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Chapter 149 - Unfair Advantages
🕑 Added 2025-12-11 10:59:12 +0000 UTCA/N: Here 4k work on Sakura. I thought about splitting it out, but the slower pace will be even slower. So hey, enjoy!
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"Sakura..." I said her name softly, letting the syllables hang in the quiet air between us. Her words had touched me. Not in my heart, obviously, but in that calculating part of my brain that appreciated the rare occasions when life handed me a win on a silver platter. I gave her upper arm a firm, grounding squeeze. "You have grown a lot."
Her expression shifted—not into that girlish delight from her Academy days, but something more restrained. She held herself still, chin level, but I caught the way her jaw relaxed, the slight exhale through her nose. Relief. Validation. She was soaking it up, just trying to look like she wasn't.
Professional and mature. That's what she was going for.
It was almost cute how transparent the effort was.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
This young woman was so starved for meaningful attention that a few calculated words could reprogram her entire worldview. It wasn't that she was pathetic or stupid; she was just desperate. And there was a difference.
Desperation made people dangerous when pointed in the right direction. Sakura had been watching Sasuke get stronger while she stagnated. Watching Naruto surpass her despite being the dead last. She'd gone from top kunoichi of her class to a liability her team had to protect. That sort of fall didn't just sting. It carved out a hollow space inside you that screamed to be filled.
She was finally standing in front of someone willing to fill it. Of course, she was going to cling to that.
"Most people wouldn't have the maturity to see things the way you do," I added, letting my voice carry just the right amount of admiration and respect. "It takes real strength to forgive like that. To understand that the world isn't black and white."
Something flickered in her eyes—pride, yes, but also a sharp awareness. She wasn't stupid. She knew what she was doing, accepting this. Forgiving me for fucking her mother wasn't some grand philosophical stance. It was a transaction: overlook the ugly parts of my personal life, and I'll make her strong enough that Sasuke might finally look at her as something other than dead weight.
She'd made that calculation. Consciously or not.
And she was choosing to frame it as maturity because that made it palatable. Made her feel less like she was compromising her morals and more like she was evolving past childish notions of right and wrong.
She was more like her mother than she'd ever admit.
Her 'forgiveness' and 'maturity' were a self-deceitful framing, like some profound act of adult understanding. All it amounted to was her giving me the green light to keep railing her married mother's cunt. All because she didn't want to feel bad about accepting the only authority figure currently paying attention to her as her teacher. All because facing the ugly truth would shatter the fragile fantasy she'd built where everyone she cared about was good and right and justified.
But sure, let's call it maturity.
Mebuki was a shitty mother, but Sakura was a shittier daughter, too. The fruit really didn’t fall far from the tree.
Sakura's reaction was everything I could've hoped for. Her expression softened into something almost wistful, as I'd just validated her entire existence.
I doubted I could've gotten better results with Devil's Whisper. And the fact that I'd barely used it on her so far only made this sweeter. She was doing all the work herself, twisting her own mind into the shape I wanted without me having to lift a finger.
She deserved a reward for that. After all, she'd just done my job for me, unprompted. Positive reinforcement was key to training any pet, after all.
"You're becoming a woman who understands the complexity of the world," I said, stepping closer, invading her space until the heat of her body radiated against mine. I moved my hand from her arm, sliding it up the column of her neck until I could tuck a lock of that long, pink hair behind her delicate ear. My fingers lingered there, traversing the jawline before cupping her cheek.
Sakura went still, not frozen, but watchful. Then, after a heartbeat's hesitation, she leaned into the touch. Testing it. Accepting it. Her eyes remained open, studying my face with an intensity that might have been disconcerting if it weren't so obviously hopeful.
I was genuinely curious what was going through her mind right now. This intimate closeness, this touch—it was definitely not something a student and teacher did. What lie was she telling herself to justify this? What mental gymnastics was she performing so she could enjoy this inappropriate moment without feeling guilty?
Maybe she was telling herself it was just affection. Fatherly care. A sensei showing pride in his student. Whatever it was, she'd convinced herself enough to melt under my hand like butter.
I lowered my voice, making it soft but firm, "I'm proud of you."
Something shifted in her expression, a crack in the facade of teenage confidence. For just a moment, she looked exactly like what she was. A girl desperate to prove she mattered.
