Chapter 584 - 5

Before death, they say, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

Although, if you think about it, it's more like a trailer with a selection of key scenes.

University years — lectures, desks buried under notes, stressed-out classmates, and him, acing exams with the highest scores.

Then a handshake in a spacious office: a job offer from a private research company right after graduation.

White lab walls, the scent of metal and plastic, shelves lined with instruments and neatly labeled containers. They studied the human brain, searching for a way to store a copy of someone's memory inside a machine.

The first trial. A metal chair cooling his back, electrodes tugging slightly at the skin of his scalp. Lines of data raced across the monitor. The computer was reading everything: memories, personal habits, aspects of character. The progress bar froze at 98%.

And then lightning struck the building.

A flash — bright, blinding. The air filled with crackling and the smell of ozone. A power surge, a loud snap, sparks, and then an explosion. The sweetish stench of burnt plastic and wiring flooded the room, and somewhere in the distance the fire alarm was already screaming.

Another memory.

An orphanage. The adults eyed him warily, as if he were not a child, but a wild animal. A caretaker pushed a bowl of food toward him with a mop, careful not to get close. The other kids, taking cues from the grown-ups, avoided him too.

Life would have been unbearable — no one talked to him, no one called him to play — if it weren't for his twin sister. She was treated the same way, but being outcasts together was far easier than being alone.

[What orphanage? I grew up in a normal family. I've never had a sister. And this is suspiciously similar to the plot of that ninja anime I used to watch as a kid…]

Menma's eyes flew open.

This wasn't his two-story house, but a one-room apartment with gray walls, minimal furniture, and a silence in which every footstep sounded too loud.

He jumped out of bed and rushed to the tiny bathroom. Shower, toilet, a small mirror over the sink.

A six-year-old boy stared back at him in the reflection: blue eyes, bright red hair, and three whisker marks on each cheek.

"…Holy crap," he breathed almost in a whisper. "I'm Uzumaki Menma."

There was no room for doubt. Staring back at him was the character from that children's show he had once binge-watched late into the night. And the new memories only confirmed it.

The apartment was so small that every few steps he would bump into a wall. Menma paced back and forth, trying to sort recent events into neat mental boxes.

How did this happen? The last thing he remembered from his previous life was lightning striking and the computer exploding. Since ancient times, lightning had been seen as something magical — divine sparks, portals to another world.

Maybe it was just like in Chinese web novels: the body destroyed, the soul crossing into a new world and finding a suitable vessel. That would explain the two sets of memories — his own and the child's.

[Mmm… shady option. That would mean I just booted the original Menma's soul out and took over his body against his will.]

But there was another possibility. The lightning hadn't hit him, but the computer holding the copy of his memories. What if that data had been transferred here? The mind of an adult merged with that of a child, but remained dominant.

[Now that's better. I'd rather not be a killer of children's souls.]

He kept pacing for several more minutes, going over theories. No new ideas appeared. And most likely, no new data would ever come.

He didn't believe for a second in the possibility of going back.

What did he know about this new world?

He didn't have to go far for information — it was already in his head. This was Konoha, and everything was going strictly by canon. Minato had died fighting the Nine-Tails, Hiruzen had resumed the position of Hokage, and the signing of the alliance treaty with Kumo had been foiled. Everything matched down to the smallest detail… with one exception. On that fateful night, Kushina had given birth to red-haired twins: a boy, Menma, and a girl, Naruko. Half of Kurama's Yin chakra was sealed inside him, and the Yang half in her.

Putting it all together with what he knew of the plot, Menma was pleased. The major events of the world were a perfect match, which meant that knowledge of the future could — and should — be used.

[Perfect. I'd rather not end up in some alternate universe where Sasuke's a playboy and Hinata's a total diva. And having a sister? That's just a bonus.]

Now it was time to at least sketch out a plan for the future. But as the wise philosophers said: "First, know yourself — then the world."

He had to decide who he was going to be here:

a tourist, idly observing the locals' problems and ready to vanish at the first opportunity, or a full-fledged resident, for whom every action would echo in his reputation.

[Definitely the second option. I doubt I can go back… and I don't want to. There was nothing holding me there except work. There's also an unpleasant suspicion: maybe the body and soul in my old world survived, which means there's simply nowhere to return to. And here… I'm the Hokage's son, an Uzumaki by bloodline, with the strongest bijuu inside me. Excellent starting conditions. And the shinobi world does have something awfully close to magic.]

He didn't have to look far for proof. One glance out the window and he saw a shinobi in a green vest casually leap into a third-story window. No twisted ankles, no limping. A soft landing, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

[Yeah — I want that. Decision made. I'm Uzumaki Menma. Wiser, with knowledge of the future, but still Menma.]

It was a pleasant thought… until a cold shiver ran down his spine.

[What if I'm wrong? What if I'm not a memory imprint, but a parasitic soul that just took over someone else's body? That's very bad. In the shinobi world, working with souls is an entire field. There are jutsu to extract them, summon them from the Pure Land, even feed them to the Shinigami. Madara figured out at a glance that he and Sasuke were Indra's reincarnations. What if someone sees right through me? If I were just an ordinary orphan, I could shrug it off. But I'm a jinchūriki. The Third Hokage himself is watching me. He's the Professor, the God of Shinobi. That old man could notice the swap. I need to find out immediately whether my soul is the same or not. And I know one expert who'll definitely keep the results a secret.]

Menma lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and focused on the dark, simmering hatred quietly churning somewhere in his gut.

An instant later, the world around him changed. He stood in the familiar space of the seal: a grim labyrinth flooded knee-deep with water, narrow passages, towering walls, and from somewhere above — a muffled, oppressive light.

A memory surfaced of the first time he'd been here.

Two months ago, Naruko had stopped at a shop selling masks. She'd only asked to see one, but the shopkeeper, as if he'd snapped, turned crimson with rage and raised his hand to strike her. Menma didn't even think — he lunged forward, shielding his sister… and took the blow to the head. The lights went out, and the next thing he saw was this waterlogged labyrinth. And the prisoner behind the bars.

[The Yang half of the Nine-Tails in the anime was a grumbling, sarcastic bastard. But the Yin half… that's a different story.]

Knowing the way to the cage by heart, Menma strode confidently through the flooded corridors. Sloshing water underfoot, he took a couple of turns and reached the center of the maze, where a massive iron gate loomed like a fortress. On the lock hung an enormous sheet of paper with a sealing formula.

In the depths of the cage, in the shadows, sat the Nine-Tails. His silhouette was almost swallowed by darkness, only the ears and outline of the massive body faintly visible in the gloom. As Menma approached, two red eyes flared in the dark — cold, yet piercingly attentive.

[He's so huge, I feel like an insect.]

"Greetings, Menma," the voice was even, calm, carrying notes of ancient weariness, like a sage who was rarely surprised by anything.

"Hey, Kyūbi."

"Don't call me that," the tone hardened, a note of steel in it. "That's a name given to me by cruel and ignorant humans. Would you like it if I called you 'demon spawn'?"

"Well… no, of course not," Menma dropped his gaze. "Sorry."

"Mutual respect begins with courtesy," he continued as if stating the obvious. "Call me Kurama."

[Mhm… that's what it's like dealing with the smart half. Naruto in canon had to punch the name out of him.]

"Do you have something to tell me?" Kurama asked, like someone interrupted from something more important.

Menma nodded.

"But first, let me remind you of the terms of our arrangement," Kurama's eyes narrowed slightly. "You give me valuable information from the outside world. In return, I share details about your parents. I don't care who you fought or how many baby teeth your sister lost. The exchange must be equivalent."

"I've already told you all the latest news from the papers," Menma reminded him with a faint smile. For those trivialities, he'd once extracted the names of his parents and a few useful tidbits. "But this time… I can tell you about a major change in my life."

Kurama didn't blink. His gaze pressed down hard enough to make Menma want to take a step back.

"In the end, since we share the same body, this concerns you too," Menma added. "Listen first, then decide if it's worth anything."

"Speak."

"Yesterday the caretaker at the orphanage announced that all children aged six must leave. Now my sister and I live in our own apartment. We'll be getting an allowance until we graduate from the Academy. They say it teaches independence."

[Wild to me, but in the shinobi world, that's normal. Kids with chakra grow up faster. Kakashi, for example, was already a chunin at this age and leading squads.]

"In two months, classes at the Academy will start," he finished.

"Hm…" Kurama drawled. "Describe the apartment."

"One living room, small kitchen, toilet."

"For two?" A note of distrust slid into his voice. "What about furniture?"

"Almost none," Menma shrugged. "A wardrobe, a bed, a small stove, a little fridge. All standard. It's a building for single shinobi."

"One bed for a boy and a girl…" Kurama mused. "When puberty comes… under one blanket, things will get very… heated."

[Like I don't know that already! But now's not the time to sass him. Staying polite — I need information.]

"So," Menma went on, "I've shared information about how Konoha handles orphans before the Academy. I think that's worth something."

"It is," Kurama nodded slowly. "I'll tell you your parents' last words."

[I didn't really care — I already knew them. But I stepped closer, keeping the image of a curious child.]

