Hiruzen Sarutobi's words carried quiet finality.
Mitokado Homura blinked, caught off guard by his old comrade's firm tone. After a pause, he sighed, lowering his shoulders.
"…I hope you're right, Hiruzen. Perhaps I've been too cautious… overthinking things."
Hiruzen's lined face softened into a smile. "Do not worry, Homura. Menma will grow to be one of the most unshakable pillars of this village—just as Minato and Kushina were."
Though the Hokage could make decisions on his own authority, Hiruzen valued support from those closest to him. Especially from Homura, who had stood at his side for nearly fifty years. To make such choices without his oldest ally's understanding would have left even the Hokage uneasy.
Outside, the night passed quietly. Soon the dark horizon brightened, and dawn swept over Konohagakure.
It was now April.
Spring filled the air—the scent of blossoms carried on the breeze, petals drifting gently across the village streets. The Hidden Leaf buzzed with excitement. Today was the opening day of the Ninja Academy, and children filled the roads, chattering about the future with wide-eyed enthusiasm. Parents walked proudly beside them, guiding them toward the Academy's gates.
Menma woke early. After a simple breakfast, he remained inside his apartment, waiting. Hiruzen had informed him the day before that someone would come to escort him for registration. The Hokage had not said who, but Menma had a guess.
Most likely… Umino Iruka.
The thought lingered. Iruka, who had lost his parents on the night of the Nine-Tails' attack. A young shinobi with some talent but no great reputation. Yet Menma suspected Hiruzen had chosen him for a reason. If the Hokage entrusted someone with guiding the Nine-Tails' jinchūriki—even as a teacher—it meant that person was considered utterly loyal and dependable.
It was the same pattern as in the original timeline. Those allowed close to Naruto had always been individuals Hiruzen personally trusted—Iruka, Kakashi, and others who carried either loyalty to Minato or the potential to become Hokage themselves. In this life, Menma was certain the Hokage would treat him with the same caution.
After half an hour of waiting—
Knock, knock, knock!
Menma rose immediately. Though his sensory abilities were still undeveloped, he caught a faint but steady chakra presence outside the door.
So, he's here.
Opening the door, Menma looked up into the face of a man in a Konoha standard flak vest, a gentle expression framed by a scar running across the bridge of his nose.
Umino Iruka.
The name surfaced instantly. In the original story, Iruka had been Naruto's first true bond, the first to acknowledge him not as the Nine-Tails' vessel, but as a boy. He was, in many ways, Naruto's first guiding light.
Menma's emotions stirred. Complicated. If Iruka could be the same here—untainted by politics or schemes—then perhaps he too could become someone important in Menma's life.
"You must be the one Hokage-jiji mentioned," Menma said softly.
Iruka smiled gently, bending down to the boy's level. "That's right, Menma. I'm Umino Iruka—your future teacher at the Academy. You can call me Iruka-sensei."
His hand reached out, resting lightly atop Menma's hair. His touch was warm, though his heart still carried shadows. Iruka had lost his parents on the night of the Nine-Tails' attack; no matter how he tried, he could not erase the pain. To say he bore no grudge would be a lie. Yet he was also a kind man by nature, and he understood the truth: Menma was a child, blameless, burdened by a fate he never chose.
Menma, only six years old, could not sense every detail of Iruka's thoughts. His chakra sensitivity allowed him to glimpse faint traces of negative emotion—an instinct granted by his role as a jinchūriki—but not more. What he sensed now was not hatred, but a complicated mix of sorrow and restraint.
"Yes, Iruka-sensei," Menma replied, his voice steady.
"Good," Iruka said warmly, extending his hand. "Come. We should head to the Academy together."
Without hesitation, Menma placed his small hand in Iruka's larger one. The two figures—teacher and student, grown man and child—stepped out of the modest apartment building side by side.
Along the way, families crowded the streets, leading their children toward the Academy. Most were civilians, though a few bore the markings of shinobi clans.
Whispers followed Menma.
Faces shifted. Some hardened with unease, others with unmasked malice. Even if they dared not voice it aloud, the villagers knew who he was: the vessel of the Nine-Tails. Their stares cut like blades.
Menma felt it. The bitterness, the fear. His lips pressed together, but he did not falter.
Only Iruka's presence—visible in his flak vest—kept the hostility from spilling further. Though the villagers did not speak, the weight of their eyes lingered.
And Menma silently endured.