She is so predictable. It was almost laughable how effective those three words were.
Though it really shouldn't have mattered to her if I was proud or not. Sure, I was her sensei, but only for a little over a month. And things hadn't exactly started well between us. I'd spanked her ass raw, scolded her, made her cry. By all logic, my opinion shouldn't carry this much weight.
But the thing about words like "I'm proud of you" is that they're powerful. Universally powerful. Human beings are wired to seek validation from authority figures, from mentors, from anyone who occupies a position of power or respect in their lives. It's primal. We want to know we're doing well, that we matter, that someone sees us and approves.
For Sakura, though, it went deeper.
It was water in a desert. Her parents were civilians, Mebuki was a status-obsessed, and her dad was a pushover non-entity. They didn't understand what it meant to be a shinobi. They couldn't be proud of her chakra control or her tactical theory because they didn't get it. And let’s be honest, aside from her test scores, Sakura hadn’t done a damn thing in her career worth being proud of. She was drowning in mediocrity, ignored by Kakashi, dismissed by Sasuke.
And even if they had, it was doubtful, Sakura would see it as anything other than words from weak civilians. Because just as they didn’t understand, their words and weight were also lesser in importance in Sakura’s mind. She was raised and indoctrinated as a shinobi and shinobi respect strength; it was a fundamental part. Her parents were weak, and her respect for them follows that trajectory.
Here I was, the strong, capable Jounin, someone worthy of respect, telling her she mattered.
And I hadn't lied. I was proud of her. Not as a kunoichi—she was still useless in a fight. But I was proud of how easy she was making this. Proud of how readily she'd bent herself into the shape I wanted. Proud of how thoroughly she'd gaslit herself into accepting me.
That was an accomplishment worth celebrating.
Sakura's expression shifted from stunned awe to fierce determination. Fire lit in her eyes, and she clenched her fists at her sides, her whole body radiating stubborn resolve.
"Thank you, Sensei," she said, her voice trembling slightly but gaining strength with every word. "Thank you for seeing my potential. For believing in me. I won't disappoint you. I'll work harder than anyone. I'll prove that you were right to take me as your student. I'll make you proud."
Man, I had the fucking urge to just lean in and kiss her. Aggressively. Pin her against the nearest tree and kiss her until her legs gave out, until those big green eyes glazed over with something far less innocent. There was something intoxicating about taking a determined, passionate woman and turning her into a trembling, breathless mess. It never got old.
But not yet. Patience.
Instead, I smiled and moved my hand from her cheek to the top of her head, patting her like you would a well-behaved pet. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she closed her eyes and leaned into it, a small, contented smile playing on her lips.
"We'll see," I said, keeping my tone light but laced with challenge. "It won't be easy, Sakura. You agreed to have your limits pushed when you accepted me as your sensei. My training will test those words of yours." I paused, letting the weight of the statement settle, then added with a slight smirk, "I'll push you hard. In every way."
The suggestion hung in the air, thick and layered with subtext. But just like the first time, it sailed right over her innocent little head.
"I can take it!" she declared, pumping her fist with determination. "I won't back down, Sensei! Whatever you throw at me, I'll handle it!"
I’m sure you will…. Her sincerity was both hilarious and infuriating.
"Accepting it so readily..." I swallowed hard, nodding with a smile that twitched at the edges, my eyes tracking the movement of her modest chest as she moved. "Since you're so determined," I said, my voice steady despite the blood rushing south, "I'll hold myself to my word as your sensei. I'll keep the promise I gave you."
Sakura tilted her head, the fierceness melting back into confusion. "Promise?" Then her eyes widened slightly. "Oh. That. But... Sensei, you really don't have to. Like I said, I already forgave you. I understand now."
“I appreciate that, Sakura.“ I nodded, appreciating the sentiment but not letting it derail me. "I really do. But I’m a man of my word. And I’m your teacher. What kind of lesson would I be teaching you if I broke my promises just because it was convenient?"
"Sensei, really, you don't ha—"
"Sakura." I cut her off with a slight frown, letting my voice drop into a scolding tone. Her mouth snapped shut immediately. "Do you need to be spanked again?"
She froze, and her eyes went wide, caught between indignation and genuine alarm. Her hands twitched back, stopping just short of covering her ass, like she'd caught herself mid-motion and forced them back to her sides.
