaction,' she thought, 'but judgment.' The Execution Form's scythe shimmered faintly at her side, a silent reminder of the balance she must keep. With each decision, she felt the consequences ripple, sometimes saving, sometimes costing, but never without clarity. Her heart ached, not with sorrow, but with resolve. The shadows whispered doubts, but she stood firm, knowing that the truest strength lay in facing the unbearable truth without flinching.

Meanwhile, Sakura's elemental refinement progressed alongside her Astra mastery. Her Lightning Release, once wild and overwhelming, had sharpened into a precise, almost surgical force that thrummed beneath her skin like a living thing. With each pulse of Split Surge, Sakura felt the raw electricity compressing through her muscles, her limbs moving faster and smoother, the air buzzing faintly around her as if charged with static. The burn of chakra misfire that used to scorch her flesh was now carefully controlled, channeled into sharp bursts of speed and fluid flexibility. Her breaths came steady, eyes focused, every movement balanced on a razor's edge between power and finesse. Beneath her feet, the earth told its own story. The cool grit of soil pressed into her sandals, rough and grounding. She wove her Earth Release chakra anchors like invisible roots burrowing deep into the ground. They clung tightly to rock, dirt, and moss, holding her steady even as the battlefield shifted beneath her. When a violent shockwave from Execution Form slammed into the terrain, the earth beneath her trembled, but the chakra tethers held firm. She could feel the vibration traveling up through her soles, a solid connection that steadied her pulse and mind. The scent of damp earth mixed with ozone from her lightning chakra, filling her senses with a charged calm. During a grueling sparring session, Sekhmet summoned jagged stone shards that burst violently from the ground, slicing through the air with sharp edges and whistling wind. Sakura's heart pounded in rhythm with the chaotic clash of elements. She lunged forward with Split Surge, her body a blur of lightning-blue streaks as she twisted and darted through the deadly storm. Her feet anchored by Earth Release, she dodged a spiraling wind blade that grazed her shoulder, the sting a sharp reminder of the fight's stakes. She retaliated with a crackling strike, the lightning in her palm erupting in a controlled blaze that shattered her opponent's defenses. Sekhmet watched with her usual quiet intensity, eyes unblinking, measuring every nuance. Sakura's mastery wasn't just in raw power, it was the harmony of speed, stability, and intent. The immense weight of Divine Judgement no longer threatened to crush her resolve; instead, she bore it with solemn grace, each strike purposeful, each pause deliberate. 'This isn't just control,' Sakura reflected amid the storm's roar, 'it's clarity. It's purpose. The first step toward true justice.'

Under Tsunade's relentless guidance, Sakura's training entered a phase of extreme precision. Gone were the days of wide swings and hopeful healing. Now, every movement was dissected, corrected, sharpened. Sakura's chakra control drills turned surgical: mending torn muscle fibers on simulation dummies so fine even a medic sensor wouldn't find the scar, reinforcing veins without rupturing them, splitting a single drop of poison into traceable layers for neutralization. Her hands moved with a trembling stillness, chakra threads weaving like silk from her fingertips. The cool, sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air in the hospital's back room, where Tsunade supervised. Harsh fluorescent light illuminated sweat slipping down the side of Sakura's neck, dripping into the collar of her practice robes.

"Sloppy on the tendon binding," Tsunade muttered, arms crossed as she hovered beside her. "Again." Sakura didn't flinch. She inhaled through her nose, steady, then tried again. Her fingers moved slower this time, less emotion, more intention. The thread caught perfectly. Tsunade said nothing. But she didn't have to. By the end of the month, Sakura's chakra storage had climbed to 25%. The slow but steady accumulation surged beneath her skin like a tide she couldn't quite reach yet, warm, deep, and waiting. Each morning she rose with a faint, thrumming heat beneath the center of her forehead. The Byakugō seal was still incomplete, but now it pulsed at intervals: not with pain, but with promise. Tsunade stood beside her in the training room, gazing down at the slowly forming mark. She didn't smile. Didn't say congratulations. Just nodded once, arms crossed, gaze steady. "Don't think for a second this makes you invincible," she said. Her voice was rough, but low. "It means you have more to lose now. And more to protect."

Sakura nodded, breath catching in her throat. 'I won't waste this. I won't disappoint you.' "Yes, Shishō."

Tsunade sighed and ruffled her hair with a callused hand, a gesture half exasperated, half maternal. "Brat's growing up too fast." Sakura blinked, then grinned quietly to herself. Her scalp tingled where Tsunade's hand had been. 'Maybe fast is what I need.'

Tsunade taught her that healing wasn't just an act of kindness, it was an act of dominance. A way to control the battlefield not by overpowering it, but by outlasting it. She drilled that truth into Sakura not with lectures, but with experience. "Anyone can punch," Tsunade said one humid morning as she watched Sakura crouch low in the middle of a dirt clearing. "But healing under pressure? That's real strength. That's staying power."