"Right before their deaths, Minato and Kushina thought only of their children's happiness," Kurama said, and something unusually soft slipped into his voice. "They begged Hiruzen to make sure Konoha treated you as heroes. Hiruzen promised to fulfill their dying wish."

Menma felt his fists clench on their own.

[Guess there's still something left of the original Menma in me. Just remembering how the old monkey betrayed my parents makes me want to break something.]

"That all?" Kurama tilted his head back slightly, eyelids lowering as if he was ready to return to meditation.

"Not quite," Menma admitted. "It's not part of our deal… but I think you'll find it interesting."

"That's for me to decide," Kurama replied lazily, but with an undertone of authority, like a boss being interrupted from important work. "Speak."

"I had a strange dream today," Menma began cautiously. "Like… scenes from another life. I've heard there are cases of reincarnation. Maybe that's what it was?"

"What exactly did you dream?" Kurama's voice sharpened, as if he'd switched from idle conversation to interrogation.

"Different things," Menma shrugged. "Talking to strangers. Fires. Some buildings… It was all mixed together."

"Interesting…" Kurama drawled, his gaze never leaving Menma. It felt like he was judging not the words, but the very essence of the one speaking. "Menma, do you know what chakra is?"

"Well, I haven't even started the Academy yet," he began, pretending to search for words, "but I've read that chakra is a mix of spiritual and physical energy."

[That's the truth. Menma's a local book-loving prodigy. Thanks to that, I can speak to him as an equal without pretending to be a clueless kid.]

"Correct," Kurama nodded. "Chakra grows when both components grow. Physical, Yang, increases with bodily training. Spiritual, Yin, with experience. And right now, your Yin has grown slightly."

[At first I was annoyed that twenty-five years of my life amounted to "slightly." But then it hit me… The Nine-Tails can see the original Menma's soul! Which means I don't have to worry about being exposed!]

"You've likely recalled fragments of your past life," Kurama concluded. "Not such a rare phenomenon."

"Thanks for explaining," Menma nodded, turning toward the exit — but stopped halfway. "Don't you get… bored in here? I mean, I leave, but you stay locked up."

"Only fools can be locked in a cage," Kurama smirked arrogantly. "I go into meditation for self-discovery. For you, months and years pass between our meetings, but for me — no more than a second. I won't even notice you growing old and dying."

He was already closing his eyes, but then opened them again.

"Menma… if you bring me truly valuable information," a predatory grin flickered at the corners of his mouth, "I'll teach you something."

The sealing space shuddered, and in the next instant Menma was literally thrown back into the real world.

He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm a heart that was pounding like he'd just finished a sprint.

This was a real mess. If Yang-Kurama growled, clawed, and threatened to rip your guts out, then Yin-Kurama was a whole different story. He didn't attack head-on — he wove intrigues.

The way he'd set the stage was almost elegant: hiding his fox face behind shadows and a polite mask, insisting on the "positive" name — Kurama. As if he were some kindly old neighbor offering candy, not an ancient demon. It lulled you, made you forget who you were actually talking to. A kitsune. A demon.

Even his "you give me this, I give you that" wasn't an exchange — it was bait. As if the Nine-Tails really cared how Konoha treated its orphans. Of course not. It was a subtle mind game: "I'm not planting ideas in your head. You're the one coming to me for answers."

A demon never speaks idly. Every word is another brick in a wall leading toward one chilling conclusion: Konoha is full of scum, and I'm your only friend.

Kurama wasn't wrong about Hiruzen — a thief and a rat — but that didn't mean Menma should get in the same boat with a kitsune.

As John Constantine once said, it's better to cut your own balls off than to dance to a demon's tune. You'll live longer.

[And he'd already offered me a "pig in a poke" training deal today. If I hadn't shown up, the fox would have wrapped the kid around his finger — and been free in no time.]

Still, the strongest bijuu was willing to talk… and that was something worth using. Very carefully.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock.

A girl of about six stepped into the room, with the same blue eyes, the same whisker marks on her cheeks, and the same vivid crimson hair — tied into two mischievous pigtails. She was wearing baggy gray clothes — the standard "gift" from the orphanage.

[I've got the same hideous rags on me. That needs fixing fast.]

"Naruko, where have you been?" Menma crossed his arms and glanced at the clock. "You went out to take the trash and vanished for two hours!"

"I couldn't find the trash bin," she sniffled. "I went too far and got lost… I asked for directions, but everyone… everyone just ignored me…"

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn't get to finish — Menma had already pulled her into a tight embrace.

"It's all right," he said softly, holding her close. "I'm here. And I'm never letting you go anywhere alone again."

"Really?" she looked up at him, eyes full of hope.

"I promise," Menma said seriously. "And I never break my word."

Naruko wiped her tears on her sleeve, but a smirk was already forming on her face.

"Even if I ask you to come with me to the women's bath?"

"Have mercy," Menma sighed. "Even the Hokage isn't as dangerous as a kunoichi who catches a man in the bath."

She giggled and snuggled closer.

An ever-shining crimson sun.

[The plan for the future is set. Reclaim my parents' legacy. Punish the thieves and manipulators. And make sure my sister never cries again.]

/////

Author notes:

If you feel like writing in the comments about what a terrible author I am, know this: that's not criticism. That's whining. A real critic points out both the flaws and the strengths of a work, and if all you see is crap — then you're just looking in a mirror.

"Me-een-maaa!" Naruko's voice shattered the morning silence like a rock through glass.

The girl dashed across the room, leapt onto her brother's bed, bounced twice with a pleased "boing! boing!" and, for the grand finale, plopped right onto his stomach.

The book in Menma's hands jolted. He barely had time to move it away from his face to avoid getting smacked in the nose by the pages.

"You lost your mind or something?" He raised an eyebrow slightly, peering at her over the cover.

"I'm boooored!" Naruko shoved the book aside and hovered over him, her big blue eyes sparkling. "Let's go out!"

"Fine," Menma calmly closed the book, neatly slipping in the bookmark. "Good chance to explore Konoha."

[Up until now we'd only roamed the village under the watch of caretakers from the orphanage. Today — official freedom.]

"Yay!" Naruko shot off the bed, already bouncing in place from excitement. "First, the Hokage Monument! Then the candy shop! Then—"

"Then — the bookstore. To buy textbooks for the Academy."

The effect was worse than a bucket of cold water. Her face twisted as if she'd bitten into a lemon and swallowed the peel.

"Ewwww! Reading's boring!"

"And without books, they won't even let you into the Academy," Menma laced his fingers behind his head and gave a lazy smirk. "I'll make tons of friends there and have fun every day. You'll stay home."

"What?!" Naruko flared up like a kettle without a lid. "You think you're gonna have fun without me!? No way!"

She lunged for him, but Menma slid off the bed in one smooth motion.

"Hey, wait!" She pounced after him, but he was already on the other side of the bed.

"They'll kick you out for not doing homework," he teased, circling the furniture. "Guess you'll have to read the textbooks."

"I will!" she shot back, edging toward him from the side. "Even more than you!"

[That's the spirit. No way I'm letting her grow up as scatterbrained as the original Naruto.]

The next second, he deliberately slowed down, letting her grab his shirt. They tumbled to the floor, and a merciless tickle war began.

"Aaah! Mercy!" Menma gasped with laughter, trying to crawl away.

"Never!" Naruko relentlessly attacked his ribs.

"Why would you want a dead brother?" he panted. "I'm worth more alive!"

"Fine, I'll let you go," she said grandly, pulling her hands away. "But in return, you buy me something tasty."

"Little devil," he snorted, getting to his feet. "First, let's check our finances."

They both went to the bed. Menma lifted the mattress and pulled out a bundle — a couple of documents, a folded sheet of paper, and a neatly tied stack of bills.

[Mhm. For a professional thief, this 'stash' is like an open door with a sign saying 'Come in, take what you want.' For a shinobi, it's a circus. Here's hoping Konoha's thieves have enough morals not to rob orphans' homes.]

First, he unfolded the sheet with the list of first-year textbooks. The corners were already crumpled — Naruko had used it as a tea coaster a couple of times.

Then he counted the money: two standard monthly orphan stipends plus a small bonus — birthday money from Hiruzen.

[Same every year. On our birthday, the 'kind old man' tosses us a bit more pocket change than usual. And that's it. Could've honored our parents' last wish — but no. Instead, he hands out scraps with a smile.]

Menma hesitated for a couple of seconds, then stuffed the whole bundle of cash into his bag.

"Isn't that too much?" Naruko's eyes widened. "What, are the textbooks that expensive?"

"Doubt it," he replied, making sure the bills lay flat. "But we still need proper clothes. And food. The orphanage's care package will run out soon."

He glanced toward the kitchen corner — two short crates sat on the floor: a few packs of instant noodles, a bottle of milk, a bag of rice, toothpaste, a bar of soap, and a couple of odds and ends.

[For two Uzumaki, that's enough for a week. Week and a half if we ration. Hopefully Konoha's prices aren't brutal, or we'll be fishing in the river.]

They left the apartment. Outside, it was a warm weekend: the sun stood high, the streets bustled with people, the noise mixing with the scent of grilled fish and fresh bread.

Menma walked, watching the flow of passersby. Telling a shinobi from an ordinary villager was easy — and not just because of headbands or vests. Chakra changed people. Even without a trained eye, you could spot it: skin clear, teeth strong, hair gleaming like they visited a spa every day. Sometimes there were wrinkled old folks or the massive Akimichi, but those were exceptions.

