Menma hadn't said a single word since stepping inside Kakashi's house. He understood the reason Kakashi had left him—it wasn't by choice. He couldn't bring himself to hate him for it. Nor did he feel angry enough to destroy his home. Menma was too old inside to act like a child, even if his body still was one.
But understanding and forgiveness were two different things. Until Kakashi made it up to him, he'd be treated to an ice wall of silent protest.
Snow, having just woken from her nap, jumped gracefully from Menma's arms and began exploring the house, her tail raised proudly. Compared to their small, humble home, Kakashi's place was at least ten times larger—a new kingdom to conquer.
"Living alone?" Menma asked flatly, walking behind Kakashi.
"Huh? Oh, yeah… I live alone," Kakashi replied, startled by the sudden question.
"Family?"
"My mother died young," Kakashi said quietly. "And my father… left when I was five."
Menma nodded slowly. "It must have been hard… Losing something you have is always harder than never having it at all."
Kakashi froze in his tracks. Menma, unfamiliar with the house's layout, stopped as well and looked back at him with an unreadable expression.
The boy was far too mature for his age. Kakashi had always wondered how someone so young could carry such depth. Now, he realized—maturity like that came at a steep cost.
Without a word, Kakashi resumed walking, leading Menma to the guest room he had painstakingly cleaned the day before—under Yoruusagi's strict orders.
"Here. You can sleep here and do whatever you like. If you don't like the room, we can switch tomorrow," he said. "I'll bring clean sheets."
Menma surveyed the space. It was nearly the same size as his entire home. The windows were curtained and there was a working heater built into the wall. A bathroom stood behind a sliding door. He walked in and inspected it. Clean. Practical. Acceptable. With a small nod, he acknowledged Kakashi without a word.
Kakashi took that nod as a win—at least the boy wasn't actively trying to poison him. He quietly excused himself to grab the sheets, sighing internally. Winning Menma back might be tougher than fighting an S-rank ninja.
Alone now, Menma moved to the window and pulled back the wooden shutters. Cold air filtered in as he cracked it open, changing the stale air inside the room. Then he turned the heater on, changed into pajamas, and carefully unpacked. Clothes went into the closet, toiletries into the bathroom. His notebook—the one that had nearly caused a national crisis—was placed neatly on the small study desk.
He stared at it for a long while.
Should he burn it? That would be too obvious. Too suspicious. He needed to think.
Knock knock knock.
The soft rapping on the doorframe broke his thoughts. Kakashi stood there with a bag of fresh sheets in hand. Without a word, Menma stepped forward, took the oversized bundle that nearly matched his height, and walked to the bed.
He laid the sheets down with quiet focus, spreading them over the mattress in precise movements. He never once looked at Kakashi.
Snow sat nearby, watching her "big cat" carefully. She did not like this larger cat in the room. She kept glancing between the two of them, judging the atmosphere like a feline referee. Deciding this wasn't the time for action, she leapt onto the bed and curled up beside the heater, her tail twitching thoughtfully.
Menma climbed under the covers and called to her.
"Come here, Snow. Want to cuddle?"
Meow!
She had other plans tonight. She was on a mission. He reminded her not to break anything or sneak out. Then, satisfied, he closed his eyes. The day had drained him—hours of training, a mental battle with himself, a confrontation with the Genbu, and a freezing walk through the village.
Sleep took him quickly, pulling him into a dream where he was a majestic nine-tailed fox, and Kakashi was a tiny ant running in panic.
"Mwahaha! Tremble, mortal!"
A faint smile crept across Menma's face as he sank deeper into sleep, unseen by the quiet room.
A few hours later, as the world lay in silence again, a pair of bright, mischievous pebble-like eyes opened in the dark.
It was time to help her big cat.
---
Early Morning
Before the sun had even lifted its sleepy head above the horizon, Kakashi was jolted awake by a bizarre noise.
CROAK!
Tap. Tap. Tap.
CROAK!
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A frog. A live frog was jumping around in his room, croaking proudly like it owned the place.
He groaned and turned his head to escape the sight—only to be met with something far worse.
At the foot of his bed, on his freshly folded blanket, lay two dead mice, a trio of cockroaches, and—was that a grasshopper?!
Yes. A grasshopper. Its leg was twitching.
It was winter.
Winter.
How?! Where had they even found a live grasshopper this time of year? Did they travel through time to catch it?