The grass was slick from rain, the air thick with rising mist. Sakura's thighs trembled in a low combat stance, one knee bent deep, the other leg stretched behind her, toes barely brushing the ground. Her arms were held in a loose guard position, chakra flowing to her palms as if ready to mend or strike at a moment's notice. Around her, the clearing had been rigged with low-level traps, tripwires, spiked snares, illusion bombs designed to simulate battlefield distractions. Tsunade had triggered them randomly. Sakura wasn't allowed to move. Not from fear. Not from reflex. She was learning passive chakra stability: the ability to focus, heal, and stay ready without breaking form. A quake jutsu triggered beneath her feet, small, but jarring. Sakura's heel shifted slightly. She corrected herself, re-centering. 'Stay calm. Inhale on the tremor. Exhale on the release. You are the stillness in the storm.' Sweat crawled down her back in slow rivulets. Her breathing was quiet, controlled. Every muscle in her body throbbed with restraint. She visualized her chakra network, not as a river, but as an anchor, rooting her in place. Then came the phantom kunai, projectiles formed from harmless chakra constructs that sliced through the air with real weight and velocity. They hissed past her shoulders and legs. She didn't flinch. Not once. Her hands glowed faintly green, the medical chakra thrumming like a second heartbeat. She imagined knitting flesh together mid-battle, focused only on the wound and not the chaos.

"You're not just fixing bodies," Tsunade called out, watching with narrowed eyes from the treeline. "You're controlling time. Every second they stay standing because of you is a second you decide how the fight unfolds." Sakura's legs shook harder. Her calves cramped. Her vision began to blur slightly from exertion, but her hands, steady. Glowing. 'I want to be that kind of medic. The one who decides the outcome, not just survives it.' Tsunade stepped into the clearing and raised a hand. The traps deactivated. The tension in the air dropped. "You lasted seven minutes today," Tsunade said, voice quiet with something just shy of pride. "Most chūnin break after four." Sakura didn't speak. She simply nodded once, then finally allowed herself to collapse into the grass. Her breath came out in a shuddering laugh. The dampness soaked her back immediately, but the ground felt cool, grounding. Tsunade crouched beside her and handed over a water flask. "You're building endurance the hard way, you know."

Sakura drank, throat raw. "It's the only way that lasts, right?"

Tsunade's smile was faint, almost hidden. But it was there. "Now you're talking like a damn Hokage." Sakura didn't answer. She just grinned up at the gray sky, her fingers still faintly glowing, her legs still burning from the pose, and her heart quietly steady.

Her true trial came in the trauma dome. The space was massive, half arena, half simulation ward, bathed in a harsh, sterile white light that buzzed like a low swarm. The dome was alive with chaos: screaming illusions, smoke-filled air, slick stone floors streaked with crimson. Automated jutsu constructs detonated in the distance, sending tremors through the ground. The metallic tang of blood clung to her tongue; the burnt scent of seared flesh and ruptured chakra coils lingered in the air. Sakura moved through it like a thread through a needle, weaving between bodies, real actors, illusionary constructs, and animate training dummies, each simulating battlefield trauma with brutal accuracy. A child with third-degree burns screamed beside a shinobi who had a jagged branch lodged in his abdomen. Chakra feedback rippled wildly from an unconscious kunoichi's chest as her heart began to fibrillate. All of it demanded her attention. All of it, now. 'You don't get to panic. You breathe, you triage, you move.' She had no time to use full diagnostic jutsu. Her hands were already glowing, fingers pressed to pressure points, eyes scanning for signs that didn't wait for technique scrolls to explain. So she began listening. Not with her ears, but with her chakra.

At first, it was an accident. She felt the chakra signature of a shinobi fading fast two rows behind her, not because he cried out, but because the beat of his life wavered through the floor. A subtle skip in rhythm. His heart wasn't where it should've been. She spun around, shoved two other med-nin aside, and slammed her palms into the man's sternum. Her chakra threaded down into his chest cavity, bypassing superficial bleeding. There it was, a rupture in the lower ventricle. She didn't even think. Her chakra sealed the tear in layers, mimicking the structure of the tissue itself. His pulse stabilized within seconds.

That was the birth of Pulse Marking. She refined it quickly, linking her chakra into the dome itself, expanding it through the air and surface until she could map life signatures by heartbeat and chakra flicker alone. Like sonar. Every disruption in rhythm was a potential death. Every irregularity, a red flag. It let her triage at ten paces. It let her think ahead. "Left corner! collapsed lung and chakra overdrive!" she shouted, not even looking up as she stabilized a broken spinal cord with a layering stitch of medical chakra. "If they convulse again, their coils will rupture!"

The med-nin scrambled where she directed, trusting her blindly. Tsunade had been silent the whole time, watching from the upper observation ring. Only once Sakura finally staggered out of the dome, exhausted, her hands shaking, blood on her sleeves and burn-salve on her cheek, did she speak. "That's a technique you just created, isn't it?" Tsunade said, stepping into her path. Her voice was low, but there was steel in it. And pride.

Sakura blinked up at her, sweat dripping from her chin. "I... I didn't mean to. I just felt it. Their heartbeats... they moved wrong. Like off-beat drums."

Tsunade crossed her arms. "Pulse Marking. That's what I'm calling it." Then, her voice softened. "You're not just reacting anymore. You're anticipating. You know what that means?" Sakura nodded slowly, throat tight. 'It means I'm starting to become what you are.'

Tsunade's hand reached out and brushed gently against her temple, smoothing blood-matted hair back behind her ear. "You're thinking like a real field medic now, Sakura. The kind that turns the tide of a battle." Sakura didn't smile. Not yet. But her spine straightened under the weight of that praise, and her trembling hands stilled. She could still feel every heartbeat in the dome behind her, proof that they were alive. Because of her.

