To Sensei, with Love- a Naruto Fan fiction

This is my first (and probably only) AU fic. I'm writing it as an antidote to the angst in Mizuage- it is meant to be light-hearted fluff, unlike that fic. Even though that story will end happily, I am finding it necessary to write something positive and fairly meaningless to improve my mood. I'm having a hard time continually thinking of angst- it really drags me down.

I know the AU high school fic has been done to death, so this will likely be yet another nail in the coffin. I got the idea to write this after thinking about a good friend of mine who will be graduating very soon from a well-respected European high school, and from watching the Konoha Academy ending for Shippuuden. Hopefully it will match the flavor of that alternate Naruto world- I've studied my gashapon figures closely! For those of you brave enough to read through a potential mine field of schoolgirl cliches, thanks in advance. Enjoy!

To Sensei, with Love

Chapter One- Tactics

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Second semester, senior year was the appointed time for students to slack off and coast into graduation. This was tradition: teachers knew it, students knew it, even the support staff knew it. Weekends were meant to be spent partying at the beach, or in the woods, or at the Hyuugas' luxurious "cabin" in the mountains just north of Konoha city. And weeknights were to be spent on the phone or computer engaging in idle gossip and meaningless chatter. Although Haruno Sakura did not spend the bulk of her time on these activities, she had made this choice willingly, fully mindful of what she was missing, and fully engaged on the occasions when she did join in the activities of her classmates. She spent more time studying than any of her classmates but she did so in preparation for January's unified college entrance exams, not for pointless teacher-made exams like the one she was enduring right now. It was imperative for her to get into a top-rated university, and it would take all she had to accomplish this. She simply didn't have time to waste on repetitive seat work and pedagogic foolishness. If she did, she'd rather spend it anywhere but here: she'd go skiing, surfing, or participate in any of the spur-of-the-moment schemes her classmates were likely to dream up.

Yet here Sakura sat, third row, fourth seat, seated in kana order no less, writing Hatake-sensei's worthless excuse for a test. She could answer the questions by rote: the twenty-five problems listed in the hastily-stapled test booklet were all ones she'd seen before. He'd probably cut and pasted them out of the same review guides that littered her desk at home. The problems weren't lined up and were a bit crooked in relation to each other. Even the fonts differed from question to question, suggesting Hatake-sensei was too lazy to retype and edit the damn test with a word processor.

The pink-haired student rolled her eyes in disgust. She'd been studying for her entrance exams for the past two and a half years. Not at expensive juku classes, like her wealthy but academically averse friend Ino, but by herself at night in the quiet of her small apartment. It was insulting to be forced to waste time rehashing material she'd mastered before her sophomore year.

Sakura set to work on the exam, lifting her gaze occasionally to glower at the man propped lazily on the edge of the large melamine-topped desk that dominated the front of the room. He didn't seem to notice her or any of the other students in the classroom. His attention was focused instead on the small book he held in one hand. It was too small to be a text or other academic book. It looked like a novel of some sort, although she couldn't see the title because he had covered the book in the fashion that students did to protected their textbooks. Sakura could make out the word Akimichi and the stylized butterfly logo that graced almost every supermarket in town. Cheap bastard. Most people would spring for a real book cover, not make their own out of a brown paper grocery bag. He certainly had access to them. At Konoha Academy the bookstore sold official covers for a couple of sen: demerits were issued to students for carrying books not wearing the school's official seal. But in real life, who covered a book, unless it was valuable or he had something to hide?

Sakura stifled a derisive giggle as she thought of the office ladies who rode the five o'clock streetcar. They covered their books to hide the exuberant paintings of corseted females, breasts heaving with passion at the slightest touch of their tawny-maned, muscle-bound lovers. Maybe Hatake-sensei did as well. Sakura smiled at the thought of her new teacher drooling over romance novels or josei manga.

He certainly was a hard one to read. Sakura typically had a lock on her teachers by the end of the first day of school. Hatake sensei was a replacement however, a substitute called in hurriedly to replace their former math teacher, Maito-sensei, who'd suffered some kind of mental breakdown upon hearing that his favorite boy band had broken up. There had been rumors, too, about an inappropriate relationship with an underclassman who looked frighteningly similar to him, but as their headmistress pointed out, that was idle gossip and had no place in a school with a reputation as renowned as that of Konoha Academy.

