The last two years at the Academy passed surprisingly peacefully for the Uzumaki twins, without any major upheavals. Orochimaru never answered their request. Menma concluded that even for a "genius scientist," the task had turned out to be too much. Or the White Snake had simply decided to slip away quietly, leaving them without explanations.
[Fine. We're doing just fine without him.]
The animal-like enhancements from his experiments had long since become a natural part of their lives. They honed their new reflexes and strength in the Forest of Death, entertaining themselves at the expense of the local wildlife. Boars, giant snakes, and even a couple of overconfident tigers—all were fair game. Sometimes Naruko would deliberately drive prey straight at her brother, just to see how he'd handle it. Menma, of course, always handled it.
[My sister—an agent of chaos if there ever was one.]
The Hokage was surely watching their training through his crystal ball. But since no ANBU were ever sent into the forest, that meant the old man was satisfied. Menma suspected the geezer didn't care what they were doing, as long as the scrolls kept coming in regularly.
At first, people reacted warily to the twins' new appearance. Blue, beastlike pupils and sharper facial features made many flinch, as if the twins might lunge at them like rabid dogs any second. But no one dared to insult them—not out loud. They were, after all, Minato's children, practically sacred relics of Konoha. Soon everyone got used to it. The feral eyes stopped sparking panic and came to be taken as something natural.
Academy life flowed steadily. In class, the twins earned top marks, reinforcing their genius status. During breaks and after lessons, they played with friends. In their free time, they worked at the family fuinjutsu shop, trained in basic shinobi skills, and from time to time received the occasional rare jutsu handout from Hiruzen.
At last, the day of the final exams arrived.
The first tests covered both the sciences and humanities. To prepare, Menma and Naruko had spent many hours in the library, written dozens of essays, and memorized mountains of information. Maybe they had overdone it—after all, even Kiba managed to pass, though his answer sheet was literally eaten by Akamaru.
But no one dared to slack on the physical test. That one was brutal: miss the target more than twice out of five with your kunai, and it was an automatic repeat year.
[And people wonder why I believe in the theory that the Hokage is deliberately raising dumb brutes instead of smart shinobi.]
But the main trial was still ahead—the ninjutsu exam. The requirement was to demonstrate the three basic techniques.
The large classroom filled with graduates who had made it to the final stage without retakes. The atmosphere was tense, like before a battle. Unlike history or math, failing ninjutsu meant you'd be mercilessly held back a year. This wasn't a formality—it was a decisive line.
Menma sat at the back desk. He was confident in his skills, but even he felt the faint unease that had spread through the room.
[What if Hiruzen set this up on purpose? It's convenient for him if my sister and I stay stuck in the village making scrolls for him instead of wandering the world.]
At the front, behind a long table, sat two examiners—Iruka and Mizuki. Unlike some of the nastier teachers, this pair wasn't trying to intimidate anyone. On the contrary, they looked as friendly as possible.
"No need to be nervous," Iruka said warmly, smiling. "We've guided you for six years to this moment. If you've made it here, you can take the last step."
The words lightened the mood a little. When the first student passed easily and received his forehead protector, the tension in the room dropped noticeably. Even the most anxious began to breathe easier.
The line moved quickly: no more than three minutes per student. Some shouted the technique name loudly to cover their lousy chakra control. Others raced through hand seals, reducing them to the bare minimum. Still others moved painfully slowly, terrified of making a mistake. But almost all walked away with their well-earned protectors, and the room gradually filled with the quiet hum of relieved chatter.
"Uzumaki…" Iruka began, glancing at the list—when suddenly the twins leapt up from their seats in sync and bounded to the examination table.
"We're taking it together!" they declared in chorus, making several students snicker.
"No, no, no!" Iruka flailed his hands as if shooing away stubborn sparrows. "This is an exam, no jokes!"
"Oh, come on, Iruka," Mizuki drawled, watching the twins with a lazy smile. "It's their last day at the Academy. Let them put on one last show. I'll take responsibility."
"Ugh…" Iruka dragged a hand down his face, then finally waved in defeat. "Fine. But no cheating. Not a gram! We'll start with the Transformation Technique."
Menma and Naruko smiled innocently and hugged each other. A puff of smoke exploded right in front of the teachers, and out of it roared the Kyuubi—horse-sized, with nine tails whipping about, claws gleaming, and jaws spread in a feral grin.
"W-W-WAAAH!" Iruka squealed and toppled off his chair. Half the class recoiled, and a couple of kids dove under their desks.
"Hm." Mizuki rose from his seat as if this were the most normal thing in the world. He calmly walked up to the tailed beast, ran his hand thoughtfully along one fluffy tail. "A double transformation? Hm… for that alone you could hand out the forehead protectors. What do you say, Iruka?"