"No," she said quickly, and there was an edge of embarrassment sharpening her voice. Not fear. Humiliation. "I'm—sorry. I wasn't trying to argue. I just meant—"
She stopped, jaw working, clearly trying to find words that wouldn't dig the hole deeper.
The fact that she was taking the threat seriously told me everything I needed to know. She remembered the spanking. Remembered how thoroughly it had stripped away her dignity. And she was not eager for a repeat performance.
"Good," I said, my tone softening just enough to let her relax. "We still need to talk about your behavior in the Land of Waves. How you wasted my time with your complaints. How you still don't seem to control that mouth of yours." I let the words hang for a moment, then added, "But first..."
I made the hand sign for Shadow Clone. A perfect copy of me materialized beside me in a puff of smoke. I didn't say anything to it. Neither did it. The clone simply nodded once and disappeared in a shunshin, a blur of motion and displaced air.
Sakura blinked, watching the spot where the clone had been. "What... what was that about?"
"Preparation," I said. "For the proof I promised you."
"Oh." She hummed, her expression shifting into that particular look spoiled teenagers got when they wanted to ask for something but weren't sure if they should. Her fingers twisted together nervously, and she glanced up at me through her lashes, biting her bottom lip.
I smiled. She was rather cute when she was shy like this. "What is it, Sakura?"
I expected her to ask about the proof, what I was planning, what it would entail. But no. She proved once again how terrible she was at prioritizing.
"Sensei," she said, meeting my eyes directly. "I want to learn the Shadow Clone Jutsu." No preamble, no hedging, just straightforward ambition.
She looked up at me with those big, hopeful green eyes, her expression so earnest that it was like watching a bored, pampered mistress bid to her lover for whatever she could get out of him before the moment faded.
I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. It was a near thing.
"Yes," I answered simply. "I can teach it to you."
Her eyes lit up, and for a second, the careful composure dropped entirely. A sharp, surprised laugh escaped her, genuine and unguarded, before she caught herself and straightened, trying to dial it back to something more appropriate.
"Really? Thank you, Sensei!” She clasped her gloved hands together, “I'll work so hard! I'll practice every day until I can make as many clones as Naruto! Maybe even more! I'll show everyone that I'm not—"
I raised a hand, cutting off her premature celebration. "But whether you can actually learn it and use it safely is a different matter entirely. Least said about mastering it, the better."
Sakura froze mid-bounce. “What?“ Her smile faltered, confusion wrinkling her nose in a way that was undeniably cute. "But... what do you mean? If you teach me, I'll practice really hard! I promise I'll master it. I'm good at chakra control!"
I sighed, scratching the back of my neck. I’d already explained this to her before, but denial was a powerful drug.
"It’s not about control, and it’s not about hard work," I told her gently. "Not all jutsu are universal, Sakura. Some techniques have entry requirements that no amount of grit can bypass. It’s simple…. compatibility." I paused, letting that sink in, then asked, "Do you know why the Shadow Clone is classified as a forbidden jutsu?"
She blinked, her enthusiasm dimming into a pout. She looked down at her boots, her shoulders slumping. "Because... because it can harm the user?" She glanced up, a flash of defensive stubbornness in her eyes. "But Naruto uses it! He learned it in one day, and he uses it all the time! If that idiot can do it, then I, too, can. I just need to be careful, that’s it."
"Forget about Naruto for a second," I interrupted, keeping my voice calm, the tone of a teacher guiding a student through a difficult equation. "We aren't talking about anomalies. We're talking about the rules of chakra."
I ignored her rant. The person she needed to convince wasn't me; it was the universe for assigning her a chakra reserve the size of a thimble compared to the ocean the blonde Uzumaki carried.
"Tell me, Sakura," I continued, shifting into lecture mode. "What happens when a shinobi runs out of chakra? The Academy covers the subject vaguely, but one of the books I recommended covers this in detail. Do you remember?"
Her eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering across her face as she realized where I was going with this. But she answered anyway, falling back into her role as the model Academy student.
"It was in the Triage and Chakra Management for Medics…… Chakra exhaustion occurs in three progressive stages," she recited, her voice taking on that academic cadence she used when quoting textbooks. "Stage one is acute fatigue and muscle weakness. Stage two involves disorientation, inability to mold energy, and potential loss of consciousness. Stage three is...” she trailed.