Hatake-sensei had been their teacher for three days, and Sakura still had no idea what he was doing at her school. It might have had something to do with the stupid mask he'd worn every day that week. It wasn't allergy season, and the tiled floors, painted walls and excessive cleanliness of the school made it a dust, dander and pollen-free zone. The man wasn't sneezing or sniffling like a person with a head cold either. Sakura shrugged as she shifted her gaze once more to her test booklet. He was probably a hypochondriac. Math teachers tended to be weird ones.

But mask or no mask, a teacher should be easy to figure out. Long ago, Sakura had classified beginning teachers into three neat categories. Some chose the profession because of an idealistic impulse to help mold the future leaders of society, some for the easy power inherent to a relationship among unequals, and still others for the feelings of popularity and respect that were easy to cultivate among the underclassmen. But Hatake-sensei didn't seem to fit any of these archetypes.

He was new to teaching: the way he fumbled over lesson plans made that clear, but he lacked the eager, shiny, take-the-bull-by-the-horns attitude usually seen with green instructors. What's more, he didn't seem to get off on the idea that his classroom was his own personal fiefdom. That kind of teacher typically laid down the law on day one, and immediately made an example of one of the students just to make clear the discrepancy in power between him and his subordinates. And if Hatake-sensei had hoped to become the popular teacher, the one all of the girls crushed on and the boys looked up to, he would have taken off the mask. And brushed his hair, or gotten a haircut for that matter (though it might be made of steel wool from the way it poked up in odd, unruly spikes and covered half his face in jagged triangles), ironed his shirt and trousers, and so forth.

She giggled again. The tie he wore was a narrow, ribbon-like relic from twenty or thirty years prior. And who wore suspenders anymore? With his pleated-front khakis he looked like he'd borrowed his wardrobe from a senior citizen, possibly one he'd found outside an all-night bar on the seedier side of town. Her teacher's grey hair didn't help, either. Sensei didn't walk like a middle aged person, but he could easily be mistaken for one given his grooming and sartorial habits.

Some of her classmates had already assumed this of him. By his third day at the academy, Hatake-sensei had taken on the monikers, "old man Hatake," "jiji," "Captain One-Eye, Pirate of the High Seas," and worse. But he seemed not to notice, which wasn't surprising, given that his attention had been focused since his arrival on the book he was currently reading.

Sakura glanced at her test paper. It had only taken her ten minutes of the allotted fifty-five to finish and, as usual, she was bored. She mentally checked out for a few minutes, allowing her thoughts to wander to pastures more fertile than the arid plains of the classroom environment. Konoha University, also known as Kodai, was her ultimate destination and her reason for working so hard outside of school. The main reason she'd stayed at the academy after her parents' deaths was because this institution was a well-known escalator to the university. Despite its pedestrian name, Kodai was one of the top three universities in the autonomous city-state of Konoha, one attended by children of diplomats, politicians and the movers and shakers of not only this country, but the surrounding ones. She would be set, financially, after four years there- four easy years, she might add. The university experience was hailed as an extended party at most institutions, a time to meet the contacts that would usher her into the life she'd worked so hard to earn. She had an exam to take in a month's time, but she would do well. She knew the material by heart, and had earned high scores on every practice test she took.

Spending the coming semester at the academy would be pointless, though unavoidable. There was nothing new to learn, and as students were not separated by ability, classes tended to be noisy. A minority of students would have no hope of moving on to Kodai if they weren't legacies. Because their parents had attended, they had an easy in. Nevertheless, they were lost in class. But at least they knew it and made the best of a hopeless, though temporary, situation. They talked during instruction, played video games on their hand-held devices, or incessantly texted each other rude poems and lewd photos. A good chunk of students did pay attention, needing to learn the information in time for the exams, but still more dozed. These ones were taking the juku route, devoting their academic energies to night cram school, and their days to restorative sleep.

Students in Sakura's situation, those who learned quickly and were eager for knowledge, had their initiative nipped in the bud somewhere around the first year of middle school. They learned that the key to a good future was exceptional grades. But curiosity and critical thinking were of little use in attaining high scores and so were shed as quickly as possible.

