'What a comfortable night…'
Menma stretched lazily as dawn broke, sunlight spilling across his room.
This was his first true morning in this world since infancy. In the past, he would often awaken long before sunrise, restless and wary. But last night was different—it was the first time he had felt such peace.
He stood at the window, gazing at the distant rooftops of Konoha. A rare feeling of ease washed over him, as though he had found something he never realized he had been missing.
After a quick wash and breakfast, Menma changed into his training clothes, tied the Konoha forehead protector firmly around his head, and stepped outside with a purposeful stride. Today was unlike the days before.
For once, he did not choose the hidden back paths to avoid people. No longer the outcast forced to sneak by in silence, Menma walked openly down the main street—just like every other young shinobi heading to the Academy.
The village was alive with its usual morning bustle: shopfronts thrown open, vendors calling out, the chatter of merchants and families filling the air.
But this time…
Menma noticed the difference immediately.
Gone were the careless whispers and cruel words that had followed him through childhood. Now, when villagers' eyes caught the glint of his forehead protector, their bodies stiffened unconsciously. Their expressions tightened.
A ninja stood before them.
They might still resent him in secret, whisper behind closed doors, but none dared to scorn him so openly anymore. The gap in status was too great. To insult a child was one thing; to provoke a shinobi of Konoha was another matter entirely.
Menma passed through the crowd silently, his expression calm and unreadable. He wasn't seeking recognition. He wasn't curious about the sudden restraint in their behavior. For the first time, he could simply walk among them without the constant sting of rejection.
He remembered all too well the years of ridicule, the venom in their glares. Those days had forced him to take the quieter roads, the lonelier trails. But now, with the protector tied to his brow, he no longer needed to hide.
He walked straight through the marketplace. The villagers avoided his eyes, pretending not to see him, but when his back disappeared from view, their whispers resumed:
"I didn't expect that boy to actually become a shinobi…"
"What is the Hokage thinking?"
"Unbelievable…"
Menma neither knew nor cared. His mind was already elsewhere—on today's team assignments.
He wasn't Naruto.
In this world, Kushina Uzumaki and Minato Namikaze had given birth to twins. Menma Uzumaki… and his younger brother, Naruto Namikaze.
With two sons instead of one, everything unfolded differently.
Still, one thing seemed likely: his squad leader would almost certainly be Hatake Kakashi. In all of Konoha, no one else was as fitting for the role.
"It depends on what the old man decides," Menma thought, picturing the Hokage's calculating eyes.
By the time he arrived at the bustling Academy, his gaze had sharpened.
The hallways overflowed with chatter and laughter. Every graduate brimmed with excitement, dreaming of heroic deeds and glorious missions as full-fledged shinobi of the village.
Menma regarded them with quiet detachment. Konoha had grown too soft in these years of peace. These fresh graduates were greenhouse flowers—bright, hopeful, but fragile.
The truth of the shinobi world was cruel.
Most would not survive long after stepping into the field. Even a simple C-rank mission could claim the lives of the unprepared.
Only a few were destined to rise as geniuses or earn special guidance. Most would fall, their bones forgotten on the road to survival.
Even Menma himself knew his path was no safer. The choices he made, the road he had set himself upon, carried equal risk of ending with his body among those nameless bones.
"This too," he thought grimly, "is part of Konoha's decline. Peace without vigilance always rots from within."
Menma pushed the thought aside as he entered the classroom.
"Oh? Look who finally showed up! Our number one is late for once—the ceremony's about to start!"
A loud voice rang out, followed by the playful bark of a puppy.
Menma didn't need to turn. He already knew. There was only one student in their class who brought a dog into lessons: Inuzuka Kiba of the Inuzuka Clan.
Menma had spoken to Kiba on occasion. He never sought out classmates himself, but Kiba had been one of the few willing to approach him anyway. Though Menma kept things cordial, it was nothing more than a simple peer relationship.
"Ah, Kiba," Menma replied with a small smile. "I trained late last night and overslept a little. But I'm not late."
Kiba whistled. "Geez, even when you're already the top student, you're still pushing yourself that hard."
"Woof! Woof!" barked Akamaru.
"That's why Menma's always number one, Kiba," another voice chimed in.
Two more figures joined them.
One was large enough for two Menmas, munching on potato chips as if it were breakfast. Akimichi Choji—heir of the Akimichi Clan.
Beside him walked a boy with spiky ponytailed hair and a perpetually tired expression: Nara Shikamaru, the hidden genius of their year.