"Stage three?" I prompted.
"Systemic failure," she whispered, the color draining slightly from her face. "Cardiac arrest. Death."
"Good." The compliment didn't seem to lift her spirits this time. I continued, driving the point home. "While most jutsu will simply fizzle out or fail to activate when the user lacks sufficient chakra, the Shadow Clone Jutsu is different. It's a brute-force technique. Once activated, it doesn't stop consuming chakra just because you're running low. It will tear through all three stages of exhaustion without mercy, draining you completely unless you consciously and quickly stop it before that."
I let that hang for a moment before adding, "Naruto can spam it carelessly because he has a chakra pool that most jounin would envy. His reserves are frankly absurd. You, on the other hand, would be lucky to maintain even one clone for more than a few minutes without risking serious harm."
Sakura's jaw tightened. For a moment, something sharp flickered across her face—frustration, maybe anger—before she wrestled it back down. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, flatter. "Right. Of course." She looked away, one hand coming up to grip her opposite arm. "Naruto gets infinite chakra. Sasuke gets the Sharingan. And I get..." She laughed, but it came out bitter. "Good grades. Great. That'll really turn the tide in a fight."
The self-deprecation wasn't performed for my benefit, or at least, it wasn't entirely performed.
There was real frustration there, the sort that had been festering since she'd realized how far behind she'd fallen. But the way she let her shoulders curl in, the slight tremor she allowed into her voice, that was fucking theater. Unconscious theater, maybe, the learned behavior girls absorbed from watching their mothers navigate the world, but theater nonetheless.
I stared at her, genuinely dumbfounded for a split second. Was she fucking seriously trying to guilt-trip me right now? Me? The audacity was almost impressive. Here stood a young woman who had spent her entire genin career prioritizing her hair routine over her cardio, skating by on book smarts while pining after a boy who wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire, and now she wanted to play the "unfair" card because biology handed her a receipt she couldn't pay?
It was a bold strategy. Weaponizing her own inadequacy to make me feel like the villain to earn sympathy and get what she wanted.
Those were crocodile tears, clear as day. Or at least, they were born of a genuine frustration that she was subconsciously twisting into a tool of manipulation. The quivering lip, the hunched shoulders, the self-flagellation about being "inadequate"—it was all a bit too theatrical, a clumsy, budding attempt at the kind of emotional blackmail her mother likely used to get her way. She was trying to soft-ball me into giving her what she wanted by making herself look like a kicked puppy that I had personally injured.
But what annoyed me the most, what really grinded my gears, was that it was actually working.
Despite knowing exactly what she was doing, despite seeing the strings of the manipulation, my instincts were traitorously screaming at me to fix it. To wipe that tear away, to promise her the world just to stop that wobbling lip. It was a cheap trick, the oldest one in the feminine playbook, but damn if she didn't execute it with the lethal precision of a practiced kunoichi.
I was impressed, even as I felt the urge to roll my eyes. There was something undeniably hot about how pitiful she made herself look, tugging at both my savior complex and my dick at the same time.
Damn, she may be more dangerous than I had given her credit for.
I reached out and patted her head again, my hand settling gently on top of those soft pink strands. She dipped her head under the touch, but her fists stayed clenched.
"You don't have to put on a front with me," I said quietly, playing along. It couldn’t be helped; I’m truly not good with girls and tears.
She was silent for a long moment. Then, in a voice so small I almost didn't hear it, she said, "It's just... It's not fair."
"No," I agreed, my tone matter-of-fact. "The world is indeed unfair. But you know what else is unfair?" I let a slight smirk tug at my lips. "Not many people have the privilege of having me as their sensei. So really, when you think about it, you're coming out ahead in the cosmic balance sheet."
That pulled a reluctant, watery laugh out of her. She looked up at me, her green eyes still glassy with unshed tears, but there was the hint of a smile now. “Sensei…. you're unbelievable."
Yeah, that’s definitely a crocodile tear.
"And yet, devastatingly handsome," I shot back with a grin. "It's a burden I bear with grace."
She laughed again, more genuinely this time, and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, clearing away the moisture before it could fall. When she looked up again, the smile was real, small, but real.
"You really are full of yourself," she said, and there was a teasing lilt to her voice now.