Kakashi sat up, buried his face in his hands, and sighed. He had made his decision: he would deep clean this entire house from ceiling to floor. Thoroughly. If he didn't, this nightmare would repeat every morning.
Tap. CROAKKK!
"Oh for the love of—will you just stop croaking already?!"
---
Meanwhile, Menma was having the best sleep in weeks. The house was warm, quiet, and he was utterly exhausted. But what helped most was the comfort of knowing he wasn't alone—not truly. The dream had been silly, ridiculous even, but for some reason, it soothed him.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and saw Snow curled beside his pillow, yawning with half-closed eyes.
"Good morning, princess," he whispered.
She meowed softly.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small comb. With practiced gentleness, he cradled Snow and began combing her soft white fur, brushing her coat until it gleamed. This was one of his few daily rituals—quiet moments that helped heal the invisible wounds inside.
"Where'd you sneak off to last night, huh? Did you have fun?"
Mmmeooww!
"Oh? You found a lot of them? You didn't eat them, did you?"
Meeeooow!
"Huh?! You shared with another cat? Wait—Kakashi has a cat? I've never smelled another cat here before."
Meowww!
"Oh, not his cat. Just a new friend, huh? So... did they at least say thank you? They didn't try anything immoral, did they? I'll sterilize them, I swear. I know exactly how to do it—painless and fast."
Meow!
"Good girl. I love you too—muah!"
MMEoW!
"Okay, sorry! You're just too cute! I lost control!"
meow...
At the door, Kakashi had been walking over to call Menma for breakfast—only to freeze when he heard the conversation inside.
"…."
There was only one thought in his head: Menma hasn't been circumcised.
He really should bring this up with Lady Biwako.
---
Menma washed up and changed out of his pajamas into a cozy sweater and warm pants, then quietly made his way down the hallway in search of breakfast—and perhaps Kakashi.
As he walked, he reopened the chakra sense he had closed off before bed, letting his perception stretch across the house.
But the moment his awareness swept past the kitchen, he froze.
A certain chakra stopped him cold.
Familiar. Cold. Piercing.
His stomach twisted.
He knew that chakra. He had memorized every layer of it. It belonged to someone he had missed painfully these past few months. Someone he once admired. Someone he had trusted.
And someone who had left.
Just like Kakashi.
His vision blurred. He clenched his fists at his sides. A flood of emotions rose in his chest—grief, confusion, longing, and betrayal all at once.
He wanted to run. Get out. Just bolt through the hallway and away from this place. But he could sense others nearby too—several familiar signatures, all circling the house like a barrier. He was cornered.
From the kitchen, footsteps approached.
The familiar chakra moved toward him. Snow was by his feet, looking up at him curiously.
Then a voice. Soft. A little shaky.
"Long time no see, little Menma… Did you miss me too?"
It was her.
Tears spilled from his eyes before he could stop them.
He didn't want her to see him like this.
Before another word could be spoken, Menma turned and fled—running down the hallway, up the stairs, and slamming his door shut behind him.
Yoruusagi stood frozen in the hallway.
She had spent the entire night trying to stay away, telling herself not to push too hard—not yet. She wanted to come straight to him the moment she heard he was here, but she'd forced herself to wait until morning. Just one more night.
And now... now that she had finally seen him again, she wanted nothing more than to run to him, hold him close, and whisper how sorry she was.
She had seen everything—the raven she left behind had never stopped watching. She had witnessed every fall, every lonely recovery, every drop of blood and sweat he shed training alone. She had watched him break, and then rise again, all alone.
He needed her.
But she hadn't been there.
Now he wouldn't even look at her.
Behind the closed door, Menma sat with his back pressed against the wood, his head buried in his arms. His chest felt tight, his breathing uneven. Why did he cry? That wasn't like him.
He should've made a sarcastic comment. Said something cold. Tossed a jab, waited for her reaction, let her chase after him with apologies. That's what he had planned.
But no.
All that came out were tears.
Meow! Scratch. Scratch.
A familiar paw tapped at the door from the other side.
Snow.
She was calling to him. He could picture her now—pacing back and forth, anxious, pawing at the door.
He couldn't bear to let her see him like this either.
"I'm fine, Snow… Just not now, okay?" he called softly, voice thick and raw. "I just… need a bit of time. Go grab something to eat, maybe… maybe play with that new cat friend you found last night…"
Kakashi had been walking toward the door, hoping to check on Menma, but paused at the sound of the boy's voice. He looked down at the anxious cat sitting at his feet, scratching the door with increasing urgency.