"D-d-double… what?" Iruka, red as a boiled lobster, scrambled back to his feet. A moment later, the Kyuubi burst into smoke, leaving the grinning twins in its place. "What on earth are you doing?! This is an exam, not a circus! Yes, your transformation is top-tier, but you need to show all three techniques!"
"As you say, Iruka-sensei," Naruko answered sweetly, angelic smile hiding the mischief in her eyes.
"You both heard my colleague," Mizuki added gently, as if apologizing. "Now for the Substitution Technique. Use the training log."
The twins turned to the poor battered log, which had already been swapped in and out at least fifteen times that day. It looked like it was begging for death.
"We'll do without it," Menma said calmly.
In an instant, smoke engulfed them. When it cleared, they were standing in the exact same place—but had swapped positions.
"Uh…" Iruka blinked at them in confusion. "And what's that supposed to mean…?"
"We substituted with each other," Menma explained with a faint smirk.
"Yeah," Naruko added, "our chakra feels identical, so the technique works perfectly."
"And… without hand seals?" Iruka muttered in shock, staring at Menma, whose hands were buried deep in his pockets. "As far as I know, only Hokage and Hatake Kakashi ever refined it to that level…"
Sasuke, sitting in the audience, immediately lifted his chin and smirked smugly. Of course he did—his teacher's name had just been mentioned.
"We've perfected all the Academy techniques," Menma said with a light bow, prompting a ripple of excited whispers across the classroom.
Some whispered with envy, some with awe—but no one doubted it: Minato's children could pull off the impossible.
"In that case…" Mizuki narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. "Show us the Clone Technique."
"Already did," Menma said calmly. "Check behind you."
Iruka spun around sharply—and recoiled in horror. Right behind him stood two more twins, grinning ear to ear.
"W-W-WAAAH!" For the second time that day, Iruka crashed off his chair and rolled under the examination table.
Mizuki only smiled faintly. He approached the clones, touched them, and confirmed they dissolved like a mirage.
"Excellent demonstration," he nodded.
"That's… the best exam performance today," Iruka finally managed, climbing up and brushing himself off. But now there was pride in his voice. "And with your test results, you both graduate the Academy with record scores. None like this since the Fourth Hokage's class."
He handed them two shining new forehead protectors.
"I hope you'll become shinobi as brave as your father."
"We did it!" Naruko cheered, tying her protector on her forehead, beaming like the sun.
Menma slapped her palm, and together they raised their hands high. The noise, laughter, and applause of their classmates confirmed it: their Academy chapter was closed.
///
After the exam, the twins went out to celebrate with friends at a children's café. It was symbolic—their last day of childhood. Tomorrow they'd be assigned into teams, given numbers, and introduced to their new mentors. The round table buzzed with speculation and arguments until late evening.
Some guessed, some argued, some openly dreamed of specific sensei. Only Sasuke sat with quiet certainty, explaining condescendingly to everyone that Kakashi would obviously be his commander.
After the party, Naruko left with Ino and Sakura—no doubt to discuss "very important girly matters." Menma, meanwhile, headed to the fuinjutsu shop for his evening shift. Work didn't wait.
He sat at the counter, lazily twirling a pencil between his fingers. Usually, he paired waiting for customers with homework, but now there was none. And never would be again.
[With the Academy gone, I've got at least six extra hours a day. A whole damn gap. I need to figure out how to invest that time… preferably in a way the Hokage won't catch on to.]
Menma sat behind the counter, pencil spinning idly in his fingers, while his mind quietly pieced together new training schedules and shop ideas. His thoughts flowed evenly—so much so that he almost didn't notice the soft chime of the bell above the door. Almost.
In the next moment, the relaxed air vanished like dust blown off a shelf. His gaze sharpened instantly, focusing on the visitor.
"So this is the legendary Uzumaki shop," said the newcomer, adjusting his glasses and curiously scanning the shelves. His voice was polite, almost timid.
It was Kabuto.
"Welcome," Menma said evenly, as if he were facing a regular customer and not Orochimaru's personal envoy. "What's your order?"
"Oh, the order will be… extensive." Kabuto lifted the bag on his shoulder slightly, about to reach inside—but froze halfway. "But first… may I count on confidentiality?"
"Of course," Menma replied calmly. He stood, walked to the door, and flipped the sign from Open to Closed. In that same instant, the air inside the shop seemed to thicken—a barrier snapped into place around them. "We protect our clients' secrets. Not even the old monkey can peek through his crystal ball."
Kabuto raised his brows slightly, then immediately dropped the act of the shy young man. His smile turned colder, and a glint of interest flickered in his eyes.