In the midst of that chaos, Sakura also mastered chakra scalpel deflection, a technique that demanded surgical precision and battlefield reflexes in the same breath. The trauma dome gave her no forgiveness. Blades came from nowhere, illusions mimicked ambushes, and every second patient was an intentional trap meant to test her readiness. Sakura crouched beside a shinobi groaning through a punctured lung, her chakra scalpel humming in her right hand. Its edge, just two millimeters thick, glowed a soft blue, sharp enough to sever nerves, delicate enough to repair vessels. Her left hand hovered above the open wound, weaving chakra threads to reinforce collapsing tissue. A glint of metal cut through the smoke. A kunai, silent and spinning, aimed for her temple. She didn't flinch. Her hand moved in a tight arc, shhhk, and the scalpel intercepted the weapon mid-air. A flash of heat against steel, then the kunai clattered harmlessly against the floor. Her patient never felt the interruption. Another blade. This one from behind. Sakura twisted on one knee, raising her scalpel just in time to sever the thread guiding it. The chakra-thread trap recoiled. Her focus never wavered. She was back to her patient before his lungs took another breath. Her chakra sealed the last tear in his bronchus, her hands clean, swift, almost invisible in their motion. By the end of the exercise, her sleeves were scorched, her fingers blistered from deflecting heat-jutsu kunai, and the training ward reported a 100% patient survival rate in her quadrant.

Tsunade descended the stairs toward her slowly, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. "You're not just healing under fire," she said at last. "You're performing under it. That kunai deflection, do you even realize how difficult that is?"

Sakura exhaled, feeling the sting in her burned hands. "I didn't think. I just... knew where it would land."

"That's the point," Tsunade murmured. "When instinct and technique finally become one." She knelt beside her. "You know what the scalpel really means, don't you?"

Sakura looked down at the faintly glowing blade in her hand. Its light flickered gently, not violent. "It's not just to cut."

Tsunade nodded. "It's to protect. A healer who can't defend her patient will lose them. You kept your field clean. You shielded with one hand and sutured with the other. That's more than skill. That's clarity." Her voice lowered, softer now. "I couldn't do that at your age." Sakura blinked. Her chest filled with something warm, not pride exactly. Something deeper. A thread of legacy passed from one hand to another. "Keep that scalpel clean, Sakura," Tsunade said, standing again. "And never forget what it's for."

Tsunade escalated the difficulty again with what she called Healing vs Harm drills, a trial of extremes where mercy and violence existed in the same breath. The battlefield was a mock arena veiled in mist, the kind that clung to skin and blurred allies from enemies. Sakura's orders were simple: subdue without killing, heal without hesitation, and never lose the rhythm. A tall shinobi lunged at her with a blunted blade, and she ducked low, chakra pulsing through her palm. Her scalpel flared bright blue as she twisted and swept his legs out beneath him, slicing clean through the Achilles tendon. He dropped, howling, but before his cry reached its peak, her other hand was already moving, sealing the damage. The tendon knitted itself back together in under three seconds.

Another attacker struck from behind. She spun mid-air, letting her chakra flow outward into her elbows and knees. She drove a sharp blow into the clavicle, dislocating it, then grabbed the joint as the man fell, pushing her chakra inside like water through a narrow funnel. Pop. The bone slid back into place, smooth and painless. He blinked in confusion, still mid-fall. 'This is what precision feels like.' Her fingers no longer trembled when she cut. Her chakra didn't waver when it transitioned from destruction to healing. Instead, it listened.

Then came the harder part, moral dissonance. A woman charged her with shuriken, faster than Sakura could heal and dodge. So she chose harm. Her scalpel slashed across the rotator cuff, disabling the throwing arm, but the woman dropped, bleeding. Sakura faltered. For a second, she felt the pain in her own shoulder. 'I did that. And I can fix it. But should I?'

"Stop thinking like a kunoichi," Tsunade's voice rang from the observation perch above, firm and low. "Think like a medic."

Sakura snapped her eyes up to her mentor, breathing hard. "She attacked me."

"So?" Tsunade descended, face unreadable. "You think your enemies come with labels? You don't get to pick when to heal. If you can, you must. That's your burden now." Sakura stood, heart pounding, the scalpel fading from her palm. Tsunade's voice softened as she reached her. "I made you do this so you'd understand. Healing isn't peace, Sakura. It's war in slow motion." She crouched and laid a hand gently on Sakura's wrist. "You severed a tendon, then rebuilt it without hesitation. Do you know what that means?" Sakura shook her head, throat tight. "It means your hands don't fear consequences anymore. You've become a medic who can strike first and still choose to heal. That's rarer than you know." Tsunade stood again, her shadow long over the cracked tiles. "You're not just my student. You're my successor. And this," she gestured to the fallen, recovering bodies around them, "is the battlefield you'll command one day." Sakura looked down at her hands, slick with sweat and chakra residue, trembling from overuse but steady in resolve. 'Not a tool. Not a weapon. These hands... are judgment now.'

In quieter hours, Sakura returned to the scrolls. The world around her slowed to the whisper of paper and the scent of aged ink, thick and metallic, like dried blood. Her fingers, bandaged from chakra burn and blade practice, turned each page with reverence. These weren't just books. They were forbidden knowledge preserved through silence. Tsunade had placed the scroll in front of her with an unreadable expression. "'Anatomy of False Life,'" she said, almost like a warning. "This isn't for curiosity. This is for protection. You read it, you understand it, and then you lock it away in your heart."

