She had caught a glimpse of the crest on his back, one that resembled her own. It should be impossible for an Uchiha outside of her family to exist; the clan was almost wiped out years ago. Why was there someone bearing their clan's symbol in such a strange place? Acting on impulse, she approached him, only to be greeted with a face almost too familiar.
He wore her father's features: the same obsidian eyes, the straight black hair, the reserved posture—- all too remeniscent of him. He looked just like the pictures her mother showed her, in their earlier years. Sarada takes a step back, warily, struggling to find words.
“No, you can't be—- You're... younger.” She comments, eyeing him head to toe before meeting his gaze. "Who are you?"