School was boring, mind-numbingly boring, but Sakura knew she would be just as miserable in any other place. Every academic institution, from the stripped-down vocational schools run by the state, to private gymnasia such as the academy focused on rote memorization and drills, and if one mastered those early on there was little left to do in school. Given her long immersion in this educational system, Sakura was quite adept at the simple subterfuge of seeming to pay attention while letting the mind wander off to contemplate more interesting things than the day's assignment.

Her parents would have been proud of her. Sakura would be the first in her family to go to university, and this was a dream they had long cherished. Her dad was the school custodian, her mom its secretary, and they'd seen first-hand how much a good education- a Konoha Academy education- could change a person's life. They had scrimped each month to be able to afford the cost of her tuition and fees, forgoing even the smallest luxuries for themselves. They never dined at the fine establishments frequented by the parents of Sakura's friends, but they made sure Sakura had what she needed. She wasn't the best accessorized student at school, but she had enough. And when they died Sakura found that their life insurance policy had been specifically written to make sure she would be able to afford to finish her education at the school. She had to economize to accomplish this, but the end was in sight. She wouldn't let them down. She'd graduate first in her class: her only real competition was Shikamaru, but he was too lazy to get the grades he was capable of. As Valedictorian of Konoha Academy Sakura would earn a scholarship to college, a free ride that she desperately needed.

And then what? She had no idea. There was time to figure it out, to determine which field offered the most security and greatest opportunity for advancement. Management, probably. Kodai was famous for churning out future CEOs and administrators. It wouldn't be the most glamorous life, but a comfortable lifestyle, one free from the nagging wants of her current existence would more than mitigate any boredom she'd feel.

"Pencils down."

There was a single groan from the back of the classroom and a small shriek of despair from someone else closer by.

Sakura looked up and glanced at the clock in surprise. Time had flown: she'd been out of it for a good half hour.

"Er, Hyuuga, right?" Hatake-sensei looked up from his book to focus his gaze on a dark haired, lavender-eyed student. The one who'd shrieked.

The most timid girl in the class blushed and Sakura wondered, not for the first time, if poor Hinata was about to faint.

"Collect the papers, if you would."

"Ah! Hai, sensei!" The heir to Konoha's largest fortune and titled relative of the royal family scurried to do her job, immediately dropping the messy sheaf of papers another student passed to her.

"And you. Pinkie. See me in my office at 2:30."

Sakura looked up and her glare of indignation was matched, surprisingly, by an equally intense look from her heretofore inscrutable instructor. She ignored the titters and giggles of her classmates and stood before speaking.

"May I ask what for, Sensei?"

"No." He packed his slim orange book into a worn attaché, placed the sheaf of test papers under his arm, and without another word left the room just as Shizuka-sensei, their foreign language teacher was entering.

Sakura spent the whole of English class alternately fuming and worrying. The name he'd chosen for her irked her considerably. She'd first heard that nickname at the beginning of third grade, immediately after she entered the academy, and moments before she'd treated the name-caller to several blows from her tight-clenched fist. It still bothered her. "Pinkie" rhymed with "stinky," of course, and the name plus adjective had followed her for the first two years at the academy despite substantiated threats of violence. She wondered if her sensei's use of the name was random or if he'd been looking through her academic record, where doubtless the nickname was noted.

Sakura's anxiety was focused on the reason or reasons why Hatake-sensei had called her to his office. She had no idea as to motivation, but the fact that he had refused to explain why she would be meeting with him perturbed her. As his face was almost fully covered by both his allergy mask and his disordered shock of hair, it was hard to discern his mood; likewise, his voice was tinged with neither anger nor pleasure. Its timbre and cadence seemed as matter of fact as it had every other time he'd addressed the class that week. Only the look emanating from her teacher's single, dark eye was out of the ordinary. If life were a manga, she was sure a bolt of lightning would have issued from his coal-black iris.

An anxious Sakura raised her hand, and quietly convinced Shizuka-sensei to let her visit the infirmary. It didn't take much. The woman was an easy mark when it came to leaving class: telling her one had a particularly bad case of cramps resulted in what was essentially a free ticket to skip class. Sensei nodded in commiseration as Sakura left the room, with a showy grimace of pain on her face and a suitably belabored walk. However, once she was clear of the narrow windows on either side of the classroom door the only mildly dishonest student fairly ran up the stairs to the top floor of the school, where teachers had their offices.