Sakura nodded. "Yes, Shishō." The scroll was hand-copied, strokes meticulous but warped in places where fear must've gripped the scribe's brush. It detailed anatomical diagrams of reanimated corpses, puppet joints, muscle-thread techniques; how chakra wires could move a body long after death. Some pages were annotated with Tsunade's own notes: impractical in heat-based terrain, nerve clusters still resist puppeteer override. Sakura studied them not to emulate but to unravel. 'If something like this is ever used again... I want to be the one who stops it.' For days she mapped each muscle memory described, drawing overlays across transparent parchment until she could recite the difference between artificial motion and reflexive movement. It wasn't just the body, it was the chakra patterns behind the motion that mattered. One night, her fingers paused on a section titled The Unmaking Principle: Breaking Residual Will. She carried the scroll to Tsunade without a word.

Tsunade looked up from her own medical logs, raised a brow. "You found it."

"'Somatic Chakra Imprint,'" Sakura murmured, pointing. "It's the echo left in muscle by chakra use, right? Like a phantom limb, but energetic."

Tsunade leaned back, folding her arms. "Exactly. Everyone leaves an imprint in their body from how they use chakra. The more skilled the shinobi, the louder the imprint. That's what puppet masters exploit."

"Could it be... reversed?" Sakura asked. "Unwritten?"

Tsunade's lips curved slightly. "That's what I hoped you'd ask." She stood, walked to her cabinet, and pulled a smaller, dust-covered scroll sealed with wax. "This is Resurrection Theory: Somatic Reversal. One of the only known writings on it. I kept it sealed until I knew you were ready." Sakura hesitated, her pulse rising. Tsunade knelt beside her, voice quieter now. "This isn't something you'll find in any curriculum. The technique is theoretical, incomplete, and if misused, cruel. But if you can master it, not to bring people back, but to let them go, you'll be able to stop any forced revival jutsu. Even Edo Tensei." Her breath caught. 'Let them go...' "I trust you with this," Tsunade added, resting a hand over Sakura's. "Because I know you won't treat it like power. You'll treat it like grief." That night, Sakura studied until dawn. And when the morning light broke across the scrolls, she wasn't thinking about resurrection. She was thinking about mercy. About what it meant to undo something unnatural, not with hate, but with quiet love. And in the silence of her room, lit only by candlelight and the ghost of Tsunade's touch, she whispered to herself: 'Not everything broken should be returned. Some things deserve to rest.'

Late one night, as the rain clawed faintly at her window and the candles burned low, Sakura finally felt it click. Her ink-stained fingers trembled, not with fatigue, but the gravity of what had formed between her thoughts and the scroll beneath her hand. The pages were filled edge to edge, line after line of chakra flow diagrams, tissue resonance charts, and sensory field overlays. The final entry was circled twice and underlined in red: "Chakra Severance via Somatic Pulse Inversion."

Her theory had evolved. What the original scrolls proposed, unmaking the unnatural, always stalled at the same barrier: chakra memory outlasting physical decay. But Sakura had found a loophole. If chakra imprint was just residual memory, then it could be disrupted not by brute sealing, but by counter-mirroring. A precise chakra frequency, emitted at the inverse resonance of the imprint, could unravel the bind like undoing a knot in muscle. Not a seal. Not a curse mark. A harmonic unbinding. Not resurrection. Release. 'Not dominance. Not possession. Mercy.' She rolled the scroll tight, wrapped it in clean linen, and tied it with crimson string. Her heart was racing when she stepped into Tsunade's office the next morning. The sun had barely risen. Sleep still clung to the village. But Sakura didn't wait. She knocked once, opened the door, and held out the scroll like it was part of her body.

Tsunade, half-dressed with her robe loose over her shoulders, blinked once. "You're early."

"I figured it out," Sakura said. Her voice was calm, but there was fire behind it. "Not resurrection. Not suppression. Release."

Tsunade stepped forward, taking the scroll. She didn't open it immediately. Her eyes searched Sakura's face. "You look like you haven't slept in a day."

"I haven't." Tsunade finally unraveled the scroll. The candlelight on her desk shimmered over Sakura's handwriting, neat, exact, unflinching. As she read, her brow furrowed, then slowly lifted.

"Chakra Severance via... Pulse Inversion." She read it aloud, almost disbelieving. "You're using the heartbeat. You're using the body's own resonance field to unmark the somatic echo."

Sakura nodded. "It has to be voluntary. From the one doing the release. No external chakra seals. No forced cancellation. It only works if they're ready to let the imprint go."

Tsunade looked up. Her eyes were soft, but glistening. "...Sakura. Do you realize what this is?"

"It's not resurrection," Sakura whispered. "It's the last kindness we can offer. For the ones who weren't allowed to die properly."

Tsunade said nothing for a moment. Then she reached out and drew Sakura into a hug, fierce, grounding, the kind that silenced every breath but made space for one more. "I'm proud of you," she whispered. "You're not just healing bodies anymore. You're healing what the world tries to forget." Sakura blinked quickly. 'I'm not just my strength. I'm what I choose to protect.' That day, they began testing the theory. Not in secret, but in silence. Out of respect for the lives it might someday free.

