Last days of February, Konoha Village, Senju Clan training ground.
The sky was painted in shades of gray, filled with cold air and scattered snow. It had been snowing nonstop for several days, covering everything in a thick white blanket.
The afternoon sun lacked the strength to pierce the heavy clouds and falling snow, but even the faint light that reached the ground was reflected by the snow-dressed earth, creating a quiet brightness all around.
The training ground had changed drastically over the past four months. Not even the relentless snow could cover the signs of hard work. A sharp, cone-shaped rock stood on one side, with a wooden plank lying frozen beside it. Ropes stretched from branch to branch, heavy with snow and icicles. At the center of it all stood a tall, thick wooden pillar, wrapped tightly with ropes and completely free of snow or ice.
"Yahh… yahh… yahhh… yahh…"
In front of the pillar stood a small figure with a bare upper body, fists wrapped in red cloth, sweater pants hanging low on his hips. He was in a standard punching stance, throwing rhythmic strikes against the pillar. Each punch echoed in the cold air with purpose and strength.
His young body was sculpted—not tall, but strong. His chest and abs were well-developed, muscles defined like they were carved in stone. With each punch, steam escaped his body—mist rising from sweat, evaporating snow, and heavy breaths.
Though everything around him was frigid, this small corner burned with heat—the heat of determination, willpower, and a burning heart. No one else was present, except a lone raven watching silently from the tree branches.
After some time, the boy stepped back, panting heavily. After catching his breath, he took a stance once again. Focused, he charged the pillar—punching, kicking, spinning, attacking with all his strength until his body couldn't take it anymore. Blood and sweat mixed on his skin. Droplets hit the snow and froze upon impact, staining the ground red.
Finally spent, he turned and walked toward his home, following the half-snowed-in trail of his own footprints.
At the door, a white tail wagged lazily.
Snow—the queen of the house—waited.
As he stepped in, she meowed and circled his feet. He patted her fluffy head and praised her for being a good girl. From the trees, the raven flew away in silence.
---
Menma, now truly living alone, made his way to the bathroom, Snow trailing behind him like a loyal, slightly judgmental shadow.
"Snow, let me wash up first and then we'll eat together."
"Meow. Meow. Meow."
"I know I skipped your dinner last night, but I passed out on the couch! That's not the same as abandoning you, okay?"
"Meowww, meeeow."
"Yes, yes. I'll pace myself better."
"Meoooowww."
"I get it! But I still can't let you come out in this weather. You'll freeze and become an ice queen. I'll take you on my jungle run later—tucked safely inside my coat. Deal?"
"Meow."
"Good girl."
He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water hit his bruised fists and calves, making him hiss from the pain. He slowly unwrapped the red cloth from his hands—now soaked and stained dark.
He learned this wrapping style from a boxing patient in his past life. He couldn't remember the man's face, just the friendly conversation and the bandaging tips he had shared.
As he cleaned the wounds, he gritted his teeth and forced himself through the stinging heat. After the shower, he applied ointment, dressed the wounds in fresh bandages, and put on warm clothes.
In the kitchen, he cooked a simple, nutrient-rich meal for himself and Snow, then sat down on the couch. Snow curled into his lap, already half-asleep, and he entered meditation.
---
It had been four months since Kakashi and Yoruusagi had left. He hadn't heard from them since.
The day after they disappeared, a notice appeared on his door: "Leave a list of what you need once a week. You may not leave the Senju grounds." And that was it.
He flipped his schedule, training all day and studying by night. His body recovered from even the most brutal sessions overnight, so he pushed himself harder than any kid should.
His baby belly? Gone.
Now, he flexed in the mirror every morning, testing different poses. He had finally met his abs.
Third Hokage visited sometimes, helped with studies, cooked, gave advice—but even he dodged questions about his teachers. Menma sensed pain and guilt in the old man's heart, so he didn't press.
He also tried befriending the elderly neighbors. They ignored him, no matter how kind or clever he tried to be. Cupcakes, tea, fake sugar requests—nothing worked. Eventually, he gave up and just helped them silently when they needed it.
Snow, on the other hand, had grown into a beautiful white angora queen. She understood him—really understood him. They talked in meows and looks. He kept her close, especially after a snake nearly attacked her.
Yoruusagi's letter mentioned chakra meditation. He began practicing every day, Snow curled up on his lap like a fluffy anchor.
He made fast progress, but then came the red energy—that ever-present chakra in his body, impossible to separate from his own.
He started chasing the source. A month and a half ago, he finally succeeded in gaining basic control over it. He could now amplify his strength briefly or heal faster—but not project chakra outside his body.
The side effect?
Nightmares.
He dreamed of monsters—titanic beasts, gods, demons. Wars that shattered the world. Trees that grew from blood. The Nine-Tailed Fox, watching silently as humanity consumed itself.
At first, the fox tried to help humanity… but was betrayed, used, sealed, hated. And eventually, it gave up on them.
Menma hated those dreams. They reminded him too much of his past life—the cruelty, the coldness, the hunger for power.
And now… he was at the door to that very power.
He calmed himself, slipped into deep meditation, and reached the wall that separated him from the source.
This time, he visualized a drill. Slowly, he drilled into the barrier—soft but unyielding. Time passed like a dream…
And then—
He was sucked in.
---
"Ahhh… my head…"
Menma rubbed his temples. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He stood in a sewer-like tunnel, but there was no stench. Only silence.
Two paths stretched out before him.
"Great. A pick-a-bo moment," he muttered.
He chose randomly and began walking. Eventually, the floor dipped into ankle-deep water—crystal clear, surprisingly warm. As he moved forward, wind began to stir.
He picked up speed. Something was ahead.
At last, a massive iron gate appeared, chains holding it together. On one side, it was brightly lit. The other—dark as night.
Menma approached the bars. A large seal tag was pinned to the gate. Curious, he leaned closer to read it—
Suddenly—two enormous red eyes opened behind the bars.
A deep rumble filled the air.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Menma didn't even think. He turned and ran like hell.
Inside the cage, Kurama blinked.
"…Wait. What?"
He'd only meant to scare him a little—to test him, to manipulate him. But the kid was already halfway down the tunnel screaming.
Kurama sighed.
"Come back, you little idiot. I haven't even started monologuing yet."
---