MEOW!
Scratch. Scratch.
Door HP: -1, -1, -1…
Kakashi glanced at the door, then at the cat.
"...That's my door," he muttered dryly.
"Please, my dear queen," Menma's voice murmured from behind the wood, barely audible. "Let me be alone for a moment. I'm… fine."
If you didn't sniff so loud in the middle, I might believe you.
Snow stopped scratching. She sat down like a proper cat queen, curling her tail around her feet, eyes locked firmly on the door—unmoving. Waiting.
Menma took deep breaths. He understood everything. Logically, it all made sense—he knew why they left, he knew it wasn't simple. But logic and heart didn't always shake hands.
His chest still hurt. His heart still ached.
Trying to shift his focus, his eyes fell on the notebook resting neatly on the desk.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffling one last time, then crawled across the floor and sat cross-legged on the floor before the bed. Leaning against the frame, he pulled the notebook into his lap.
He opened it and began reading over his notes. Pages and pages of theories, observations, deductions.
So many questions. So many tangled threads.
So many truths still hidden in fog.
He needed answers. Real ones.
And there was only one person—well, one being—that might be able to give them to him.
Menma closed his eyes and settled into a meditative state. Slowly, he let his consciousness drift inward, diving through the pathways of chakra and thought, puncturing the familiar barrier that stood between his mind and the place he needed to go.
Into the seal.
---
Darkness gave way to a corridor of dripping stone and low echoes—the familiar sewer-like world that housed the one sealed within him.
He walked forward calmly, feet splashing lightly in the ankle-deep water until he reached the vast open chamber behind the bars.
And there it was.
The Beast.
Alive.
Massive.
Its presence crackled with power, ancient and weighty like a god pulled from the bones of forgotten myths.
Slowly, the beast raised its head.
It stared at him through slitted, glowing eyes—gaze heavy, regal, and unreadable.
Menma stood before it, unmoving. He could feel the presence—so much older, so much more complicated than anything he had faced. Its chakra pulsed through the air like thunder. It wasn't just energy. It was thought. Emotion. Time.
This being… wasn't just powerful. It was aware.
A flicker of hesitation crept through him. What gender do you even assign to a fox made of chakra older than empires?
After a long moment, Menma took a breath and stepped forward.
He bowed politely and spoke, voice steady.
"Hello, Mr. Fox. I'm Menma Uzumaki. I believe you know me." He raised his head. "It's our second meeting as neighbors… and I'd like to know you better."
Kurama blinked.
No running this time?
So the kid was staying, huh?
Good.
He had quite the performance prepared.
---
Outside the room where Menma now sat in silence, Yoruusagi was spiraling.
She hovered near the door, barely breathing, her heart pounding in panic. She wanted to rush in, to throw her arms around him, to tell him everything she hadn't dared to say. That she never meant to leave him. That she regretted it every single day. That she still loved him.
But she didn't know how.
She had grown up as an only child, without parental turmoil or abandonment. She had no idea how to navigate this situation—how to fix something broken when you didn't know where the cracks even began.
So she waited. Outside the door. Like the cat.
Feeling helpless, she turned her eyes to the man beside her—the dead-fish-eyed, dog-like boyfriend who stood in silence, staring blankly at the floor.
At first, she thought he was being respectful. Thoughtful, maybe. Until she followed his gaze and realized he was staring at the shredded wood at the bottom of the door.
Scratch marks. Deep ones. Piles of sawdust accumulating at the floor.
He wasn't thinking about Menma. He was thinking about his door.
Seriously... why does she even like this man?
Was it the Sharingan? But she could name half a dozen Uchiha with the same eye. Was she just... broken?
She scowled and glared daggers at him. Kakashi, sensing the hostility, sighed internally. He was already in trouble, and the cat hadn't even meowed yet.
The pressure rising in the hallway finally pushed him into motion. The white kitten—who had been sitting like royalty at their feet—also turned toward him, adding silent judgment with her large, unblinking eyes.
This was it. The double kill stare.
Under threat, Kakashi finally cleared his throat and stepped forward. He gently knocked on the door.
The soft sound of sobbing from earlier had faded.
At least that meant Menma might be calm enough to listen.
Knock, knock.
"…Ahem. Little Menma… are you still mad? Would you allow us to come in?"
Silence.
Kakashi focused his chakra gently—just enough to locate Menma's presence. He was sitting near the bed. Still. Quiet.