By the end of the third month, Sakura no longer needed Tsunade to tell her when she had improved, she could feel it in her pulse, in her chakra, in the way her hands no longer trembled when suturing an artery mid-crisis. Her chakra storage had risen to 25%, and the Byakugō seal beneath her skin beat with quiet regularity, a silent metronome counting down to the day she would fully awaken it. She felt it now, not just as a goal, but as a presence. Tsunade didn't make a show of the milestone.  They stood outside the trauma dome, the air heavy with the scent of sterilized stone and old chakra. Evening sun spilled over the roof tiles, painting the windows gold.

"You're not who you were when I met you," Tsunade said, her voice low, but steady. "And I don't mean stronger. I mean you're finally standing in your own damn name." Sakura looked down at her hands, scarred, blistered, impossibly steady. 'I used to chase after them... but now I know I'm not behind anyone anymore.'

"Thank you," she said softly.

Tsunade reached forward and tucked a loose strand of pink hair behind Sakura's ear. "Don't thank me. Just make sure you survive long enough to prove me right." Sakura nodded, not with fire or bravado, but with something steadier. Something she'd earned.

By the third month, Sakura's physical training with Guy had reached a boiling point. She was no longer a student merely enduring the strain of the Eight Gates, she was learning to wield them with conscious precision.  Gate 5, the Gate of Limit, was no longer a wall to crash through, it was a thread to balance upon. And Guy, ever the storm of conviction and sweat and fire, made sure she never forgot what it meant to truly walk that edge.

"YOSH!!" he bellowed, his arms crossed, sun glinting off his teeth like chakra itself had blessed his smile. "Sakura! Today, you will not just open the Fifth Gate! You will whisper it into being! You will court it like a fierce lover, but never let it overpower you! Burn with control!"

She blinked at him beneath the blindfold, sweat already slicking her collarbone. "That's...one way to put it."

"No distractions!" he snapped into a fighting stance so fast the air clapped. "Only divine youthful focus!" The drill began. Blindfolded. Gate 5 opened just enough to spark her nerves, sharpen her muscles, lift her heels from the stone. But it came too fast. Her punch shattered the ground two feet wide of her target. "Overzealous!" Guy barked. "Again! Think of the Gate as a brushstroke, not a battering ram!" Strike. Miss. Strike. Overshoot. Blocked. Stagger. Adjust. Each mistake earned a pointed finger and another passionate lecture. "Control is beauty! Control is power! Control is youth!" She nearly laughed, until his leg swept her feet and dropped her flat on her back. "Stay sharp, Sakura!" he said, looming over her with a grin and a hand offered. "Enemies won't wait for your poetic epiphanies." She groaned, grabbing his wrist. 'He's ridiculous. But I'm learning.'

By the end of the first week, her movements grew quieter. Shorter. The chakra stopped roaring and started humming. She could feel the gate open like a second breath, quick, surgical. Guy blindfolded her again and again, forcing her to feel rather than see. "No wasted movement!" he said, circling her. "You're not a cannonball, you're a kunoichi! You must strike with precision and restraint! Like... like plucking a single eyebrow hair from a raging tiger!" She snorted, then gasped as she narrowly blocked a heel to her ribs. Midway through the second week, she slipped through his guard. Her fist halted just an inch from his chest, Gate 5 pulsing only for that single strike. Clean. Efficient. Silence. Then...

"YOOOOOOSHAAAA!!" Guy flung himself backward into a handspring, kicking up dust in celebration. "You did it! You danced with the storm and did not lose your step! You are a maestro of the Gate!"

She pulled off her blindfold slowly, breath heaving, heart rattling inside her chest like a war drum finally slowing. "You didn't pull your punches today," she said.

Guy's grin dropped into something quieter, serious. "Because I don't hold back on those I respect." Sakura swallowed. 'He means it.' "You're learning to control the fire inside you, Sakura." He clapped a hand on her shoulder, firm and proud. "Most never get this far. But you, you are blazing a path of youthful excellence!"

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, exhausted but smiling. "If I hear the word 'youth' one more time, I might start hitting you with Gate 5."

He struck a dramatic pose. "A worthy price for such radiant progress!" And beneath the bluster, she heard what he wasn't saying: Well done. You've become something rare.

Then came the challenge of Gate 6, the Gate of View.

Activating it wasn't just a physical test this time, it cracked open wounds Sakura had long buried deep inside. The gate burst wide like a dam breaking, and memories flooded in sharp and raw. She saw herself as a younger girl, alone beneath the schoolyard tree, the rough bark pressing cold against her skin. Kids taunted her, cruel whispers about her forehead echoing like daggers.

But worse was the voice that haunted her home. Her mother's sharp words sliced through the quiet of their well-kept house. "Honestly, Sakura, with your clumsiness and laziness, how do you expect to amount to anything? You're a disappointment."

Her father's laugh followed, easy and dismissive. "She's got your stubborn streak, dear. Can't be all bad." The truth was harsh. Despite their wealth and status, love was absent. And soon, without warning, her parents left the village, vanished for three long years, leaving young Sakura to stand alone against the world.

Her fists clenched tight, nails digging into her palms, not pain, but a cold, raw grief she carried silently. Guy didn't speak. He just waited,  patient, unwavering. After a moment, he broke the quiet with a grin, his voice booming across the rugged hillside. "Alright! Enough moping! Time to earn your strength where it counts!" He pointed uphill. "Weights on your legs, Gate 6 wide open. Run. Don't stop. No excuses!"

