What Naruto didn't notice was that, when he turned back to focus on Iruka and the other students again, Menma's eyes lingered on his back with unusual intensity.
Envy. Jealousy. Perhaps even a trace of resentment.
Maybe all of them at once.
Just as Naruto had briefly felt a strange sense of closeness toward Menma, Menma too carried a deep, undeniable awareness of their bond. He was one hundred percent certain: the two of them were brothers by blood.
Menma's suffering had nothing to do with Naruto. He knew that. And he also knew Naruto could never truly understand the kind of loneliness Menma had endured from the moment he was born. Naruto had been half-deceived by Sarutobi Hiruzen's kind words and Hokage's image, sheltered by the legacy of Minato Namikaze.
But Menma—Menma was forced to grow up under suspicion, whispers, and the weight of the Nine-Tails sealed within him.
Yes, he was jealous of Naruto's life.
At times, he even felt bitter. Why were they treated so differently when they had been born to the same parents, on the same night?
But blood was thicker than water. That bond was the one thing that restrained Menma's darker feelings. He could hate the villagers, resent Hiruzen, despise the elders—but Naruto was different.
This was his younger brother.
Even if Menma was technically born a little earlier, and carried the Uzumaki name while Naruto carried Namikaze's, Menma could never bring himself to truly hate him.
Another reason was tied to Menma's memories of his previous life. He had once had a younger brother there too—carefree, optimistic, always smiling. That same spirit lived inside Naruto, and it softened Menma's heart against him.
"Naruto… I just hope your future doesn't walk a completely opposite path from mine."
Menma thought silently, eyes lingering on Naruto before finally shifting away.
"Very good. Now that everyone has introduced themselves, you all have at least a basic understanding of each other," Iruka said, his expression firm. "From the moment you stepped into this Academy, you became shinobi-in-training. What heights you reach in the future depends on two things: talent and effort.
"If you think being lazy will get you there, you're mistaken. Even graduation itself will become impossible. None of you want to see your classmates advance while you're left behind, repeating the same year again and again, right?
"Remember this: without a solid foundation, even the strongest building collapses. The same is true for shinobi."
Iruka's voice carried a rare seriousness, and the children sat straighter under the weight of his words.
Whether they fully understood or not didn't matter yet. What mattered was that Iruka showed them from day one what attitude was expected of a Konoha shinobi.
"Yes, Iruka-sensei!"
The students chorused together, their voices youthful but determined.
Iruka gave a small nod of satisfaction. His role as homeroom teacher was not just to drill knowledge, but to ensure no one fell too far behind. It was his duty to nurture each of them into capable shinobi.
"Good. Then let's begin our first lesson—what is a ninja, and what is the essence of being one…"
And so, the first day at the Academy passed.
It was peaceful, almost uneventful.
Menma's enrollment had stirred whispers in certain corners, but Sarutobi Hiruzen's authority as Hokage silenced any public objections. As long as the Third Hokage held absolute prestige, no one dared openly question his decree.
Even Danzo Shimura, with all his ambition, could not defy Hiruzen outright. For all of Danzo's Root experiments and his "for the sake of the village" excuses, it was Hiruzen's tolerance that allowed such shadows to grow.
But so long as Hiruzen willed it, Menma's presence in the Academy would remain untouched.
Of course, that didn't stop suspicious glances.
On his first day, Menma noticed the looks from some villagers—fearful, resentful, hostile. They whispered when they thought he couldn't hear. Their eyes followed him when they thought no one was looking. But none dared speak openly.
For Menma, it was enough. A glance, no matter how sharp, could not cut him.
So why waste energy on it?
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Academy in gold.
Menma lingered at the gates, watching the children scatter down different roads with cheerful chatter.
His own expression was cold.
This was not a place he belonged.
The Academy was not a sanctuary—it was a cage. A cage built to contain him, to shape him into what the village wanted.
But one day, he would break it.
"This is only the first step. No one will dictate my future."
Taking a deep breath, Menma turned down a quieter path, his figure swallowed by the lengthening shadows.
The days fell into a steady rhythm:
Academy. Home. Training grounds hidden deep in the forest.
That became Menma's cycle of life.
He strengthened his body through daily exercise. He honed his chakra control little by little, refining it until his progress became tangible.
Climbing trees without using his hands. Running across the surface of water without sinking.
These basic exercises—the first steps in true chakra mastery—became Menma's constant companions.
Without ninjutsu or genjutsu formally taught yet, and with taijutsu basics still in their infancy, this training formed the foundation for everything else.
Time passed quickly. Seasons shifted.
Before Menma realized it, more than a year had gone by.
It was now June of Konoha Year 55.
That morning, as Menma completed his warm-up training and walked toward the Academy, he noticed something unusual.
Shinobi hurried down the streets with grim expressions. Civilians whispered with pale faces, shock and fear etched in their eyes.
Something's happened.
Even without knowing the details, Menma could sense it.
That sense only grew stronger when class began—and one seat remained empty.
The seat of Uchiha Sasuke.
In that moment, Menma's eyes narrowed, and he understood.
The Uchiha Clan Massacre…
One of the most pivotal events in the original story had arrived.