"Oh, so you know about the ball. Orochimaru-sama will be… pleasantly surprised by your awareness."
"I thought your master had completely forgotten about me," Menma drawled, leaning his elbows on the counter and lacing his fingers together. "Two years—nothing but silence."
"On the contrary," Kabuto replied softly, with that cloying politeness that grated on the nerves. "Orochimaru-sama has been studying your… problem all this time. And now he's reached the final stage. He's missing only the last fragment. But to obtain it, he needs your help."
Menma smirked, sarcasm tugging at the corners of his lips.
"How fascinating. I'm supposed to help your master save up for a bribe—so he can use it to buy me off later?"
"All that's required of you is a trifle." At last, Kabuto opened his bag and pulled out a long syringe. The chrome gleam of the needle caught the lamplight. "Just one ounce of your blood."
Menma didn't move. He only tightened the lock of his fingers, narrowed his eyes, and stared straight into Kabuto's.
"Details."
"Orochimaru-sama told me not to hide anything," Kabuto said, his smile almost genuine. Almost. "In the Hokage's library, there's a restricted section. It's sealed by a fuinjutsu barrier. Your parents put it there. To bypass it, one needs the blood of Minato and Kushina. Yours will suffice."
"So you're here to steal," Menma snorted. "And I'm supposed to help you crack open the vault? Still not seeing the connection to my problem."
"The most direct connection," Kabuto explained gently, tilting his head like he was talking to a child. "Orochimaru-sama needs the First Hokage's scroll. And if you paid attention in history, you know—Hashirama captured every bijuu. His records will help you subdue the Kyuubi."
"And meanwhile your master walks away with everything else, right? The other Hokage scrolls, secret projects, little papers that aren't supposed to fall into the wrong hands."
"Well…" Kabuto smirked faintly, spreading his hands. "Not without that. But does it really matter? What matters is—you're being offered a solution to your greatest problem. But your blood is needed now."
"What's the rush?"
…
Menma leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His eyes narrowed, and his voice cut with mocking sharpness.
"Come on. Your master told you to be honest with me. I'm waiting."
"Fine," Kabuto sighed, lowering his shoulders a little as if admitting something he shouldn't. "It's simple. I've got someone who can get into the vault. I can't wait. And I can't risk him losing his nerve or backing out, either."
"And who's the daredevil?" Menma narrowed his eyes, already guessing the answer.
"Your teacher," Kabuto's lips curled faintly. "Mizuki."
Menma raised a brow but said nothing.
"Don't look so surprised," Kabuto snorted. "He's as much a prisoner of the system as you are. Talent, yes—but no outlet. The last technique he learned was before you even entered the Academy. And that's it. Ceiling hit. So when Orochimaru-sama offered him a jōnin post and access to the library in his new village… he wisely agreed."
Menma chuckled under his breath.
"Right. But first this 'wise' man has to risk his head. Cozy deal."
"We're not a charity," Kabuto cut him off coldly, glasses flashing in the lamplight. "Unlike Konoha, we pay for missions with power, not empty speeches about patriotism."
"Sounds nice," Menma drawled skeptically. "But what if Mizuki gets caught with my blood?"
"Then he'll say he collected it from the training post you bash your fists against until they bleed every day," Kabuto shrugged indifferently. "Frankly, that's a perfectly real way I could've gotten your blood myself without asking. But Orochimaru-sama…" he paused lightly, "wants to know if you're willing to go against the Hokage."
"You mean that same monkey who kept my sister and me in poverty and despair for six years?" Menma smirked and rolled up his sleeve. "Take as much as you need."
"A couple drops will do," Kabuto said. His movements became razor-precise, practiced. The syringe slid into the vein, drew out a small measure of crimson, and the wound sealed instantly under the soft glow of medical chakra.
"Wait," Menma stopped him as he was about to leave. "How long until I hear from your master again?"
Kabuto froze for a second, as though weighing whether to answer. Then his smile widened just a little too much.
"Oh, soon. Very soon. Orochimaru-sama is at the final stage of creating a brilliant fuinjutsu. You'll get to judge his work for yourself before long."
He turned and left without a farewell. The door shut softly, the bell chimed—and silence returned.
Menma remained in his chair, staring at his arm. Not the slightest trace. No puncture, no scar. Only the memory of Kabuto's cold gaze.
[So. I just helped Orochimaru steal a scroll. What does that give me? Right now—nothing. Maybe I was just conned, and they'll never show up again. But there's still a chance the Snake needs me and my skills. And I bet on that chance. Because even if I lose, I lose nothing. So they rob the old monkey—so what? Hiruzen would never have let me near that scroll anyway.]