Sakura swallowed the lump in her throat and looked up at the steep incline. "Weighted legs, huh? What, you wanna see me crawl like a slug too?"

Guy's eyes sparkled with challenge. "If you crawl, I'm calling it training. But you're not a slug, are you? You're a ninja. Prove it!" She shot him a glare but started moving. The rocks scraped her ankles, sweat stung her eyes, and the weights pulled hard like chains dragging her down. Every breath felt like fire, every step a battle. Her chest heaved as memories, the cruel words, the lonely nights, the punishing words or actions when she had done what Mebuki deemed wrong, pressed down, heavier than the weights themselves. Her vision blurred. The world spun. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed, heart hammering in a dizzy void.

When she came to two days later, rough bark scratched her fingers, cold mountain air kissed her flushed face, and Guy was standing over her with that same impossible grin. "You fainted, huh? Well, it's better to fail and get back up than never try at all."

She groaned. "You really don't make this easy."

"Easy?" He laughed, fist bumping the air. "You think I'm here to make life easy? No! I'm here to make you strong. You want to win? You gotta hurt a little."

She looked away, voice quiet. "Sometimes it hurts too much."

He softened, stepping closer. "Pain means you're alive. Means you care. But the moment you let it stop you,  that's when you lose. You hear me? You don't quit. Not today, not ever."

Her lips twitched into a small smile, fueled by something fierce deep inside. "Alright. Let's go again."

Two days later, she faced the hill once more. Weights strapped on, Gate 6 blazing open, the slope a brutal enemy. Her breath came harsh and steady. Her legs burned but carried her forward.

The memories still flickered, sharp words, lonely nights, but now, they didn't weigh her down. They pushed her harder. At the summit, she collapsed, breath ragged but victorious.

Guy was there instantly, fists raised like a proud father. "That's what I'm talking about! You didn't just climb a mountain, you crushed the one inside you!"

She laughed, pain and pride mingling. "You owe me dinner for this."

He winked. "Deal. But remember, you earned every bite."

The little diner Guy picked was tucked between a laundry line and an old carpenter's shop, its windows glowing amber against the dusk. The tables were mismatched, the cushions lumpy, and the miso soup came in cracked bowls, but it smelled like warmth, and for Sakura, warmth was a rare thing. She sat across from Guy, a tray of yakisoba cooling between them. He was laughing, loud, sincere, a little too much for the space, and it made her smile, even if her mouth didn't quite commit. "I asked for the spicy one!" Guy announced dramatically, fanning his tongue. "And it has answered me with the fury of a thousand suns!"

"You ordered the sweet sauce, sensei," Sakura said dryly, stabbing her noodles. "I saw you."

"Then this sweetness has teeth!" he declared, still fanning. "A reminder that life is always full of surprises." She laughed softly, shoulders loosening as the tension of the day slid off her spine. They sat in silence for a few beats after, the quiet broken only by the sound of steam rising from the kitchen behind them. Outside, rain had started, thin and cold, tapping gently against the windows.

Sakura stirred her food but didn't eat. Her gaze drifted, unfocused. "Guy-sensei," she said, voice lower now, "can I tell you something?"

He turned serious almost instantly, folding his arms and leaning forward with an expression that made it clear: she had his full attention. "Of course."

Sakura's eyes stayed on the table. "My parents left when I was six." Her voice cracked just a little, barely enough to notice unless you were listening for it. "On my birthday." Guy didn't interrupt. He didn't gasp or reach across the table. He simply nodded once, gently. "They didn't say goodbye. Didn't leave a note. Just... disappeared one morning. The house was too quiet. I waited all day. The cake I made with the neighbor was still in the fridge when I realized they weren't coming back." She drew a shaky breath. "They were civilians. Wealthy. Respected. They had no reason to go, none that made sense. But they did anyway. Just vanished." Guy's expression softened, but he still said nothing. "I stayed in the house as long as I could. But with no one paying the mortgage..." She looked away. "I moved out last month. Small apartment. Cold sink, leaky ceiling. But at least it's mine."

Sakura's fingers curled around her chopsticks like they were something to anchor her to the present. She continued. "People think I got teased because of my forehead. And I did. But that wasn't the worst of it." Her voice grew quieter. More deliberate. "My mom used to say things like, 'You're a burden. Too loud, too clumsy, too much.' Every mistake I made was proof I'd never amount to anything. And my dad? He just laughed with her, like it was all a joke." The diner air suddenly felt tighter, heavier. "She once locked me in the basement for three days," she added, eyes not lifting. "I was six. I corrected a teacher in class, he got a detail wrong in a history lesson, and I pointed it out. He sent a note home."

Guy's hands were balled into gentle fists on the table, but his voice came out soft, warm as a candle. "She locked you away for that?"

Sakura nodded. "No food. No light. Just the cold floor and the sound of her heels on the boards above."

For a long time, Guy was silent. Then, with a steady breath, he said, "Sakura... I don't know how someone could do that to a child. Let alone you." She finally met his eyes. There was no pity in his face. Just fierce respect. "And yet," he continued, "you didn't just survive it. You walked out of that basement, and you became this. The kind of girl who opens six chakra gates before thirteen. The kind of girl who heals others, leads missions, and never quits. Sakura, your spirit is... more youthful than most grown shinobi I've met."

