Afternoon at the Senju playground.
Menma sat under the shade of a large tree, red-faced and dripping in sweat, chewing slowly at his lunch. Very slowly. Not because he wasn't hungry—on the contrary, he was famished. His stomach was making the kinds of sounds that would frighten forest animals. If someone dropped five roasted Kakashi-fish right now, he would probably inhale them in three seconds flat.
No, the reason for his turtle-paced eating was far more terrifying: chopsticks.
A cursed pair of tiny, polished wood, mockingly elegant in his fumbling fingers. In his previous life, he'd used chopsticks too—but with adult hands and brute grip strength. Technique? Who needed it? Now with baby fingers and a teacher from the realm of ice queens, he was suffering.
His old habits had betrayed him.
He dropped a piece of meat for the sixth time.
At last, fed up, Menma wiped his fingers sneakily on his shorts and reached for the food directly. The Ancient Art of Eating with Hands—his true ninja way.
But fate—or more precisely, his teacher—had other plans.
Thunk!
A pebble struck his forehead with sniper-like precision.
"Ahh!!" Menma grabbed his forehead and looked up in despair. Yoruusagi was staring at him from across the field, her hand elegantly poised in the aftermath of a perfect throw. One finger extended.
Back to the chopsticks. No exceptions.
A tear of injustice gathered in Menma's eye. Somewhere in his internal ledger, he added another line to the ever-growing list of Yoruusagi-sensei's crimes against humanity. He called it the Ice Witch Book of Grudges.
But with a sigh, he picked up the cursed utensils again. His grip looked like a crab trying to solve a puzzle. He tried. Failed. Tried again. Eventually, one trembling slice of meat made it to his lips like a drop of rain on a desert.
Behind him, Kakashi sat at a table nearby, sipping tea, watching the scene unfold.
He wasn't judging. Oh no, he was mourning.
Just a few hours ago, he had witnessed the full scope of Menma's... absurdity.
It started when Yoruusagi formally tested Menma's knowledge. She expected basic responses. He was, after all, not even a year old. But what she got was something else entirely.
First, reading.
Fluency. Not just beginner fluency.
The boy had read over a hundred books. Children's books, yes—but all of them. Without assistance. On his own initiative.
Then, math. He could do mental calculations up to 100 with ease—and only stopped because, as he said plainly, "I haven't seen numbers bigger than that yet."
Philosophy.
She asked a basic question about self-identity. Menma blinked, tilted his head, and launched into a three-minute essay about existential dualism and moral imperatives in chaotic systems.
Kakashi, traumatized, had looked up to the sky.
"Lady Kushina… what did you and the Fourth feed this child? Lightning chakra and textbooks?!"
And then came the physical exam.
Push-ups: 30.
Sit-ups: 40.
Run: 3 kilometers.
Weight-lift: Half his own body weight.
At not even one year old.
Truly, the king of freakishly gifted toddlers.
Kakashi had felt his self-esteem pack a bag and quietly leave the room. He took small comfort in the fact that Naruto, Menma's twin, was at least normal. Or so he hoped.
Meanwhile, Menma's war with the chopsticks continued.
"I swear," he mumbled under his breath, "when I find the ancestor of chopsticks, I'm going to revive him just to banish him. Twice."
The pathetic tone made Kakashi crack a small smile.
In that moment, Kakashi looked up at the blue sky, and imagined relaying all this to Minato and Kushina someday. Watching their kids grow like this—chaotic, brilliant, exhausting.
He'd tell them everything.
---
Elsewhere, Yoruusagi stood silently, watching it all.
Her sharp eyes were observing Menma's motor control, eating posture, and wrist stability. But more than that, she was analyzing the results of today's first full day of assessment.
And what she'd seen?
Monstrous potential.
She'd expected to take things slow. Lots of indoor studying. Basic movements. Gentle chakra practice.
Now she knew that wouldn't work.
His intellect had already surpassed what she thought she'd need a year to build. His body was resilient beyond belief. Scratches healed in under a minute. Bruises faded in five. His sense of balance and speed? Above par for even academy-age students.
But a few things concerned her:
Danger Awareness: Whenever she showed killing intent, his chakra flared, but he didn't react. That disconnect worried her. Was it suppressed instinct? Another entity inside him? She didn't yet know.
Chakra Sensing: Inconsistent. He could sense far—up to 300 meters on a good day—but not always clearly. Sometimes he could feel someone across a field. Other times he missed a person 10 meters away. Still, when focused, he was like a bloodhound.
Genjutsu Resistance: This one surprised her the most. Illusions were weaker on him. His mental resilience was abnormally strong—not due to the Nine Tails, but his own brain.
She watched him fumble the chopsticks again. His brow furrowed, the meat falling off with a sad plop.
Yoruusagi smiled lightly.
"He's going to beg me to go back to chopsticks after I start physical conditioning tomorrow."
---