[Honestly, watching the local kunoichi is a pleasure. Too bad they don't seem all that eager to look back.]

The moment anyone noticed the twins' red hair and the whisker marks on their cheeks, their expressions changed: brows drew together, lips curled. Some even crossed to the other side of the street.

[And here's the question of the century: how come every dog in this village knows that Naruko and I are jinchūriki, yet nobody knows who our parents were? That's the real important part. Infuriating.]

"Look!" Naruko grabbed his arm and tugged him toward a shop window.

Behind the glass, neat pastries sat on white trays. One stood out in particular — chocolate, with tiny silver droplets scattered on top like miniature stars.

"Can we get it?" Her eyes lit up instantly.

Menma glanced at the price tag and raised an eyebrow — clearly overpriced. Then he looked back at her.

[Damn it, that look… like a kitten already halfway onto your lap.]

"Let's go," he sighed.

"Yes!" She happily dragged him inside.

The bell above the door jingled, and a sweet mix of cream and fresh pastry hit his nose. The shopkeeper, thin and balding, was lifting a bucket of water, but upon seeing new customers, set it aside and attempted a smile.

"How can I—" he began, but when his eyes registered the red hair, his face twisted. "Get out, you demon spawn!"

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a wet rag and threw it at them. Poor aim — it slapped against the wall, leaving a dirty smear, and slid down.

"Out!" he barked, snatching up a mop and stepping forward.

Menma silently caught Naruko by the hand and led her outside before the man could come closer.

"I never want to see you here again!" the shout followed them. "Bastards!"

Naruko walked beside him, staring at the ground.

"Why's he like that with us?.. " she asked quietly, her voice trembling. "We didn't… do anything."

People passing by gave them sidelong glances — some with open satisfaction, some with mild contempt. Nobody intervened.

Something cold and vicious stirred inside Menma. He could feel rage pounding in his temples.

[Some second-rate little nobody just made my sister cry. And he thinks he's getting away with it? No. He's not.]

He scanned the square — and spotted a huge man on a bench, rough-looking with a black bandana. Something clicked in his mind. A smile, soft and dangerous, spread across his face.

Menma twitched his fingers slightly, showing his sister a quick sequence of hand signs.

The Fourth Hokage's daughter understood immediately. Her lips curved into the same foxlike grin.

She slipped silently behind the big man, snatched the bandana from his head, and tossed it to her brother. Menma caught it and, without pause, hurled it straight at the pastry chef's back just as he was heading back into the shop.

"Huh? Wha—?" The thug automatically ran a hand over his now-bare scalp and spun around.

At the same time, the shopkeeper picked up the bandana, staring at it in confusion.

"You're dead!" the big man barked, charging at him.

"Hey! Don't hit me! This is a mistake!" the seller yelped, backing away as the thug loomed over him like a mountain.

The twins, barely holding back laughter, were already turning the corner.

"Ha!" Naruko wiped her eyes. "That was genius, brother!"

"I know," Menma replied with a satisfied smirk.

[Doesn't solve the problem… but damn, it feels good.]

Naruko's stomach growled loudly and pointedly. She put her hands on it theatrically, as if she'd been mortally wounded.

"But I still want food," she announced in a doomed tone. "Let's find a restaurant."

"Today's food adventures aren't enough for you?" Menma raised a brow in mock surprise.

"Uzumaki Naruko can't be broken that easily!" she declared proudly — then suddenly sniffed the air. "O-o-oh… That smells amazing! This way!"

She pointed toward a wooden sign with large painted kanji.

Ichiraku Ramen.

[Of course. The universe is practically pulling us here.]

Passing under a white curtain, the twins found themselves at a small counter with four stools. Behind it — an open kitchen: a broad-shouldered man in his forties and a teenage girl, both in white cook uniforms. The air was thick with the scent of rich broth, grilled pork, green onions, and boiled eggs.

"New customers!" the girl greeted with a bright smile, but it faded the moment her gaze caught their red hair.

Menma felt a vein twitch in his temple.

"Kids…" she said with a hint of suspicion. "You got money?"

[Whew. Just the age thing. For a second I thought we'd found another person ready to toss us out by the scruff.]

"Yeah," he answered calmly, pulling a couple of bills from his pocket.

"Then welcome," her smile returned, and she gestured toward a wooden menu on the wall. "Everything's fresh, everything's delicious."

"Ramen with extra pork!" Naruko nearly shouted, licking her lips.

"Same for me," Menma said, counting out the exact amount.

[Pricey. But life without good food isn't life at all.]

"One moment!" The man — presumably the owner — switched on the stove and began expertly frying slices of meat.

Menma watched his movements. Not the slightest hint of dislike, not a single sidelong glance. The red hair and whisker marks were just details to him.

"Did this shop open recently?" Menma asked.

"Only been in Konoha for three months," the man replied without pausing his work. "Before that, we lived in the south of the Land of Fire."

[Got it. Six years ago, that night, they weren't here. Didn't lose anyone, don't blame anyone. If only everyone were like that.]

A short exchange revealed that the man's name was Teuchi, and his daughter was Ayame. The girl kept glancing at the twins with interest, but without hostility.

Within minutes, two enormous steaming bowls of ramen landed in front of them.

"Itadakimas!" Naruko scooped up noodles with her chopsticks and slurped them noisily. "Mmm… delicious!"

"That's an adult portion," Ayame warned. "If you can't finish, better leave it."

Menma barely stopped himself from laughing.

[Leave food? An Uzumaki? We'd sooner run for seconds.]

He started on his bowl and, catching the right moment, asked:

"Do you know where in Konoha we could buy children's clothes? Preferably from outsiders."

"Odd request," Ayame said thoughtfully, running a finger along her lips. "But my neighbor has a stall at the market. She's not from Konoha either."

"I'd appreciate the address," Menma nodded.

"You're probably gonna buy everything in black again," Naruko remarked, neatly lifting a slice of pork with her chopsticks. "You always do that."

[Uchiha style? Ha! No thanks. Right now, red-eyed folks in Konoha are basically 'don't stand next to them — you'll get killed.' I don't need those associations with a clan of psychos.]

"Thinking of changing my style," Menma said calmly, catching half a boiled egg with his chopsticks. "What about you?"

"I'll buy the brightest thing I can find!" she replied enthusiastically. "So everyone notices me right away!"

Menma involuntarily paled. A mental image of Naruto in that blinding orange jumpsuit popped up, and his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he could already feel the pain from that color.

"Trust me," he said with emphasis, "you stand out enough already. There's not another girl like you in Konoha."

"Exactly," Ayame chimed in. "This is the first time I've seen kids with hair like yours."

"Which is why," Menma continued casually, "I suggest we buy matching outfits. And maybe stop by a barber. Make ourselves identical."

Naruko stared at him, raising a brow.

"Kawaii!" Ayame grabbed her cheeks. "To make you even cuter?"

"No," he smirked, "to troll people."

Ayame blinked, processing that. Naruko mirrored his smirk exactly, like a reflection in a mirror.

[Right now, the only difference is our hairstyles. Our voices and height are the same. Once puberty hits, it'll be harder to hide the difference. But for now… it'd be a crime not to have some fun.]

"Thanks, Ayame-chan!" Naruko waved cheerfully. "It was suuuper tasty! We'll definitely come back!"

They headed for a barber shop. The stylist — a lean man with long bangs and a critical eye — circled them like a sculptor assessing a block of marble.

"Not possible right now," he said, "but in a couple of months, once your hair's grown a bit," — he nodded at Menma — "I can give you both a universal cut, and no one will be able to tell you apart."

"Perfect," Menma nodded. "Just in time for the start of the Academy."

After that, the twins made their way to the market and found the stall Ayame had mentioned. The owner, a cheerful woman in her thirties who was clearly not a local, greeted them warmly. In the end, they bought green jackets for everyday wear, pants, T-shirts, caps — everything in duplicate. The bags weighed pleasantly in their hands, and the wallet felt noticeably lighter.

[Other stalls might be cheaper… but thanks to Hiruzen's 'caring' policies, my options are limited: either buy from outsiders or be ready for a mop to the back.]

"Only the bookstore left," Menma said, adjusting the bags.

"Can we go another time?" Naruko peeked into the bags as if hoping to find sweets. "We don't have much money left, and we still need groceries."

"We won't buy anything today," he agreed. "We'll wait for next month's stipend. But the shop's on the way. We'll stop in, check the prices."

They approached a small shop with a sign reading "Study Materials for Academy Students."

Inside — the smell of paper and polished wood, neatly arranged shelves, and a glass display of notebooks and writing supplies.

But the moment they opened the door, the shopkeeper — a thin man with a mustache — looked up, and his face instantly twisted.

"Get out, demon spawn!" he yelled so loudly the glass at the back of the shop rattled. "You bring nothing but misfortune!"

He lunged from behind the counter, and the twins had to jump back outside before he got the idea to throw something heavy at them.

[What the hell?! We're being thrown out like lepers! And the worst part — this is the only specialty shop in all of Konoha. What am I supposed to do now, steal textbooks from classmates? This is infuriating.]

