People have said that the struggle of a son is to overcome his father: to defeat the man by exceeding all that he has accomplished.
Sarada knows what her father would say: that there is no need to measure up to him, that she has already exceeded him.
Being the manifestation of Sakura's kindness and Sasuke's hopes—together—Sarada has eclipsed them both.
Sasuke would insist that there is nothing more that she must do, that there is no feat that she needs to fulfill to be worthy.
Still, she cannot shake the feeling that there is something she owes to him. She has not yet learned the entirety of her clan's tragedy, but she has the gist of it. Her father traversed the impossible to make her possible. Surely this requires something from her, somehow.
Sarada thinks, perhaps it is guilt then, or duty. Perhaps a daughter is a personification of these feelings.
The thought wrinkles her brow as they take a rest from training. Nothing escapes her father's notice, and he is soon tapping at her shoulder to know what weighs on her.
“Just some thoughts.” Sarada has never been an impeccable liar; she can only veil her unease by pulling back. Sasuke drops his questioning, but his silence is invitation. So she gathers her courage and allows herself to ask.
“Papa, what do you want my life to be?”
“I know you’ll say I can be what I want, but there has to be something else to it.” She lowers her gaze, ashamed that she hasn’t yet figured it out. That she still has to wonder—“What does it mean to be Uchiha Sasuke’s daughter?”
He pauses in thought, with a peculiar look of sadness on his face. As if this is some line of inquiry he had pursued himself, only to be let down by the answers. Sasuke smiles when he looks at her again, and Sarada feels the tender caress of his hand against her cheek.
“It means you get to dream, Sarada.”
“… has been made new. The clan is now you. The past isn’t meant to be your burden.”
“Just like that?” The question bursts out of her, spurred by warring awe and disbelief. He nods.
“Just like that.” His assurance falls from his lips like wisdom, and some semblance of peace descends upon her.
Sarada marvels at the softness that the setting sun imparts to her father’s face. This moment will be etched forever in her memories now.
“To be my daughter… means that you get to know the precious boon or terrible affliction that freedom could be.”
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