Her eyes stung at that, but she smiled anyway. "I guess... I didn't want to become like them."

"You didn't." Guy's voice turned resolute. "You won't. And for the record..." He picked up his tea, raising it like a toast. "Any fool can bring a child into the world. But real family? Real family shows up."

Sakura lifted her cup to his. Their tea clinked, quiet and strong. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime," Guy said with a grin. "But next time, I'm picking another sauce. No more spicy sweetness." A laugh slipped from her chest, light and genuine. For the first time in years, the cold didn't feel so close.

The rain whispered against the high windows of the Hokage Tower, soft and steady, like the breath of a village trying not to disturb the quiet. The room was lit by paper lanterns casting golden glow against the dark wood walls. Tsunade sat at her desk, flipping through a stack of injury reports with half a cup of cold tea at her elbow. Across the room, Kakashi leaned against the wall, reading a scroll one-eyed and unfocused. Then the door opened, too fast, too hard. It wasn't the usual energetic crash of Might Guy's dramatics. This wasn't theatrical. This was urgent. Tsunade looked up immediately. Kakashi's posture straightened. Guy stood in the doorway, soaked through from the drizzle, and for once, silent.

Tsunade's brow furrowed. "Guy?"

His mouth was pressed in a firm line. Rainwater slid off his chin. "I just dropped Sakura off." Kakashi turned his head at that. "She's fine," Guy added quickly. "Physically." A pause. His gaze sharpened, voice dipping lower. "But there's more going on than I ever realized."

Tsunade stood now, sensing the shift. "What do you mean?"

Guy took a few paces into the room, breath shallow. The words formed in his mind faster than his tongue could give them justice, but he tried. "I asked her to dinner. Just a meal, celebration for how far she's come this month. She's doing so well, but something was off. I thought maybe she just needed rest." His throat worked around the memory of her voice, quiet and halting at that little dumpling shop. "Tonight," he said, "she told me the truth."

Kakashi lifted an eyebrow beneath his hitai-ate. "About her parents?"

Guy nodded slowly. "They left the village when she was six. On her birthday." The silence stretched taut. 'I remember her at that age,' Kakashi thought grimly. 'I was ANBU. She was... So small. So polite. So precise. She never asked for anything. Never cried. Not even once.' A bitter taste coated his tongue. "No note. No warning," Guy continued. "Just... gone. And Sakura, she lived alone in that big empty house until the mortgage defaulted. Had to move into an apartment. And she didn't tell anyone."

Tsunade gripped the desk hard enough to whiten her knuckles. Kakashi stared, but the scroll in his hands was long forgotten. "She said her mother..." Guy's voice faltered, only briefly. "Used to say she was worthless. Lazy. Clumsy. That she'd never amount to anything." He closed his eyes, the images vivid in his mind: Sakura, fingers fidgeting with her chopsticks, trying to sound unaffected. But her voice had trembled. "And her father would just laugh." 'That laugh,' Kakashi thought, jaw tight beneath his mask. 'The sound of neglect masquerading as indifference. I've seen what that does to kids. But not from her. Not from Sakura. She was always the one who had it together.' His eye narrowed. 'Or so I let myself believe.'

"And once..." Guy's voice turned rough. "She corrected a teacher in the Academy. Her mother locked her in the basement. For three days. No food. No light." Tsunade swore under her breath and sat back down, the weight of it hitting her like a blow to the ribs. Her eyes stung, but not with tears. With rage. "She was six," Guy added, the number like a wound. 'Six years old and locked in a box.' Tsunade's thoughts swirled, ugly and sharp. 'And still she became what she is now, no thanks to them.' Kakashi's head tilted down, eye unreadable. But his mind was racing. 'She always clung so tightly to Sasuke. To Naruto. Of course she did. They were the only ones who made her feel wanted.'

"She told me all of it like it was nothing," Guy said, voice hoarse now. "Like it was a story that belonged to someone else. But I saw it on her face. She carries it every single day. And the thing is..." He looked up at both of them. "She's still trying. Still pushing herself harder than any child I've ever trained." He swallowed, deeply. "She still thinks if she's just strong enough, they'll come back. And maybe this time they'll see her. Same with Naruto and Sasuke." No one spoke. The sound of rain grew louder, like a second heartbeat pressing against the glass.

Finally, Kakashi broke the silence. "We failed her." Tsunade's eyes met his. There was no argument in them. "She was on my team," Kakashi said. "I should've seen the signs. But she was always so good at hiding behind smiles and textbooks. I assumed her life was... normal."

"We all assumed," Tsunade said, bitterly. "She never complained."

"Because she knew no one would listen," Guy said. "That's what I think. That's why she never said anything. Not even now, she didn't say it for sympathy. She said it because... she didn't want to lie to me anymore." His fists clenched at his sides. "She was six. Six, Tsunade. And she raised herself."

The Hokage's breath came low and steady, but her spine was ramrod straight now. "Then we'll make this right. Starting now."

"What do you suggest?" Kakashi asked, voice subdued.

"She needs support. Not just training. Not just teammates. People," she said. "Mentors. Family. Something consistent."

"She doesn't ask for help," Guy said.

"Then we don't wait for her to ask," Tsunade replied. "We just show up. Again. And again. Until she believes she's not alone."