If Hatake-sensei wasn't willing to tell her exactly why she needed to visit his office, Sakura certainly wasn't going to allow him any other tactical advantages. She'd catch him off guard, surprise him by showing up a bit ahead of schedule. She was certain now that he was the type of teacher who entered the profession to wield power over others. Thankfully, Sakura had some experience dealing with this breed of instructor.

Most of the academy's teachers shared their space, language teachers in one room, science and math in another, but department heads merited their own small offices. Hatake-sensei had taken over Maito-sensei's room, Sakura noticed. Somehow he'd leapfrogged over the other teachers who certainly outranked him in seniority and experience. She tapped on the door of the new math department head, and when it swung open on its hinges she glanced inside the small room.

The space was completely barren, apart from heavy oak chair on casters, a matching desk hulking opposite it and a smaller chair standing off to its side. There was no blotter, no calendar, not even a clock in the room, although the paint was faded in patches, giving clues to the decorating decisions of its previous occupant. Sakura had only been in the room once before, but remembered vividly the boy-band poster that Maito-sensei hung over his desk- Akatsuki was their name, if she remembered correctly- as well as the bulletin board cluttered with red and black memorabilia. He was completely enamored with band, to the point where he updated his class daily on their comings and goings. Funny that a man like that had made department head. Perhaps no one else had wanted the job.

Sakura sat down and glanced around the room. Sensei was most likely still at lunch. Teachers ate in two shifts, she remembered. Likely he was in the second group. His student slid open a desk drawer intent on some reconnaissance before the man returned. The first drawer was empty apart from an old ink stain, as was the next, but the bottom drawer held several volumes similar in size to the one he'd been carrying with him for the past few days. These were uncovered by brown paper however. She picked up the top book and examined it carefully. A crude drawing and cartoonish letters were emblazoned across its front- an ersatz rendition of the Thinker, and the words, "Icha, Icha-"

"Not the best way to make a good impression, I'd say."

Sakura clumsily dropped the book and cringed as it landed face down on the floor, its pages splayed. She looked up guiltily and was met by a heavy-lidded glower of displeasure. Apparently the man took good care of his books. Although only square centimeters of his face were visible, Sakura was certain he was wearing the classic irked librarian look. Likely she was about to be "shushed" to death or warned of the eternal damnation that met those who mistreated books.

"Of course, you've already made your first impression. And that wasn't good, either." With a smooth, easy movement, he leaned over to retrieve the book and immediately tucked it away in its rightful place, slamming the drawer shut for effect.

The springs of the oak chair creaked as Hatake-sensei sat down behind his desk and leaned back lazily.

"Take a look at these." He reached out to hand her the folder of exams he'd carried in with him.

"Aren't these confidential?"

"Normally, yes, but under these circumstances, no."

Sakura looked at her teacher quizzically. The man was certainly cryptic; she had no idea what he meant. She leafed through the tests, noting that they'd already been graded. He must have worked through lunch. Few check marks bloodied the pages: almost all of the students had gotten a ninety percent or higher. Only she had earned a perfect score while surprisingly, Ino had gotten a ninety-nine percent. Nights at juku must be having an effect. Shikamaru had earned a tidy 45%, about usual for the chronic underachiever, Naruto had earned a zero, having only attempted one problem, and Hinata's paper was littered with erasures and multiple cross outs, a sure sign of her ongoing insecurity. She, too had completed only one problem, although she'd drawn lines through several correct answers.

"Notice anything?" Sakura was sure Hatake-sensei was smirking at her under his pleated white mask.

"High marks?"

"Anything else?" She paged through them again. "Huh," she said, finally. "Almost everyone missed problem four."

"And what does that suggest to you?"

"That there was either a problem with the test question, or the class as a whole doesn't know that concept. A psychometrician could probably give you an in-depth item analysis-"

"No," he replied blandly. "Look more closely."

She shrugged in defeat after a few minutes. Whatever her new sensei was trying to point out was beyond her.

"Have you ever played the game 'telephone'?"

"You mean where a message gets garbled over a chain of communication?"

"Nicely stated." He carefully ordered the papers across his desk in a row. "Do you see the pattern now?"

Her paper, Sakura noticed was at the far end of his desk, followed by Ino's, then those of Sasuke and Chouji, Ten Ten and Temari, and the other members of the class, save Shikamaru, Hinata and Naruto. The scores decreased and the errors multiplied as she moved from left to right, but the errors did not change randomly. Instead, they compounded.