Menma was furious, but his face stayed blank. Naruko, on the other hand, looked ready to storm back in and raise hell.

"Ahem," came a voice from behind them.

They turned and saw Hiruzen, in his familiar white-and-red Hokage robes, pipe in hand, smiling like a kindly grandfather.

"How's it going?" he asked, as if he'd just bumped into them by chance on a walk.

"Grandpa!" Naruko darted to him. "You won't believe it — we tried to buy textbooks for the Academy, but the mean shopkeeper kicked us out! Said he wouldn't sell to us!"

The grandfatherly smile slid from Hiruzen's face as if washed away by a wave. His features hardened, taking on the cold, military sharpness of a commander.

"We'll handle this," he said curtly, stepping forward.

The shopkeeper had just opened his mouth to finish driving them off—

"Now get out of—" He froze mid-sentence, spotting the white Hokage hat beside the twins' red heads. "G-good afternoon… Hokage-sama."

"I've been told you refused to provide textbooks to future shinobi," Hiruzen said evenly, but with an icy edge. "Does that mean you're deliberately weakening Konoha's military strength?"

It was as if a lightning bolt had struck the man. He went pale, stammering:

"N-no, the children must have… I've always supported the village!"

"Glad to hear it," Hiruzen nodded — but the pressure didn't lift. "Then you will now hand over the textbooks to these future shinobi. Free of charge."

"Yes! Of course!" The shopkeeper exhaled like a man spared from execution. "Just a moment!"

He hurried into the back room.

Meanwhile, Hiruzen slid the warm-grandfather smile back onto his face.

[What a performer. Send him to a theater and he'd own the stage. I'd bet he didn't just happen to be nearby — probably watched us through his crystal ball, waiting for the perfect moment for a dramatic entrance. And he nailed it…]

"Grandpa, you're amazing!" Naruko beamed at him, glowing like a lantern.

"Now, now, don't overpraise me," Hiruzen said gently, ruffling her hair. "It's my duty as Hokage to help every villager."

[One manipulator inside. Another outside. At this rate, paranoia's just a matter of time. I think it's about time I grab fate by the tail before it grabs me.]

"Hokage-sama," Menma said, meeting his eyes directly. "We need to have a serious talk." Award 

Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped into the office, quietly closing the door behind him.

The familiar scent of old wood and the faint tang of tobacco greeted him like the rightful master of the house returning home. A massive dark walnut desk dominated the center of the room, and behind it a wide window opened onto Konoha: evening mist clung to the rooftops while the last rays of the sun broke through the haze, bathing the village in soft gold. Portraits of the previous Hokage lined the walls—calm, stern gazes that, to Sarutobi, carried a silent reproach: Don't fail.

He removed the white hat with the crest and set it gently on the corner of the desk, as if afraid an unnecessary motion might disturb the order. Then he sank into the chair.

Across from him, in a heavy seat obviously too big for him, sat Menma. The boy looked calm, but his gaze was far too direct for a six-year-old.

Hiruzen's eyes involuntarily flicked to Minato's portrait. The face shape—different. But the eyes… the same piercing blue. The rest was all mother: the shape of the nose, the shade of hair, even the little habit of twitching one corner of the mouth when concentrating.

"You said you had something very important to tell me," Hiruzen said, adding a soft, almost fatherly warmth to his voice. "I'm listening."

Menma didn't look away.

"I know I'm the jinchūriki of the Kyūbi."

For a moment, the room grew quieter, even the ticking of the wall clock seeming to soften.

Hiruzen didn't bother pretending to be surprised—he'd been expecting this moment the way one waits for rain in summer: knowing it's inevitable, but hoping the clouds might still scatter. He exhaled slowly, pushing his weariness aside. This secret had always rested on nothing more than a promise and the fear of punishment, and any drunken tongue could undo it. Apparently, that was exactly what had happened…

He would have to find the talker and make an example of them.

"Menma-kun," Hiruzen said evenly. "Who told you?"

"The Kyūbi."

The old Hokage's brow lifted slightly, but not a trace of change touched his voice.

"From the beginning. In detail."

He reached for his pipe, packing it with tobacco. His fingers moved a little slower than usual—not from age, but from the sense that this conversation would be… slippery.

"Well…" Menma cleared his throat. "Two months ago, my sister went into the mask shop…"

Hiruzen tensed inwardly. His mind at once recalled that cursed day: a furious, half-drunk old man, shouting in the street, children startled. The broom in the shopkeeper's hands that at first seemed only a threat—until it cracked against the boy's temple.

The child had been taken to the hospital; the shopkeeper had been warming a cell ever since and was unlikely to leave it soon.

"I remember that day," Hiruzen said, lighting the tobacco. The flame briefly lit his face before soft bluish smoke drifted into the air. "So that's when it happened?"

Menma nodded.

"After the hit, I… woke up in some kind of sewer," the boy said calmly, though with a faint hesitation, as if unsure he fully believed his own words. "I wandered around for a long time. Don't know how much time passed, but in the end I came out into this huge hall with a cage. And… I didn't even get a word out before a fox face appeared inside."

"Did he yell at you?" Hiruzen exhaled a stream of smoke, watching the child's reaction carefully. "Demand anything?"

"No. He just wanted to talk. Oh, and his name's Kurama."

The name hung in the air like a drop of poison on a blade's tip.

Hiruzen didn't flinch, but something tightened inside him. A talkative demon was a hundred times more dangerous than a raging one.

"And what did he talk to you about?" The question sounded almost casual, but behind it was the full caution of an old shinobi.

"Mostly about my parents." A faint curve touched the corner of Menma's lips. "How they met. That Mom was kidnapped by Kumo shinobi, but Dad found her… by her hair, and saved her."

"So you know who they are?" Hiruzen asked, getting a short nod in reply. "What else did he tell you?"

"A lot. That Dad was the most talented shinobi of his generation. That Mom was also a jinchūriki. And… how they died."

"And how was that?" Hiruzen leaned forward slightly. Very few knew the truth of that night—even him.

"Someone took control of Kurama," the boy said without a trace of doubt. "He didn't want to kill anyone. Kurama is innocent."

Hiruzen might have believed him… if he hadn't seen it himself. Yes, at the start of that battle, the Kyūbi's eyes had burned with the Sharingan's tomoe—but by the end, when all was over, no foreign influence remained in them. And yet, he had seen with his own eyes the fox's claw pierce Minato and Kushina.

The Kyūbi twisted the truth—skillfully, subtly—worming his way into trust. Making the boy see him not as an enemy, but as an ally.

"You did the right thing by telling me, Menma-kun," Hiruzen said with a nod, leaning forward slightly. His voice was gentle, but beneath it lay the weight of experience and a hidden wariness. "You may keep speaking with Kurama… but never forget that he's a kitsune. And a kitsune always plays his own game. Always consult me first. My doors are open to you at any time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," the boy groaned, rolling his eyes. His tone balanced between irritation and fatigue, as if he'd heard the same lecture a hundred times before. "It's just… I have a problem."

"Menma, I am the Hokage!" Hiruzen straightened, as if remembering his own status. "Solving the problems of the village's people is my duty. Tell me about your problem, my boy"—he put special weight on the last words, underlining his care—"and we'll find a solution together."

"It's about how the people of Konoha treat me and my sister," Menma said, shoulders dropping, and for a moment, the childlike vulnerability he usually hid showed through. "I can still handle it… but it's much harder for Naruko."

Hiruzen closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled a long stream of smoke from his pipe, as though wishing to let go of the weariness that years of leadership had piled on him.

"Understand this, Menma-kun… uneducated people are deeply superstitious. They believe you're a demon in human form. I can't punish them for a mistaken belief."

"But you can tell everyone the Fourth Hokage is our father!" the boy's voice suddenly turned firm, almost commanding. "Everyone respected him. After that, they'll treat us better."

Hiruzen narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Did the Kyūbi give you that idea?"

Menma stayed silent. But there was no need for an answer—the veteran shinobi could already read it in the faint, almost imperceptible flick of the boy's eyes. No trace of a lie, yet not a hint of admission either.

"I told you… Kurama is a kitsune," Hiruzen reminded quietly, almost fatherly, yet with a note of steel in his voice. "He'll give you advice that seems brilliant on the surface… but will lead to disaster."

He took a slow draw from the pipe, exhaled smoke rings, and only then continued:

"Your father had many enemies. A lot of them. If I announce that Minato had children… you and your sister will have a massive target on your backs."

"Don't we already?" Menma lifted his gaze. And for a fleeting instant, Hiruzen saw not a child, but Minato himself in his moments of resolve—cold eyes, a sharp tilt of the head. "Everyone in Konoha knows we're jinchūriki. And, surely, far beyond its borders. My mom, the former jinchūriki, was almost kidnapped by Kumo shinobi inside Konoha itself."

The argument was like a katana strike—sharp, clean, and without wasted words.

Hiruzen tapped his fingers on the desk, weighing the boy's words. He knew full well Menma was right… but he also knew exactly how truth revealed too soon could backfire.

"I'll think about how to solve your problem," he said at last, slowly rubbing his beard. "For now… go home. Your sister must be worried."

Menma rose, gave a slight nod, and without another word, left the office. The door closed softly, almost noiselessly—but to Hiruzen, it sounded like the blare of a war horn.