"Confidence, Sakura. There's a difference." I kept the banter light, watching her mood lift incrementally with each exchange.
Then I stepped into her personal space and reached out, grabbing her chin firmly between my thumb and forefinger. I lifted her face, forcing her to look up, exposing the long line of her throat. Her smile froze. Her eyes widened, surprised by the sudden dominance, pupils dilating as she stared into my face.
"Listen to me," I said, my voice dropping into something more serious, more weighted. "Lift your head high, Sakura Haruno. The world is unfair, yes. But it's unfair to everybody in a fair and equal way."
I held her gaze, making sure she was really hearing me.
"I didn't come from a prestigious clan. I don't have a kekkei genkai like the Hyuuga or Uchiha. I wasn't born with the Nara intelligence, or the Yamanaka mind techniques, or the Akimichi size. I didn't have a legendary Sannin to take me under their wing and hand me power on a silver platter. I'm an orphan, Sakura. I had nothing. No family. No legacy. No shortcuts."
I leaned in slightly, my thumb brushing along her jawline.
"And yet, here I am. The most talked-about shinobi in this village. A man who killed an entire platoon of enemy Anbu and a Kage of a foreign nation." I paused, letting the weight of that sink in, then added softly, "And this shinobi is now your sensei."
I looked her dead in the eyes, my expression deadly serious.
"So don't be sad because the world is unfair. Be grateful. Because for a lot of people out there, this, having me invest my time and energy into you, is just as unfair as Naruto's chakra reserves."
I held myself from visibly cringing there. I’ve never felt like the biggest arrogant empty bragger in the world. But that little speech, as erroneous and terribly awful as it was, still had some purpose.
I framed her disappointment as ingratitude, subtly reverse-guilt-tripping her into appreciating what she had instead of mourning what she lacked. It made her feel selfish for wanting more when she already had so much—me, specifically. I made her feel special, chosen, privileged. And she was being ungrateful, in a way. She had a jounin mentor willing to teach her, to mold her, and here she was sulking because she couldn't do one specific jutsu.
Sakura stared at me for a long moment, processing. I could see her turning it over in her head, testing the logic, looking for the catch.
Then something in her expression shifted. Determination edged with desperation. She was latching onto it. Onto me. Onto the idea that maybe, maybe, having a jounin this skilled personally invested in her training, could actually close the gap between her and her teammates.
"You're right," she said slowly, and her voice was steadier now. Resolute. "I've been so focused on what I can't do that I..." She stopped, shook her head. "You're here. You're teaching me. That's not nothing."
She looked up at me, and the gratitude there was almost uncomfortable in its intensity.
"I won't waste this," she said, and it sounded like a vow. "Whatever you're willing to teach me, I'll learn it. I don't care how hard it is. I don't care what it takes."
I don't care what it costs, was the unspoken part.
And she didn't even realize she'd just handed me a blank check.
I let go of her chin, and she held her head high like I'd told her to, her posture straightening, her shoulders pulling back. The vulnerability was still there, simmering under the surface, but she was trying. She wanted to be what I told her to be.
"Good girl," I said simply.
She went very, very still.
Then a flush crawled up her neck, and her eyes snapped away from mine so fast it might as well have been a retreat. Her hands twitched at her sides like she didn't know what to do with them.
"I'm not—" She started, then stopped. Bit her lip. Probably trying to figure out if correcting me was worth the risk of sounding childish or ungrateful.
She settled for silence, but the pink in her cheeks deepened.
I merely smiled and glanced around the riverbank. It was deserted, but it was still open air. Fortunately, the Hokage had removed Team Guy as my tail and put some Anbu to just keep track of my whereabouts.
"This isn't a good place for the proof I wanted to show you," I said smoothly, turning away from the water. "The things we need to discuss... the things I need to show you... require privacy. I know a better place."
I started walking, not waiting for an answer.
"Coming?"
"Yes, Sensei!"
She followed promptly, falling into step behind me like a good girl, not asking where we were going or what exactly this "proof" entailed.
She had no idea that the education I had planned wasn't academic. It was a practical demonstration. A final, visceral test to see if she could really stand by those pretty words of forgiveness when forced to be a silent audience to the "complexity" she claimed to understand. I wasn't just going to tell her the truth; I was going to put it on display and see if she blinked.
I just hoped she enjoyed the show. After all, seeing is believing.
