It was recess again.

The sun was warm, the sky was blue, and laughter echoed across the playground like it always did. But for little Sakura Haruno, the brightness of the day didn’t quite reach the cold knot in her stomach.

She sat quietly by the edge of the school yard, back against the fence, drawing little circles in the dirt with a stick. Her head was bowed, pink bangs falling forward, trying to hide the very thing the other girls wouldn’t stop talking about.

“There she is again,” one of them snickered nearby. “Trying to hide that billboard she calls a forehead.”

Sakura stiffened, her little fingers gripping the stick tighter.

Another voice chimed in—high-pitched and cruel. “She probably needs both hands to shampoo it! What if she trips on it one day and leaves a hole in the ground?”

The girls laughed—too loud, too close.

Sakura hunched her shoulders, forcing her gaze to stay on the ground. Don’t cry. If she cried, they’d just say she was being dramatic. If she talked back, they’d say she was being mean. So she said nothing. Did nothing.

Just waited for the bell to ring.

But then—before the next insult could fly—someone stepped in front of her.

The laughter stopped.