The Hokage remained seated in the silence, the faint crackle of burning tobacco in his pipe the only sound. He allowed himself a short sigh, then reached for a stack of fresh scrolls.

A minute later, several messenger hawks soared from the window—letters to old allies marked "emergency council" already on their way.

///

The room they gathered in had no windows—not a crack, not a sliver of outside light. Only the steady, cold glow of lamps fell across a massive oval table, its surface scarred by time and by past discussions known only to those who sat there. Thick walls smothered even the faintest rustle, and outside the door stood a pair of ANBU who knew the order "let no one in" was not up for debate.

Two advisers were already seated at the table—Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu. Their faces, lined and severe, looked as if carved from ancient oak. Nearby, a little apart from them, sat the third participant—Danzō Shimura, motionless as a statue, leaning on his cane. Only his single visible eye moved, lazily sweeping over the room.

Hiruzen, however, was not sitting. He paced from wall to wall, releasing smoke rings from his pipe that drifted upward and dissolved in the lamplight.

"What's this about?" Utatane was the first to break the silence, covering her mouth with a hand to hide a yawn. "Couldn't it have waited until morning? Why the rush?"

"The plan has failed," Hiruzen said grimly, without looking at her. "The jinchūriki knows who his parents are."

"Who told him?" Mitokado frowned. "Only ten people knew that information."

"An unaccounted factor," Hiruzen snorted, as if angry at himself for underestimating the threat. "The Kyūbi. Turns out he can speak to the host directly from within the seal's space."

Danzō lifted his chin and said evenly, without a hint of emotion:

"Are you certain it was the Kyūbi? A spy could have made contact. There are techniques that alter dreams, planting the desired images."

"This time there's no doubt," Hiruzen cut him off, fixing him with a heavy stare. "Menma told me how Minato rescued Kushina from Kumo shinobi. Only four people knew the details of that operation—Minato, Kushina, myself… and the Kyūbi."

"And what danger does that pose to us?" Utatane asked, propping her cheek on her hand. "So the boy knows his parents' names—so what? It's not as if he'll march into a jōnin meeting to demand his inheritance."

"Who can say," Hiruzen murmured, his quiet voice more frightening than a shout. "The Kyūbi is already drawing the boy to his side."

"Reseal the bijū," Danzō said coldly. "Immediately."

"And what's the chance the new host wouldn't give in to him?" Hiruzen stopped opposite his old comrade, meeting Shimura's lone eye. There was no answer in it—only cold emptiness. "We're lucky the Kyūbi made contact with Menma first. He's got his father's temperament—calm, calculating. But if it had been Naruko? She's impulsive, hot-headed… she might have opened that cage and let dear Uncle Kurama out already."

At those words, the room seemed to grow colder. Even Utatane stopped fidgeting in her seat, and Mitokado pressed his lips into a thin line. They all understood perfectly well: one more rampage from the Kyūbi, and Konoha might not survive.

"So what do you propose?" Mitokado asked, breaking the silence.

"From now on, both jinchūriki will be treated with care and affection," Hiruzen said clearly, stepping up to the table. "Not the slightest hint that they're feared or disliked. The Kyūbi must have no emotional leverage at all."

"But what about the plan?" Utatane raised an eyebrow.

"The plan is already void," Hiruzen's voice rang with steel. "We spread the rumors to isolate them so that only I would treat them warmly. That way they'd cling to me, not to any clans. They were meant to become my weapon against internal opposition. But with the Kyūbi now in play… there's a risk that weapon could be turned against us."

"Isn't it too late to change everything?" Utatane asked, and this time there was a trace of unease in her voice.

Hiruzen drew a slow breath, exhaled smoke, and continued in a steadier tone:

"Minato left us a priceless gift—two full-blooded Uzumaki. The Shinigami seal split the Kyūbi into two halves. Now we have two bijū, each with four and a half tails."

He paused, sweeping them with his gaze.

"You don't turn down a gift like that. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Hokage-sama," the three replied in unison.

"I'll still look for a replacement vessel," Danzō said quietly, as if in passing. "The world is big—there may still be pure-blooded Uzumaki somewhere."

"Do it in your spare time," Hiruzen's voice carried a cold metallic edge. "And don't forget—you still have to come up with a way to deal with the Uchiha. Their attempts at rebellion are wearing thin."

"I have some ideas," the faintest shadow of a smile touched Danzō's lips. "You'll like them."

Hiruzen gave a short nod, set his pipe into its stand, and spoke in a commander's tone:

"The old plan regarding the jinchūriki is annulled. We move to Plan 'Minato's Will.'"

"Yes, Hokage-sama!" they answered in chorus.

Far from Konoha's noisy center—where the streets were always crammed with merchants, children, and unhurried old folks—stretched a block of identical gray three-story buildings. These served as temporary housing for lone shinobi with no place of their own. The rent wasn't anything to cry over—payments were docked straight from mission pay, and even then only a modest percentage, so no one complained.

A little apart from them lived a different sort of tenant—orphans. Until they became genin, the village covered their rent in full.

Among these uniform buildings was one that looked exactly like its neighbors—at least from the outside. But people made a point of avoiding it, as if the very walls gave off something unpleasant. The reason was simple: everyone knew that on the top floor lived the "twin demons"—the very same ones whispered about in scary bedtime stories. They were said to be able to curse you with a single look, and in the darker tales, to steal newborns' souls. No one had ever checked if it was true—why would they, when the thought alone was scary enough?

Right now, on the top floor, in a small but cozy room, Menma sat on his bed, explaining to his sister where those stupid rumors had come from.

"So… inside me there's the Kyūbi…" Naruko, looking doomed, put a hand on her stomach, as if hoping to feel a fluffy tail there.

"Inside us," Menma gently corrected, moving her hand onto his own stomach. "And by the way—don't forget who our parents are."

"The Fourth Hokage…" she whispered, still not quite believing it.

"Dad was the strongest shinobi of his time," he went on confidently. "And Mom was from one of the toughest clans. You think people like that would let some fox just take over our bodies?"

Naruko thought about it for a moment, then shook her head with more certainty.

"Exactly. You're you. And I'm your favorite brother." Menma gave a small smile, watching her confusion fade. "Do we make bloody sacrifices and have baby stew for breakfast, like those village gossips say?"

"Of course not!" Naruko jumped up from the bed, offended. "I'll show them all!"

"We'll show them," he corrected with a satisfied smirk, watching his sister punch the air in a furious shadow-boxing match with imaginary offenders.

Then she froze and eyed him suspiciously.

"But, brother… how do you know all this?"

"The Kyūbi told me," Menma replied as calmly as if he'd read it in the morning paper.

[Yeah, I decided to tell her the truth. I'm not letting anyone treat my sister like an idiot.]

"Can I talk to him?" Naruko rolled her eyes upward, trying to peek into her own head.

"You can, but you probably shouldn't," he said seriously.

"…Okay," she muttered, sitting back down and hugging her knees. "So what now?"

"Now?" Menma pulled her into a gentle hug. "Now we just wait. I've already done the rest."

[I've quietly hinted to Hiruzen that there's a manipulator lurking in the shadows—one you can't just snuff out. Now he has to play by my rules. Remove me? He loses the bijū. Try to control me with jutsu? If he could, he would've done it long ago. Send a Yamanaka to dig in my memories? Best case, their specialist gets tossed out of my head like a drunk from a bar. Worst case—the Kyūbi snaps the intruder's mind in half.]

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

He and Naruko exchanged a look—they weren't expecting anyone.

When Menma opened the door, there stood… a huge figure that looked like a white-furred monkey in a black kimono. Its face was stern, but its eyes had a faintly warm squint.

"I am Enma, Monkey King—friend and ally of Hiruzen," he said in a deep, slightly gravelly voice.

"A talking monkey!" Naruko whispered in awe, her eyes lighting up as if she'd just met her favorite manga hero. "That's so cool!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Enma nodded slightly, and a spark of mischief flickered in his gaze.

"So why are you here?" Menma asked calmly.

"Hiruzen wants to see you both in the Hokage's residence," Enma replied.

"What for?" Menma narrowed his eyes.

"You'll find out soon enough," the monkey winked, and before the twins could object, he scooped them onto his broad back in one swift motion, wrapping them in his tail so they wouldn't fall off.

Enma moved fast and almost silently, like a giant shadow leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Sometimes he grabbed the thick electric wires with his hands, swinging on them like jungle vines. Each jump opened up new views—bright shop signs below, late merchants hurriedly packing up their goods, and random passersby who froze with their mouths open at the sight of a strange white-furred creature carrying two kids on its back high above the streets.

Naruko squealed and laughed with delight, waving her arms as if she were on a carnival ride.

[So, the old manipulator decided to bribe the kids with a circus monkey? Well… I'll admit—it worked on my sister. And that's actually for the best. I made a point of not saying a single bad word about "grandpa" during my little revelation. This is a delicate game. If Hiruzen stops believing a jinchūriki can be swayed to his side, he might bow out entirely. And for us, that would mean instant death.]

They reached a district where the streets weren't just crowded—they flowed like a solid human river.

