These two classmates had shared the same path with Menma through six long years of the Academy.
He had crossed paths with them often enough—not friends, but familiar faces. The bond wasn't close, yet neither was it distant. At the very least, Menma would not greet them with cold silence. The future remained uncertain, but for now, there was room for normal conversation.
"It's not that exaggerated," Menma replied softly. "Hard work matters, yes—but sometimes, a little luck is needed too."
Kiba grinned, flashing his usual sharp-toothed smile. "Luck, huh? That's a polite way of putting it, Menma."
As he spoke, he shot a quick glance toward Sasuke, seated diagonally in front of them, his expression blank and detached. The meaning behind Kiba's words wasn't lost on Menma, and it made him chuckle faintly.
Kiba always had that competitive streak—half sincere, half mischievous.
"But Menma," Kiba continued, puffing up his chest, "don't think this is where it ends! The Academy's just the start. Graduation is the real thing. Akamaru and I won't lose to you!"
"Woof! Woof!" barked the small white pup perched atop his head, his tail wagging in full agreement.
The "Konoha Twelve," as they would later be known, were each marked by unique, vibrant personalities. Inuzuka Kiba's was obvious: fiercely competitive, unwilling to admit defeat.
This trait had already shown itself countless times in the Academy, and would be proven again during the Chūnin Exams years later. His rivalry with others was born from recognition, not hatred.
He had approached Menma in the past not out of pity, but because he acknowledged him. That recognition had planted a desire within Kiba—to surpass Menma one day.
And wasn't that the nature of youth? To burn with energy, to measure oneself against others, to refuse to back down?
From Kiba's point of view, it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Well then," Menma said evenly, "I'll be waiting, Kiba."
He found it easy to tolerate Kiba's straightforward personality. Menma preferred such people over schemers—honesty, even in rivalry, was simpler to handle.
"I don't think so," another voice cut in.
Akimichi Chōji sat nearby, calmly munching on potato chips. His words, though spoken casually, landed sharp and true.
"In terms of effort, you can't compare to Menma. In the past six years, you've dozed through class as many times as me. Skipped training, too. Honestly, beating him? Impossible."
His delivery was so quick and merciless that Kiba's face immediately turned red, then green.
"Wha—! Chōji, you—! Akamaru, let's show him how strong we really are!"
"Woof! Woof!"
And with that declaration, Kiba lunged at Chōji, sparking a noisy scuffle. Akamaru barked furiously, leaping about as the two classmates wrestled.
"Stop—hey, don't drag me into this! Kiba, call Akamaru off! Ow—!"
Their chaos filled the room, drawing laughter and groans from those around them.
Menma simply watched in silence, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
There were times—rare times—when he had wondered if it might have been easier to follow the path of the "prince" in the original timeline. To accept the warmth, support, and recognition that came with being the Hokage's heir.
But this life was different.
He was not alone. He had a younger brother—Naruto Namikaze. With Naruto's presence, Menma's journey seemed less lonely, perhaps even smoother in some respects.
Yet such thoughts never lingered long.
He pushed them away almost instantly, for he could not swallow the bitterness in his chest.
Even if he someday inherited Konoha's power… how many years would it take to reach that point? And more importantly—why should this village, this rotting structure, deserve to exist at all?
Yes.
The truest ambition that burned within Menma's heart was not to rule Konoha—but to see it fall.
He would never unleash senseless slaughter upon the innocent, not while his father still lived, not while a thread of reason restrained him. But the village itself?
Konohagakure.
Those two syllables filled him with nothing but scorn.
To him, the name represented hypocrisy, ridicule, and decay. The so-called leaders of Konoha—the Hokage's council, the village elders—were his greatest obsession. Only by tearing them down could he truly prove his convictions.
This village has long since rotted. The only just path… is to burn it down and build anew.
His gaze darkened, though his face betrayed little.
Nearby, Nara Shikamaru tilted his head ever so slightly. He had noticed the subtle shift in Menma's aura. But being Shikamaru, he said nothing. Everyone carried their own secrets, and unless they interfered directly with him or his friends, he had no intention of prying.
Soon, the day of graduation arrived.
It was a festival in all but name—a day of pride, joy, and nervous anticipation. Families and clans gathered to see the new generation take its first step into the shinobi world.
On the Academy's wide training field, Sarutobi Hiruzen himself had come to speak. The Third Hokage stood tall, his robes and hat bearing the weight of decades.
Facing the crowd of young graduates, his voice rang out with practiced authority.
"You are the future of Konoha," he declared. "From this day forward, you walk the path of shinobi. Protect your comrades, honor your village, and strive to uphold the Will of Fire."
His words carried power, the kind that stirred even the most timid hearts. For over 99% of the students, his speech was a flame—filling them with pride and dreams of heroism.
Menma, too, listened. But his heart remained untouched.
He recognized the Hokage's skill as an orator, the same talent that had once held the village together during its darkest days. Truly, Sarutobi Hiruzen was a man who had carried the Will of Fire when Konoha needed it most.
But time had long since eroded him.
Now, the Hokage was but a shadow of his former self. Weak, indecisive, clinging to decayed ideals.
A phrase came to Menma's mind—words once used to judge emperors of ancient history:
Everything was good… except that he lived too long.
Perhaps that was the most fitting way to describe Sarutobi Hiruzen.
When the speech concluded, cheers erupted. Excitement filled the air as the ceremony gave way to its final and most anticipated event: team assignments.
Back in the classroom, students sat upright, anticipation burning in their eyes. Everyone knew the truth: their future could be shaped entirely by the jōnin chosen to guide them.
Chūnin and jōnin were worlds apart. To be placed under a strong mentor could mean the difference between survival and death, mediocrity and greatness.
The door slid open.
Iruka Umino entered, instantly drawing the attention of the entire class. His kind expression and steady demeanor filled the room with warmth.
He knew what they were thinking, saw the hunger in their eyes. Still, he kept his tone gentle.
"First of all, congratulations to each of you," Iruka said, resting his hands firmly on the podium. "From today, you are full-fledged shinobi of Konohagakure. Carry this responsibility with pride, and never forget the duty that comes with it. I look forward to seeing you all grow into fine ninja."
"Yes, Iruka-sensei!"
Dozens of voices rang out together, filled with excitement, nervousness, and pride.
The real journey was about to begin.