On the surface, Menma deliberately revealed a complex expression—partly angry, partly confused.
Even now, he was still under the surveillance of the Third Hokage.
As someone who had just learned the truth about his "identity" and defeated Mizuki out of anger, he needed to control his expression. Hiruzen Sarutobi must not sense anything unusual.
And Mizuki—he must not die yet. Menma still needed him alive. The role Mizuki was meant to play in what was coming was far from over.
"Demon fox? I am indeed…"
Menma pressed his lips together, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head slightly, he whispered the words and let out a faint sigh.
Every detail was calculated.
From his vantage point, Sarutobi Hiruzen saw nothing amiss. The Third Hokage would never imagine that a child under twelve could display such convincing acting skills—let alone such depth of scheming.
Still, the old Hokage remained worried about Menma's mental state. He had watched over the boy since infancy and feared that such a revelation might destabilize him.
Yet, from what he saw, Menma appeared confused, but not broken. Stable enough to manage, it seemed. That gave Hiruzen some relief.
As he weighed whether or not to intervene—
"Swoosh!"
A shadow darted into view, landing under the moonlight.
When the Hokage recognized Iruka's familiar figure, his tension eased.
This was the guardian he had chosen for Menma. With Iruka's presence, and Menma's emotions appearing under control, the situation remained within manageable bounds.
Menma sensed Iruka's arrival as well. He had intended to bring Mizuki back to "surrender" on his own terms, but Iruka's timely appearance made the setup even smoother.
Still, he didn't neglect appearances.
Menma spun around sharply, adopting a defensive stance.
"Menma, don't be nervous—it's me!" Iruka quickly raised his voice, revealing his identity.
Menma's expression softened, but only just. His mask of calm shifted seamlessly into guilt, unease, and even suspicion as he faced his teacher.
His posture, the way he instinctively took a cautious step back—it painted the picture of a boy whose faith had been shaken to its core.
Iruka, unaware of what had happened earlier, could only piece together the scene before him: Mizuki on the ground, the massive Sealed Book nearby, and Menma's troubled eyes.
The pieces fit together in a way that chilled him.
"Don't worry, Menma," Iruka said gently. "The teacher believes in you. There must have been an accident, right? Tell me everything. Whatever the problem is—even if it involves Mizuki—I'll help you handle it. Just trust me."
Menma's lips curled into a faint, almost self-mocking smile. His gaze lingered on Iruka, heavy with unspoken doubts.
"Can I really trust you, Teacher Iruka?"
The words carried no weight, no conviction—merely the hollow tone of someone who had stopped believing.
Iruka's chest tightened.
"Of course, Menma. I—"
"Even if I'm the demon fox that killed your parents twelve years ago? Would you still believe me then? Or will you look at me the same way Mizuki and the rest of the village do—as a walking disaster?"
The question cut through the night air, sharper than any kunai.
This time, Menma's expression wasn't entirely an act. Facing Iruka was different. Six years of shared moments had carved something genuine between them. Iruka's kindness had always been real—and Menma could feel it.
That made it harder.
Menma didn't care for the village, nor for its people. His plans hadn't changed. His only true bond had been his foolish brother. Yet now, Iruka forced himself into that equation.
Was Menma hoping Iruka was fake, so it would be easier to cast him aside? Or was he secretly wishing Iruka's care was genuine, something he could cling to?
He couldn't tell anymore.
Iruka stood frozen for a moment, startled by the rawness in Menma's words.
"Menma, you…"
Though not the most cunning of shinobi, Iruka had earned the Hokage's trust for good reason. In this moment, he pieced together the truth: Mizuki had manipulated Menma into stealing the Sealed Book. That much was clear.
But the details could wait.
Right now, Menma's mental state was the priority.
"No, Menma," Iruka said firmly. "You're not the demon fox. In my eyes, you're Uzumaki Menma. I don't know where you heard otherwise, but listen carefully—the Nine-Tails is one thing, and you are another. You've never been the same. If anything, you are the one who's endured the burden for all of us."
Iruka's voice softened, his words carrying the weight of conviction.
"The villagers may not understand you yet. They may even reject you. But I believe that one day, you'll prove them wrong. You'll earn their recognition. Believe in yourself, Menma. Believe in Hokage-sama. And most of all—know that I believe in you. Come back with me. Everything else can be solved."
He extended his right hand toward the boy. His eyes reflected nothing but sincerity.
Iruka had no intention of deceiving him. He truly saw Menma for who he was.
The Nine-Tails was the Nine-Tails. Menma was Menma.
And to Iruka, the boy who carried such a cruel burden from birth should never be treated as a monster. He should be seen as a hero.
That was Iruka's truth—born not of duty, but of the six years they had spent together.