Enma stopped on top of a lamppost in front of the Hokage's residence. From this height, the twins could see everything: the wide square below churned like a hive that had just been poked with a stick. Mothers with babies, old men with canes, shinobi in flak jackets, teens with genin headbands, street vendors with trays strapped to their backs. Some stood shifting from foot to foot, others climbed to higher spots—rooftops, fences, even tree branches.

"I… have never seen this many people in one place," Menma breathed, scanning the sea of faces.

"Hiruzen is about to read the Fourth Hokage's will," Enma replied without turning, his voice carrying a faint pride. "As you can see, your father has quite a few admirers."

With a single powerful leap, the Monkey King landed on the Hokage residence roof, where Hiruzen was already waiting. The old man stood by the door to the stairwell, and when he saw them, he slowly put out his pipe, releasing one last thin trail of smoke.

"Welcome, my children," he said with that public warmth he could put on so well. "Enma, you have my thanks."

"It was nothing," Enma replied, gently setting the twins on the roof and lowering his tail. A moment later, the monkey vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Hey!" Naruko protested. "I wasn't done riding!"

"What's going on here?" Menma asked, calm but with a faint note of suspicion.

"Just a small announcement," Hiruzen smiled slightly at him. "You don't have to do anything. Just stand beside me."

The Hokage stepped up to the railing, with two red-haired children to his right, glancing uncertainly at the crowd.

"I'm glad to see you all here," he began, amplifying his voice with chakra so it rolled over the square like a deep bell. "Today we gather to remember the tragedy that struck six years ago—the night the Kyūbi broke free."

A wave of heavy silence swept through the crowd. Faces darkened.

"That night, many of us lost our loved ones," Hiruzen went on, pausing briefly between phrases. "Children, brothers, sisters. I myself became a widower. And we also lost our protector—the man who ended the Third Great Shinobi War. A true hero. The Fourth Hokage—Namikaze Minato."

[I can feel the prick of hostile stares. The crowd wants to tear my sister and me to pieces… You senile old fool, what are you doing?]

"For security reasons, Minato's will was kept secret," the Hokage's voice softened slightly. "But there is no need for that today. On the night of the Kyūbi's attack, his wife, Kushina, was attended by a team of med-nin. To protect the newborns from enemies—both outside and within—their lineage was hidden. The children were given their mother's maiden name."

He paused, and the crowd listened, holding its breath.

"But times have changed. A decision meant to be a shield has turned into the sharpest of blades… And now I will speak their names." Hiruzen placed his hands on the twins' shoulders. "Uzumaki Menma and Naruko."

The crowd froze. Eyes that had been brimming with hostility a moment ago shifted to shock. Somewhere deep in the mass, someone gasped.

"Minato, at the cost of his life, split the Kyūbi into two halves…" Hiruzen's voice rolled over the square like a heavy wave, and the crowd stood still, afraid to miss a single word. "And sealed them inside his children."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, faint but tense, and Menma caught dozens of held, wary gazes fixed on him and Naruko.

"He did this not out of cruelty, but because he believed," Hiruzen raised his hand slowly, as if underlining every word. "Believed they would grow as strong as he was. That they could tame the Kyūbi."

The crowd still held its silence, and the Hokage's voice rose, becoming almost ceremonial:

"It was Minato's final wish that we treat his children as we treated him! As heroes whose sacrifice saved us all!" He paused briefly, and the wind on the rooftop seemed to carry those words over the people's heads. "They are jinchūriki—our shield against Konoha's enemies! They are Uzumaki—our ancient allies, whose symbol we wear on our vests! They are the children of Minato—the bravest and most noble shinobi of Konoha!"

For a second, there was silence—then the crowd exploded. Applause, shouting, whistling—it all blended into a single roar. Moments ago, the sharp glares had shifted to surprise, and now they held open admiration. The twins' reputation shot upward in an instant—from "demonic spawn" to "Konoha's hope."

[Hmph… the old man can give a speech. Less than twelve hours since our last talk, and he's already arranged everything perfectly. As an enemy, I can't help but respect him.]

Hiruzen tilted his head slightly, giving Menma a quick glance, then turned and led them toward the doors leading down into the building.

In the Hokage's office, where the smell of old wood and tobacco mixed with the faint scent of paper, the old man took off his hat and lowered himself into his chair with a touch of weariness.

"Well?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Good speech?"

Naruko, who had been in half-shock since appearing on the rooftop, finally burst with emotion:

"What?! That was amazing!" She bounced in place, then started hopping around Hiruzen like a hyperactive rabbit. "Everyone was calling me a hero!"

"From now on, that's how they'll see you," the Hokage said warmly, ruffling her hair.

"Why couldn't you have done this from the start?" Menma asked coolly, crossing his arms. "Why hide our father's will?"

Hiruzen sighed—quietly, tiredly, almost theatrically.

"Oh, Menma, you're still too young to understand how politics works. I'm the Hokage, but I'm not all-powerful. Every decision I make has to be discussed with the clan heads and the jōnin council. When I told them about Minato's will, they opposed it."

[Ah yes… the classic 'everyone else is a villain, I'm the only one protecting you' maneuver. He and Kurama would get along just fine.]

"I'm not all-seeing, Menma," Hiruzen went on, softening his tone. "I can't watch over everyone. Yesterday, when you told me how you were treated, I realized the clans and the jōnin council were wrong. Today, I stepped in—against their will—to make your lives better. But I understand… that won't give you back the years spent under the weight of undeserved hatred."

He lowered his gaze to the desk, as if ashamed.

"This is my fault. And I don't deserve forgiveness."

"Don't say that, grandpa!" Naruko instantly latched onto his arm, earning a warm smile from the old man. "You're the best!"

[Right now, I'm genuinely grateful to my sister. She's giving the old schemer exactly what he wants. I couldn't have played it this smoothly myself.]

"There's no sense dwelling on the past," Menma said quietly. "We have to live for the future."

"Thank you, children," Hiruzen placed a hand over his heart. "It means a lot for an old man to know he's worthy of forgiveness. Minato was like a son to me… and you're like my own grandchildren. If anything troubles you, tell me."

"I have a request!" Naruko's hand shot up instantly.

"Of course, my girl," the Hokage smiled almost fatherly. "I'm listening."

"Let Enma give me another ride!" she said, hopping around the office, imitating monkey moves.

"Oh, Naruko, have mercy on the Monkey King," Hiruzen fanned himself with his hat in mock exhaustion. "Maybe later—if you study well."

"I'll be the best student ever!" she gave him a thumbs-up.

"I have a problem," Menma said suddenly.

Hiruzen leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together and looking directly at him.

"Go on."

"It's about our living conditions," Menma began in an even tone, but with a faint emphasis on each word. "There are two of us, yet we're forced to live in a one-room apartment… with one bed."

He didn't break eye contact, watching for every micro-reaction—and wasn't disappointed. With each word, the old man's face slowly but steadily turned red.

"Damn thieves!" the Hokage growled, slamming his palm on the desk hard enough to make the inkwell tremble. He yanked open a drawer, pulled out a blank sheet and a brush, and began writing quickly, barely containing his anger. "Now they're stealing from orphans… I'll make them regret it…"

The brush flew across the paper, line after line of words incomprehensible to anyone without official training. Hiruzen wrote for several minutes without looking up, then reread it, nodded in satisfaction, and, after nicking his finger, summoned a small, fluffy creature—a miniature monkey in a kimono.

"Whoa!" Naruko gasped in awe, nearly jumping in place.

"This is an arrest order for the head of the orphan affairs department and a full investigation of all his subordinates," Hiruzen explained calmly, handing the scroll to the courier. "Deliver it to Captain Uchiha Fugaku—personally."

The courier nodded silently, gripped the scroll with his tail, gave a sharp salute, and, without wasting a second, darted out the window.

Hiruzen let out a heavy sigh, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and, looking off to the side, muttered:

"Thieves everywhere… You should have been given a two-room apartment, but someone in the administration decided they could rob two orphans without consequence. I'm ashamed I have to work with people like that."

[Give this man an Oscar. Immediately. To spin any of his own failings into self-sacrificing nobility… now that's talent.]

"You can go pack your things," Hiruzen said more warmly now, a gentle kindness returning to his face. "Tomorrow we'll choose you a house—any vacant one in Konoha."

"Yay!" Naruko jumped, beaming like she'd just gotten a birthday present.

"Can we live in our parents' house?" Menma asked innocently. "It would be nice to stay close to… family roots."

"Alas," the old man shook his head slightly. "Minato and Kushina's house was destroyed during the Kyūbi attack."

"What about Uzumaki clan grounds?" Menma asked casually, though he was watching the reaction closely.

"There were never any in Konoha," Hiruzen replied gently. "The Uzumaki were our allies, but they lived in their own nation—Uzushio. It was destroyed twenty years ago."

He paused for a moment, then added:

"In Konoha, there's only something like… an embassy. The Shinigami Shrine. Inside, there are living quarters for the priests. If you like, you could live there."

"I like that," Menma smirked slightly. "We'll continue honoring our ancestors' work."

[At least formally restore clan status. That way, at the academy, stuck-up Uchiha and Inuzuka brats will have one less reason to act superior.]

"The shrine wasn't damaged during the Kyūbi attack," Hiruzen continued. "But the last time anyone cleaned it was Kushina… just before she died."