Another knock. Still no answer.
Kakashi opened his mouth to try again, but before he could speak, Yoruusagi stepped forward, irritation and concern on her face. She shoved him aside with practiced efficiency, grabbed the door handle, and called firmly:
"Little Menma? Teacher is coming in!"
She cracked the door, peering cautiously through the gap.
Meow! Meow! Meow!
Snow bolted in ahead of her, padding urgently across the floor. She called to her boy with a mixture of concern and protest. But Menma gave no response.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, back straight, eyes closed. As if meditating. Or...
Snow hopped onto his lap, purring as she rubbed her cheek against his chest. But the warmth of his usual touch was missing. She blinked up at him, confused.
Meow?
Yoruusagi stepped inside, followed closely by Kakashi. Their eyes landed on Menma, unmoving, silent—utterly detached from the room around him.
Something was very wrong.
Yoruusagi knelt beside him and quickly reached for his wrist, her Sharingan activating in a flash.
Kakashi, scanning the room for answers, spotted a notebook lying open on the floor nearby.
Menma's notebook.
He picked it up and began flipping through the pages, hoping for a clue.
At first, the contents were familiar—political analysis, basic structural assessments of the world. Notes pulled from history books. Textbook stuff.
But then…
His eyes widened.
> (The system here is strange. It doesn't match how a functional society should develop. Something's off.)
He turned the page. The handwriting was crisp, but the tone had shifted—darker, more questioning.
> (What is a Daimyo's true significance in the system? Are they anything more than parasites, sucking the lifeblood of the people? Who benefits from preserving this structure? Who protects it? Who allows it to remain?)
Another page.
> (What if we removed them? What would happen to the balance? Would the system collapse? Would chaos consume the world? Would rebellion rise? Should I... shape the people's thoughts first? Would that help? Is it even right for me to change the world? What is my place in it?)
Kakashi's hands began to tremble.
Page after page, the questions evolved into theories, then into plans. Each more dangerous than the last. Every line radiated a brain so sharp it could pierce the sky—and so wounded it might burn the earth to do it.
> (Teacher... what you left behind is not just a genius. Not a child. He's a force of nature. A trial. A test for this world. He must be guided… carefully. So, so carefully. Because if he ever loses faith in everything… he won't need the Nine-Tails to destroy the world. Just give him a pen. He'll rewrite everything.)
Kakashi's pulse was racing.
And he didn't know—
In the Hokage's empty office, five other notebooks sat spread across Sarutobi's desk.
The old man hadn't spoken in hours.
His pipe was cold.
His eyes, unreadable.
He, too, was wondering what to do with a child whose mind could change the world before he even learned to tie his shoes.
Back in the room, Kakashi flipped another page. And then… the words changed.
Clean lines devolved into erratic scrawls. Words circled, crossed out, rewritten in thicker strokes—written with shaking hands, written in pain.
> (Created as a weapon... Manipulated from birth... Programmed to kill... Used... Disposed… Alone...)
The next page bore a single word, burned into the paper in huge, angry kanji:
> DESTROY.
Kakashi's hands shook.
He understood now. What had happened the night before. Why the ANBU had felt such overwhelming rage leaking through the seal.
What he didn't understand… was what stopped it.
Snow meowed again.
He looked up and saw her sitting calmly on Menma's lap, one paw resting gently on the boy's hand.
He swallowed thickly.
The kitten… had saved the village.
He slumped into the nearby chair, the notebook still in his lap. It was almost laughable.
Yoruusagi let go of Menma's wrist and turned toward him, her face pale and tight.
"It's bad, Kakashi," she said, voice tense. "Menma's consciousness has entered the sealing space and isn't responding. I can't pull him out. I can't even get in. It's locked tight."
She expected him to panic.
Instead, Kakashi exhaled a long, exhausted breath of relief.
"…You're relieved?" she asked, frowning.
He didn't answer. How could he tell her that what worried him more wasn't Menma being trapped inside the seal—it was what he would say once he came back.
And what he might do if he wasn't handled with utmost care.
Yoruusagi caught the change in his expression and narrowed her eyes. She stepped forward.
"What is it? What's that in your hand?"
Kakashi hesitated, then silently held out the notebook.
She took it.
And as her eyes began scanning the pages, her expression darkened.
Whatever happened next… it would need to be handled carefully. Gently. But decisively.
Because this wasn't just about raising a Jinchūrik.
This was about raising a revolutionary.