Kakashi gave a rare nod. "Count me in."

Guy exhaled. "Good. Because she's already stronger than most shinobi twice her age. Imagine what she could be with a little love behind it."

Tsunade's gaze flicked toward the window. The rain had finally stopped. "No child should have to earn love," she murmured. "But if she's going to fight for it, then she'll have us in her corner every step of the way."

The late sun spilled across the training field like liquid gold, dappling the stone path and making the grass shimmer. The summer air clung to the skin, thick and hot, but Sakura stood still, sweat matting her hair to her temples, breath controlled, eyes closed. "Alright, Sakura!" Guy called, clapping his hands once as he jogged in front of her. "Today, we dance to a different rhythm, the rhythm of your very own youthful heart!"

Sakura opened one eye, skeptical. "Is that another metaphor, or are we actually doing something new?"

Guy's grin sparkled. "Both! Behold: Heartbeat Alignment Drills!" He struck a pose, arm flexed, teeth gleaming under the setting sun. "Today, your heart will become the drum, your chakra the melody! If they are out of sync, you burn out. But if they align..." He pointed skyward, dramatically. "Then you will rise to heights only the most passionate warriors of flame can reach!"

Sakura blinked. "So... synchronize my heart rate with my chakra flow while holding open the Sixth Gate?"

"Yes!" he beamed. "But also no! It's not just a matter of syncing the output, you must make the Gate itself match the rhythm of your living body. Your pulse, your breath, your intent. Until it all becomes one beautiful symphony of discipline!"

"...Why do you sound like you're describing a romance novel?" Sakura muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

Guy gave a booming laugh. "Because passion and power walk the same path!" She focused. The moment she opened the Sixth Gate, her senses stretched thin. Heat spilled through her muscles, pressure spiked behind her eyes, and her skin lit with the green flare of condensed life force. Her pulse immediately surged, hammering like a drumline gone rogue. "Focus on it," Guy said, stepping back, his voice lower now. "Don't wrestle it into place. Breathe into the storm." Her vision blurred with pressure. Each beat of her heart was a slap against her ribs. Her chakra surged too fast, too hard. She gritted her teeth, drawing her focus inward. Too fast. Too hot. Too loud. She tried to mold her chakra flow to match the arrhythmic drum of her heart, but they clashed, like dancers out of step. Her lungs fought her. Her arms trembled. Sweat stung her eyes.

"Let your breath be the bridge," Guy called. "In... out... Match the inhale to the rise. The exhale to the fall. Try again!" And again, she did. This time, she didn't force her chakra to obey. She let it listen. She let the sound of her heart become something more than a warning bell. She visualized the chakra in her tenketsu not rushing, but flowing like a river finding its current. Her heartbeat began to slow, just slightly. The rush of chakra adjusted with it. Each pulse became a step. Each breath, a tether. A strange stillness took hold. Not quiet, but clarity. Then, click. She didn't hear it, but she felt it. The gate's output matched the tempo of her body like two gears aligning. The fire in her veins steadied. The green aura didn't flicker. It flowed. Eyes snapping open, she held it. Five seconds. Ten. Then twenty.

"I've got it," she whispered, voice breathless but steady.

Guy's grin widened. "YES! Now move!" He lunged, fast, and she met him mid-charge. Her movements didn't crack the air like before; they glided, lethal and fluid. Her fist came down in an arc, aimed for his shoulder, and he blocked it with a forearm, grinning, even as the force sent him sliding back a meter. "No wasted motion," he said, beaming. "You're using it! Not being used by it!"

Sakura panted, laughing once. "Still feels like it's going to cook me from the inside if I slip even once."

"Such is the burden of true power!" he shouted, then added with a softer note, "But that's why we train. To carry it safely." She held the Gate another ten seconds before letting it drop. The aura vanished, and she collapsed to one knee, panting. Her entire body steamed with released energy.

"I'm close," she said between gulps of air. "The Seventh Gate... I can feel it."

Guy crouched beside her, his voice calm now. "Not in the muscles yet, right?"

She shook her head. "No. It's... emotional. Like there's something locked behind a feeling I haven't touched yet."

He nodded, looking distant for a moment. "The Seventh Gate is shockingly honest. It opens not just when your body is ready, but when your heart is prepared to let go of what weighs it down."

Sakura frowned. "Let go of what?"

Guy looked at her, soft but firm. "Your fear. Of failure. Of being abandoned. Of being not enough." Her throat tightened, and she looked away. "It's okay," he said gently. "You're not there yet. But you're close. And the fact that you can feel it?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "That means your body trusts you enough to get there. Just keep listening to it."

Sakura nodded, eyes glassy with exhaustion but fierce with purpose. "...Can't believe I'm letting someone in a green jumpsuit guide me through an emotional-spiritual meltdown," she muttered.

Guy threw back his head with a laugh. "And what a fabulous guide I am! Don't worry, Sakura. When the time comes to weep into your bandages and scream into the void, I will bring the tea!"

"You're so weird," she sighed.

He winked. "Weirdness is the key to unlocking destiny!" She smiled, and for a moment, the silence between them was a warmth, not an absence. Her muscles ached. Her chakra pathways buzzed like static. But for the first time since unlocking the Sixth Gate, she didn't feel like she was running from something. She was running toward something. And the rhythm of her heart no longer sounded like panic. It sounded like purpose.