"You're saying they cheated."

"I'm saying you helped them."

"What?" Sakura jumped up from her chair.

"Well, you certainly didn't cheat off of Ino."

"How could I? Why would I?" This was completely insulting. Sakura had never once cheated- on anything- and had never considered supplying the answers to another.

He consulted a seating chart he pulled from his attache.

"Yamanaka Ino. Fourth row, sixth seat. Not too far behind you. That's close enough for someone with good vision. And I noticed you left your paper in plain sight while you daydreamed through most of the class."

He'd been watching her? When?

"You moved it to the very edge of your desk, in fact. In perfect view of your friend, Ino-san."

"Sensei-" Sakura felt an uncharacteristic blush flood her face. He had this all wrong. Ino might have cheated- she certainly wasn't above such a thing, but if she had, it was without Sakura's knowledge or permission.

"Of course, the fact that most of your classmates had their cell phones out and were busily texting each other all period was a bit of a tip off. They might want to consider a social networking site next time and post the answers in a single place. It would save all the reentering of text and phone numbers. And the cascade of errors."

"I didn't cheat." Sakura could feel her temper flaring. She breathed slowly in an effort to calm herself. She'd never talked back to a teacher before. It wasn't the kind of thing a person did when she was relying on glowing teacher evaluations.

"So you say." Hatake-sensei rose to his feet, shuffled the papers into a pile, and dropped them into the recycling bin just outside his room.

"Not that it matters. The test I gave you was merely a placement instrument to figure out what you'd learned so far this year and where each of you stand in the class. The fact that most resorted to cheating says a lot about the mathematics aptitude of your classmates, as well as their level of skill at deception." He chuckled. "They really thought I wouldn't see their cells. And the fact that you were eager to help them says a lot about you."

"I didn't-" He had succeeded in making her feel guilty, she realized, although she had done absolutely nothing wrong. She could feel her cheeks flaming with shame and embarrassment.

"Of course, it also tells me that there's no reason for you to take this class. You're well beyond this material. Your comrades will be put out, I'm sure, but it seems a sin to waste a valuable intellect like yours on the mundanities of Calculus One. I've already spoken with the headmistress-"

"You told her that I-" Sakura's throat closed around her words.

Lady Tsunade would kill her. The woman would ream her out first, with a long lecture on the opportunity Sakura had been afforded. She'd follow that with a treatise on how she'd promised Sakura's parents she would take care of their only child, and finish with an assortment of anything else that she could dredge up. And then she'd kill her.

Sakura's new teacher waved his hand as though to mollify her. "I said no such thing. She's agreed to cancel your office practicum so that you can work one on one with me. She recognizes that you've been spinning your wheels intellectually."

"One on one." A tremor of unease ran down Sakura's spine. The coming semester was sure to be hell.

She was sure the man was smiling now, the evil, malicious smile of a power-hungry sadist. His eye crinkled and she heard what might have been a dry chuckle of ill-begotten pleasure.

"Advanced physics, too. I'll be putting together a special course and practicum for you. You'll have to miss lunch with the other seniors." Hatake-sensei reached into his briefcase and pulled out a narrow sheet of paper. "Your new schedule. See you bright and early tomorrow."

Sakura grabbed the schedule from his hand and hastened out of the room, skidding down the hall in her thin-soled uwabaki and nearly falling down the stairs in her hurried effort to put as much space as possible between her and the architect of her immediate doom. She grabbed her outdoor shoes and book bag from the cubby assigned to her, then sank down on the slatted bench that ran the length of the changing area.

The pink-haired high school student, first in her school, if not the nation, unfolded the paper in her hand and immediately bristled with anger.

Seven a.m.? Her first class was at seven in the morning- only first years were expected to start school at that time. A senior's day wasn't supposed to start until nine at the very earliest, preferably later, allowing the imminent graduates to relax in a cafe and conviviate before starting a strenuous day of...loafing. After years and years at a place like the academy, surely they deserved it.

"Topics in Mathematics. 7 a.m. to 10 a.m.," she read again. The look of disbelief remained plastered to her face.

She was supposed to work one-on-one with that sadist, that ass, for three hours at a time?

No, it was worse, she saw. Far worse.

"Advanced Physics," Sakura read on the next line. "10:05 a.m. To 12:30 p.m."

So much for senior year.