After witnessing Menma's sudden outburst and cold attitude, Tazuna couldn't help but tense up. His body reacted instinctively, stepping sideways to shield his grandson, Inari, from Menma. Just as he opened his mouth to speak—
"Menma!"
Kakashi's sharp voice cut through the tension. His tone carried authority, not anger, but concern. The jōnin's single visible eye narrowed as he sensed the faint residue of killing intent lingering in Menma's chakra flow.
The call seemed to snap Menma out of his trance.
"…Sorry," he muttered, exhaling slowly. "I was rude. I just… thought of something unpleasant."
The oppressive pressure in the air dissipated as Menma forced his emotions back under control. His chakra steadied; the faint flicker of darkness that had momentarily flared behind his eyes faded.
But Inari wasn't the same. The fearless, angry little boy from seconds ago was gone. He trembled uncontrollably in his mother Tsunami's embrace, his small body rigid with fear. He didn't even dare to look in Menma's direction again.
Tsunami held her son close, one hand trembling as she stroked his hair, her gaze darting between Menma and Kakashi. Dazuna, standing nearby, swallowed hard. He had seen many men in his life—thugs, mercenaries, even killers—but in that brief moment, he had felt something primal from Menma. It wasn't the confidence of a shinobi… it was something colder. Something that could kill without hesitation.
For the first time, Dazuna truly understood what kind of people ninjas could be.
Even Jinbo—Inari's late father's old friend—who had once thought of these young Leaf shinobi as children, now stared at Menma with a mixture of awe and fear.
A ninja was a ninja, after all.
The silence was deafening. Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke each had different reactions.
Naruto clenched his fists but said nothing. He couldn't deny it—part of him wanted to scold Inari too. Even if his own childhood wasn't identical to the original world's Naruto, the loneliness was the same. He had also grown up without his parents. He had also endured the hollow stares of others, the isolation, the nights spent wondering why me?
So hearing a child talk about hopelessness—it hit close to home.
Naruto understood Menma's anger, even if he couldn't approve of how it was shown.
Sasuke, standing in the shadows near the wall, silently watched Menma's retreating figure. The sharp glint in his eyes flickered, a reflection of something unspoken.
'You and I… we're the same,' he thought coldly.
The only one who didn't understand was Sakura. Her eyes narrowed in disapproval as she crossed her arms. "That was too much," she muttered under her breath. "He's just a kid. His dad died protecting this village, and Menma treats him like that?"
Her sheltered perspective couldn't grasp the emotions tangled beneath the surface—the bitterness of loss, the scars of loneliness, the frustration of helplessness. She still had both her parents waiting for her at home. She couldn't understand what it meant to carry pain in silence.
Kakashi, on the other hand, sighed deeply. He had seen too many young shinobi like Menma—those with heavy pasts and hearts weighed down by emotion. He knew Menma wasn't angry at Inari alone. Something deeper had surfaced.
He made a mental note: Keep an eye on him.
⸻
Outside, on a high cliff overlooking the roaring ocean, Menma stood still. The wind howled past him, cold and sharp. He took a deep breath, the sea spray chilling his face, and finally let his mind clear.
'Tch… pathetic.'
He smacked his own cheeks with both hands.
Slap! Slap!
"Idiot," he muttered. "What the hell was that back there?"
His reflection danced on the dark surface of the sea below. He saw not the boy who had joined Team 7, but someone else—a shadow wearing his skin.
'I lost control over a kid's words. How stupid can I be?'
He laughed bitterly to himself.
'He's just a scared child in a hopeless country. What am I doing losing my temper like that? Just because he reminded me of…'
Menma's eyes darkened for a moment, the memory of another life flickering through his mind.
No. That didn't matter now.
He exhaled sharply and stared at the sea, his thoughts swirling like the waves.
'So what if Naruto's my brother by blood? We've never shared a childhood. There's no real bond there. Am I really that naïve—to think blood alone means anything?'
He clenched his fists.
'Stop fooling yourself. Stop pretending you're some noble person. You said you'd live for yourself, didn't you? That you'd become stronger no matter what. So act like it!'
Menma's inner voice grew harsher, stripping away every trace of self-pity.
'You can't let emotions cloud your path. You're not here to protect ideals. You're here to survive—to live your life freely. To make your own destiny.'
He took a deep breath, his chakra circulating smoothly once again.
'No more hesitation. No more weakness.'
His reflection stared back at him with renewed determination.
No one can stop me. Not Naruto. Not Kakashi. Not anyone.
That night, under the pale moon of the Land of Waves, Menma made a silent vow to himself.
He would walk his own path.
He would live without chains.
He would no longer waver.
After standing in the wind for a long while, Menma finally turned back toward Tazuna's home.
When he reentered the house, his expression was calm—eerily calm. It was as if nothing had happened earlier. Naruto glanced at him but said nothing. Sakura avoided eye contact. Sasuke, however, looked at him with quiet curiosity.
And Kakashi—Kakashi knew.
He could sense it. Something had shifted within Menma. The boy's chakra no longer fluctuated with youthful uncertainty. It flowed sharper, colder—controlled.
Menma had grown, but not in a way that innocence could return.
He had learned how to wear the perfect mask.
⸻
People don't mature overnight, but they do change after moments like this.
The path of a shinobi is forged through scars—and tonight, Menma earned one more.