"Cobwebs won't scare us," Menma said firmly, glancing at his sister. "Right?"

"Right!" Naruko squeezed his hand tightly.

"Little copies of Kushina," Hiruzen smiled with a touch of sadness. "She would have been so happy to see you now."

"No one's tended to the shrine in six years," Menma remarked offhandedly. "Repairs might be needed. But our allowance…"

"Say no more!" Hiruzen cut him off, already pulling out fresh parchment. "One standard orphan stipend, plus the Uzumaki ally supplement, plus the Hokage's children's supplement… and from me personally. Monthly. For each of you."

He signed and stamped the document with a bold seal.

"My grandchildren will want for nothing!"

"Does that mean I can eat ramen every day?" Naruko's eyes lit up.

"Of course," the Hokage nodded.

"Yay! Grandpa, you're the best!"

[He stole far more from our parents' bank accounts. But now's not the time to bring up the inheritance. Everything must be done gradually.]

"Thank you," Menma said calmly with a nod. "We'll go take a look at the Shinigami Shrine, then."

"Yes, yes," Hiruzen waved his hand as if shooing them away with warmth. "Young people should live their own lives, not sit around with an old man."

Then his gaze lingered on Menma, and his voice grew a touch firmer:

"If Kurama speaks to you again—you must tell me."

"Of course," Menma nodded, took his sister's hand, and headed for the exit.

[By pitting two manipulators against each other, I've just improved our lives significantly. Now I need to tell Kurama about Hiruzen's moves… and see what interesting offer he makes me.]

The Shinigami Temple struck with its monumentality from the outside. Stone steps stretched upward to massive columns. The roof loomed so high it resembled a fortress more than a shrine. Above the entrance gleamed the Uzumaki symbol — a blood-red whirlpool, greedily pulling the gaze into itself. Expensive, majestic, proud.

Menma felt a sudden sting in his chest — pride for his ancestors who had built such beauty, or sorrow for their tragic fate.

The interior had nothing in common with the usual temples, where rows of benches led to the altar. Here it looked more like an embassy — spacious halls, free living quarters, a large kitchen with once-shining copper stoves, several washrooms, and even a separate office for elders. The altar itself looked modest, almost secondary, as if the place had been created not for worship but for meetings and negotiations. Clearly, this was where the Uzumaki stayed when visiting Konoha on business.

Now, though, the temple looked abandoned. Not in ruins, like after Pain's attack, but no longer the grand building it had been before Kushina's death.

Anything of value had long since disappeared — looters left no carpets, no furniture. Only the altar with the Shinigami masks remained untouched.

Menma lingered near it longer than he should have. The masks' faces — alien, with grotesquely grinning teeth — stared straight into the soul.

[Or am I just impressionable?] He grimaced. [Most likely the locals were just superstitious. Golden candlesticks? Sure, take them. But stealing the mask of the god of death? No way, thanks.]

Either way, this was where the twins decided to settle. Their own peculiar fortress-home.

They started with a deep clean. To the sound of ringing laughter and playful bickering, they carried out rotting chairs, cabinets with broken doors, piles of trash left by vagrants.

Once the furniture was gone, they armed themselves with mops. The floors creaked, dust rose in clouds, sunlight filtered through the grimy windows, lighting up their work. Of course, there were unpleasant surprises — under one of the tiles they discovered an anthill.

While Naruko played with their new tenants, Menma went to the market for supplies and poured the entire floor with chemicals.

After that, the temple had to be sealed off and left to wait.

They stepped outside — the sun hit their eyes, the wind ruffled their hair. Only then did they remove the white protective masks, and both immediately breathed easier.

"So how long do we wait now?" Naruko asked, hands behind her head, staring at the temple's massive doors.

"The manufacturer says…" Menma unfolded the instruction sheet and grimaced. "Twelve hours. And then another two days to air it out."

"Two days?!" Naruko's eyes widened as if he had just announced the end of the world. "And where are we supposed to live all that time?!"

"At the old apartment," Menma shrugged. "I checked, we're allowed to stay there until the start of the school year. I've already planned it out — in these two months we'll finish a full renovation."

"We? Renovation?" She scrunched her nose in protest. "That sounds hard!"

Menma smirked lazily and pulled a small book from his back pocket. The movement was too familiar, too deliberate — as if he were imitating a certain one-eyed pervert with a half-mask.

"'Home Repair for Beginners,'" Naruko read aloud, peering at the book. "You're seriously reading this?"

[Of course I am. In my past life, I spent hours on YouTube watching people fix toilets and lay tiles. I love doing things myself. Now, instead of videos — books. Ugh, what a downgrade.]

"I've already checked the important parts," Menma reported, flipping to a bookmarked page. "The beams, the foundation. Everything's solid. This temple will stand for another hundred years, at least."

[As long as I kill Pain before he attacks Konoha.]

Naruko gazed at him with wide eyes, brimming with admiration, as if he had just invented a new jutsu.

"Big brother, you're so smart…"

"So are you," he replied gently, tapping her forehead with the book. "We're both children of Minato. The greatest Hokage."

[And that's true. My sister has the same issues the original Naruto did. Seems like a dunce, but always outsmarted opponents in battle. Which means her brain works perfectly fine — she could be as good a medic as Sakura if she wanted. Studying just bores her. My job is to make sure that spark doesn't die out.]

"We only need a cosmetic renovation," Menma went on, flipping through the pages of the manual. "Paint the walls, whitewash the ceilings. The real question is the design. Any preferences?"

Naruko's smile spread so wide her face looked more fox than girl. And in that moment Menma realized: this was going to hurt.

"Everything has to be orange!" she declared solemnly, throwing her arms wide. "Walls, ceilings, windows, even the toilet! And we'll hang lights on the roof so they can see us from another country!"

Menma's eyelid twitched. Then the other one. By the middle of her speech, he was already suspecting his sister was a bona fide weapon of mass destruction.

"An orange…" he muttered, picturing school trips being led to them with the line: 'And this — this is Konoha's greatest embarrassment.'

"Ha-ha-ha!" Naruko bent over, laughing. "You should've seen your face! Brother, I'm kidding! Did you really think I wanted to live in the Kyuubi's lair? Just so everyone would hate us even more?"

Menma sighed.

[My little trolling miracle. Can't wait for school, when she drives teachers and classmates to hysteria. Hopefully not me too.]

"Then I suggest we stick to neutral colors," he said seriously. "Gray, white, something calm."

"Green," his sister cut in, looking at her own jacket. "That's my favorite color now."

Menma smiled faintly. He knew exactly why. Yesterday the Hokage had shown them photos of their parents, and in nearly every one Kushina wore green.

"Mine too," he nodded, tugging lightly at the collar of his identical jacket. "Then the interior walls will be green. Outside stays red. We're Uzumaki, after all."

"The most ass-kicking clan in the world!" Naruko grinned proudly and threw her hand up.

At that moment their idyll was broken by the snap of a branch. From the forest emerged a young man of about twenty. Black clothes, the Uchiha crest on his shirt. His hair hung in greasy strands, like he'd been using snot instead of a comb. He walked straight toward them, without looking around, without hiding.

"You two Menma and Naruko?" His voice carried the tone of someone who thought he was the smartest in the room. "Just you kids living here?"

Menma automatically stepped forward, shielding his sister. His voice came out cold, precise.

"Mister, who are you?"

"Relax, kid," the man smirked, jabbing a finger at the badge on his chest. "I'm police."

[Yeah, sure. And when asked 'who are you,' you still dodge the question. Classic thug-in-uniform move.]

"Conducting a survey of new residents," the Uchiha went on. But his eyes weren't on the children — they were fixed on the temple windows, as if searching for something inside. "Any adults at home? Protocol says I need to go in and take a look."

"No," Naruko cut in sharply from behind her brother's shoulder. "There's poison in there."

"I'm a jōnin," he said with a smug grin. "I can hold my breath for fifteen minutes. I'll just be quick. You brats wait here."

Menma tilted his head slightly, still watching him with a cold squint.

[Don't like this guy one bit. Typical 'local tough': rude, arrogant, convinced he's above the rules.]

"How's Shisui doing?" Menma asked quietly, just as the Uchiha was about to walk past.

The man froze. Turned halfway, eyes narrowing.

"What'd you say? Kid, how the hell do you know Shisui?"

"Met him once in Konoha," Menma lied without a flicker of doubt. "He's a kind guy."

The Uchiha's face twisted.

"Shisui's dead," he spat. "Took his own life."

[Damn. That means it's already started. The Uchiha clan is on the brink of rebellion. Which means they desperately need jinchūriki to flex their power. Why does he want inside? To check for security seals?]

A light breeze lifted dry leaves, sending them spinning through the air. In that instant, behind the Uchiha came a raspy:

"Kh-khe."

The man turned — and his face changed instantly. Veins bulged on his forehead, sweat beaded at his temples, eyes went wide. Before him stood an old man, calmly drawing on a pipe.

Hiruzen looked both genial and threatening at once. A mild smile on his lips, as though he'd just come to check on the children. But his eyes… his eyes carried the same weight Menma had seen in old history textbooks: 'Stalin smiles, and the next second orders — execute.'

"Hello, grandchildren," Hiruzen smiled softly, lazily puffing a ring of smoke as he looked straight at the twins. "I had some free time, so I thought I'd come visit."

[Yeah. Free time. Of course. More like he was peeping through his crystal ball until things smelled fishy.]

"Grandpa!" Naruko dashed to him joyfully and clung to his sleeve. "We found an ant nest at home! They're red, just like our hair! Can you believe it, they settled right in the Uzumaki temple! Isn't that fate?"

"Very amusing, yes," Hiruzen smiled faintly, patting her on the head. "I suppose the ants were seeking refuge in an embassy."

While they chatted, the Uchiha tried to slip away sideways, inch by inch, like he'd never been there at all. But veterans of shinobi wars don't miss such tricks.

"I'll ask you to stay," Hiruzen said quietly, his tone shifting into one that made you want to snap to attention on the spot. Smoke billowed from his pipe straight into the man's face. "State your full name, rank, and position."

"I, uh…" the man stammered.

"Louder!" Hiruzen barked, so sharp the leaves themselves seemed to shiver. "Introduce yourself properly before the Hokage!"

The young man swallowed, then dropped to one knee. Not out of respect — but because he couldn't withstand the old man's gaze.

"Uchiha Inabi. Jōnin. Serving in the police force."

The twins exchanged a glance and silently stepped aside, turning into spectators of a free theater show.

"Inabi," Hiruzen said slowly, looking down at him as if examining a petty pest. "You harass my grandchildren… Is there really no work in the police?"

"With all due respect, Hokage-sama…" Inabi began, struggling to choose his words. "I was working. I saw children near the Shinigami Temple and decided to check who they were."

[Heh. Lies as easily as breathing. The usual 'official business.' But an old politician eats excuses like that for breakfast.]

"I see," Hiruzen drawled thoughtfully, releasing another puff of smoke. "And didn't you hear my last announcement?"

"Yes…" Inabi nodded, not even realizing he'd just cornered himself.

"Then you should know," the Hokage said calmly, "these children are the son and daughter of Kushina Uzumaki. This is their land. Their temple. Their right. Didn't their bright Uzumaki hair give them away?"

The Uchiha opened his mouth, but no words came.

"Seems detective work is too difficult for you," Hiruzen shook his head. "You need something simpler. Genin Uchiha Inabi."

The former "jōnin" flinched as if slapped, but didn't dare protest.

"For developing attentiveness," Hiruzen's voice suddenly turned icy, "you are assigned fifty D-rank missions finding lost pets. Without pay."

"Yes, Hokage-sama," Inabi forced out through clenched teeth.

"Dismissed," Hiruzen said, the word sharp as a cut.

Inabi shot to his feet and almost ran off, his face twisted with rage.

"Grandpa, you totally destroyed him!" Naruko exclaimed in awe, giving a thumbs up.

[Now that is skill. The old actor clipped an Uchiha's wings in one move, showed off his authority, and earned points with the kids at the same time. A live masterclass in political kung-fu.]

"That was… impressive," Menma muttered, still stunned by the spectacle. "When I grow up, I want to be Hokage."

"An excellent dream, Menma-kun," Hiruzen ruffled his hair with a smile. "Following in your father's footsteps."

"Hey!" Naruko immediately protested. "I want to be Hokage too!"

"As expected from Kushina's daughter," Hiruzen nodded approvingly. "You're following her path."

"Wait…" Naruko paled, staring at the old man. "You mean I have to marry Menma?!"

Menma froze, then slowly turned his eyes to Hiruzen. The old man looked back at him. A second later, both burst into laughter.

"Oh, Naruko…" Hiruzen wiped tears from his eyes, breathing heavily. "You'll give this old man a heart attack one day. No, I meant rivalry."

"What?" Naruko blinked rapidly, as if trying to figure out where her life had gone off track.

"Your father and mother both dreamed of becoming Hokage," Hiruzen said softly, as if sharing a secret. "They competed for the title for a long time. But in the end, Kushina loved Minato and let him take the path."

Naruko straightened her shoulders at once, fire lighting in her eyes.

"I do love my brother…" She shot Menma a challenging look. "But I'm not giving him my dream!"

[What a sly fox. He tossed in one spark — and now my sister and I are ready to clash head-on. Why? To harden our characters? To make sure we both aim for the top? Classic politician's trick: pit people gently, without blood, but still get results.]

"And that's praiseworthy," Hiruzen nodded, drawing on his pipe. "Rivalry makes shinobi stronger. You can ask Might Guy when you meet him."

Then, almost casually, he bit his finger and formed seals. The ground trembled, the air thick with chakra, and a familiar figure appeared.

"Enma!" Naruko gasped in delight.

"Hello, little one," the Monkey King smiled, then turned his gaze to his partner. "Something happened, Hiruzen?"

"Not yet," the Hokage exhaled a smoke cloud, staring straight ahead. "But the Uchiha clan is showing unhealthy interest in my grandchildren. I want you to watch over them."

[Not ANBU, notice. And that makes sense. ANBU has Itachi, who could leak info or influence his colleagues. But the monkeys serve only Hiruzen. The right move. I don't like being supervised, but better to endure monkey fur than wake up at night to a dozen red eyes staring at me.]

"I'm no babysitter," Enma grumbled, arms crossed.

"I've never thought of you as one," Hiruzen replied evenly. "You're my partner. My equal. Only you can be trusted to shield the children from the Sharingan."

[And he's right. In canon Enma tore through Hashirama's roots and knocked the Kyuubi around Konoha. The Monkey King carries his title for a reason.]

"Fine," Enma agreed reluctantly, though his face softened. "But you owe me a double portion of banana ice cream."

"Double?" Hiruzen huffed, even raising his brows. "You're a robber!"

Menma watched their bickering with curiosity. Two warriors who had lived through half a century of battles were now arguing like children in a marketplace.

"I'll be around," Enma winked at the twins, then slapped his tail against the ground and vanished.

"He ran away!" Naruko fumed, stomping her foot. "He was supposed to give me a ride!"

"Spare the old man," Hiruzen shook his head. "He's as old as I am. Now — to business. You are the official representatives of the Uzumaki clan. And everyone in the village must know it."

He pulled a small packet from his inner pocket. Inside gleamed the symbols of the red whirlpool.

"Sew this onto your clothes."

"Awesome!" Naruko grabbed the packet like it was a chest of treasure. "So who's going to be clan head? Me or my brother?"

Hiruzen looked up at the sky, as if weighing his words.

"You are too young to lead. Unfortunately, there are no adult Uzumaki left in Konoha. But the Senju clan are your relatives. So my student, Senju Tsunade, will temporarily serve as acting leader."

"And when will we see her?" Naruko asked at once.

"I'm afraid not soon," Hiruzen sighed heavily, releasing a stream of smoke. "She's a doctor of world renown. Always healing, saving lives, rarely in Konoha."

[Oh, nice spin. 'Doctor of world renown' instead of 'drinking in bars and gambling away her pay.' Wonder how he framed Orochimaru's experiments? As 'a fight for science and progress' too?]

"But don't worry," he added with another smile. "Tsunade writes me every day. In the meantime, I'll handle matters in her name."

[Ha! I knew it. That's why he reinstated our clan's status. People like Hiruzen think ten moves ahead. Now he's gained one more vote on the clan council. Clever. Time to share the news with another schemer.]

///

That night Menma sank into the seal and once again found himself before the familiar giant cage. In the darkness lurked a massive silhouette.

Kurama was meditating, but his enormous blood-red eyes opened at once, burning through the boy.

"Been a while since you came," the cold voice rumbled. "I hope your information is worth new details about your parents."

Menma shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned his head back lazily.

"Actually, I came to say our deal's off. Hiruzen already told me everything about my parents. Even showed me pictures."

"Impossible," suspicion laced the Fox's voice. "Details."

Menma laid it all out, carefully cutting his own role from the story and twisting events so it looked like he'd just been a witness.

"So you shared the secret with your sister, and the very next day Hiruzen made a grand announcement to the whole village?" Kurama tapped his claws thoughtfully on the cage floor. "Tell me… did you speak to anyone else?"

"No."

"So only you two knew. And the next morning, Hiruzen knew." The Fox narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you say Naruko always blabs to the old man?"

[Heh. And here it begins. He's already trying to pit me against my sister. A true kitsune.]

"And how does it feel, son of the hero?" Kurama twisted his jaws into something like a grin, his voice dripping with an irritating taunt.

"Much better than before," Menma admitted honestly. "The village worships Minato. Now some of that reputation sticks to me and my sister."

"But isn't it strange," the Fox's voice grew thick and heavy, "that Hiruzen knew the truth all along — and kept silent?"

Menma shrugged.

"He said the clans and the jōnin council forced him to keep quiet. But when he saw how hard it was for us, he went against them."

Kurama fell silent for a long time. Only his claws scraped against stone.

"I see," he finally said, his voice low. "In that case, our deal no longer makes sense. Get out."

Menma was flung from the seal space. But this time, he wasn't shaken. A faint smile played on his lips.

[All predictable. I caught Kurama off guard, and his old schemes collapsed. Now he knows there's a second player on the board — and the stakes in the fight for my loyalty just went up. The Fox will have to invent a new plan, find me new gifts. And that, perhaps, is the best part.]