Classes at the Academy moved at a steady, almost sleepy pace—if not for one little detail.
Every day the Uzumaki twins generously seasoned the routine with their trademark trolling, and the show was wildly popular. Classmates laughed until they cried, even the grumpiest began to smile, and the teachers… well, they tried to keep a straight face, but sometimes the corners of their mouths betrayed them.
"I swear I'll find a way to tell you apart!" Iruka sighed yet again, when two identical "Menmas" approached him during break, grinning in the same way.
The twins crossed their arms in perfect sync and chorused:
"Good luck, sensei."
The teacher narrowed his eyes suspiciously but said nothing. He looked far too eager, as if life had just thrown him a new challenge and he was savoring the rush of adrenaline.
So far, only one girl in class could theoretically tell Naruko from Menma. Hinata.
Theoretically being the key word—her upbringing didn't allow her to use the Byakugan for such an… let's say, "undiplomatic" method of identification.
[Thank Kami. The last thing I need is wearing lead underwear. Or is that only good against Superman's X-ray vision?]
Unlike canon Naruto, who by their age had already earned the reputation of the village clown and the highest number of detentions, the twins played it differently.
First, the original Naruto's antics were crude and mean. Like that time he beat up and tied Sasuke just to steal Sakura's first kiss.
[I honestly admire Sasuke's patience. Naruto should've been beaten long before the Valley of the End.]
Second, his "pranks" were more vandalism than humor. Who's supposed to laugh at the Hokage Monument turned into a giant wall of swear words? The teachers? Definitely not.
Third, he completely neglected studying. And that, if you're building a career as an "intellectual troll," is a strategic mistake.
Menma and Naruko did the opposite. They came to class, did their homework, and shone during lessons. All of it… with barely any effort. The first-year program felt more like preschool than a forge for future shinobi.
There were only five subjects.
Physical Training. Every class started with ten laps around the Academy. For normal kids—pure torture. For the Uzumaki twins—a light jog. Compared to Might Guy, who could run around the whole of Konoha on his hands, a hundred laps at a time, this looked more like morning calisthenics for retirees. Then came basic stances, first attempts at throwing shuriken, sometimes rope climbing or jumping drills.
"Climbing across the rope is a hard task," the instructor intoned by the riverbank. "Sweat runs, hands slip. If you make it even halfway, you'll get double credit."
Naruko grabbed the rope and, a minute later, swung down on the far side of the ditch, legs dangling as she kicked them cheerfully.
"Can I trade the double credit for pork ramen instead?" she asked innocently. "I can earn grades on my own."
The teacher clenched his teeth under the roar of the class's laughter.
Ikebana. Once a week. Girls only. Every time Naruko growled about the injustice and nagged her brother's brain out with complaints.
"All we do is gather flowers!" she whined. "Come on, you go instead of me—no one will notice."
"Tempting offer," Menma tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Alright. I'll take the class, and you go home to cook lunch."
"Deal!" she bounced with excitement.
"No ramen," Menma said firmly. "I'm sick of Ichiraku. Besides, I bought fish yesterday and I don't want it to spoil."
"I'd have to clean the fish?" she wrinkled her nose. "Nope, brother, I'll stick with flower-picking."
Math. The level of the problems brought Menma nothing but quiet suffering.
"I have three apples, I give one to a friend… how many do I have left…" he muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "Yeah. No way I'm getting through this without a calculator."
Sasuke, overhearing that, smirked. The young genius wasn't impressed with the preschool-level curriculum either.
Grammar. Reading and writing from scratch. Iruka explained why right at the first lesson.
"I know many of you already learned some things at home," he said gently, standing by the board with the alphabet written out. "But not everyone had that chance. To make things fair, we'll start from the very beginning."
The class buzzed. Sasuke snorted the loudest, clearly disappointed. He'd come here for jutsu, not a toddler's primer.
Menma noticed a few kids lower their heads in embarrassment. Apparently, they really couldn't read yet. He decided to keep quiet. They already felt awkward—no need to pour salt on the wound.
But of course, the Uchiha couldn't resist.
"And if I don't want to waste my time?" he asked. "How do I get real education?"
Iruka smiled, as if he'd been waiting for that.
"Very simple, Sasuke-kun. You can submit a petition to the Academy principal. They'll test you, and if you pass, you'll move up a class. Maybe even graduate early."
Sasuke fell deep into thought. The prospect of graduating in just one year—like his beloved Itachi—clearly tempted him.
Menma, however, reached a different conclusion.
[No point rushing. Sure, it's boring, but it leaves a mountain of free time. The Academy eats up, what, three hours a day at most? The rest I can spend on myself. Been here two months already, and I still haven't made a proper training plan. Shameful.]
The fifth and most anticipated subject on the schedule was Chakra Control. Strangely enough, it was held only once a week.
Menma walked to the lesson with mixed feelings. On one hand—excitement. Chakra was the heart of a shinobi, the foundation of every technique. On the other—a nagging suspicion: if a class like this was given only once a week, it meant either they'd be spoon-feeding clichés or deliberately hiding something important.
[Alright, we'll see. Maybe I'll finally find a direction to grow in. Because other than the usual shadow clone spam and eventually Rasengan, I've got nothing so far. And that's… a bit too canon.]
The classroom hummed with voices. The air was charged with expectation.
The teacher entered with a gentle smile. A man in a green vest, platinum hair, and the polished look of an "ideal instructor."
Mizuki.
Menma narrowed his eyes slightly.
[Right. Our future traitor. For now—friendly, charming mentor. And at the same time, Orochimaru's spy.]
Still, at the moment Mizuki looked flawless: warm tone, confident stride, perfect posture.
"Good day, children," he greeted warmly. "Today, we'll talk about chakra."
An illusion shimmered into the air in front of the board: a full-body figure, with thin lines inside forming a complex network of channels. A soft blue glow pulsed through them.
"This is how we look inside," Mizuki explained, pointing at the image. "I'm sure you already know that chakra flows in all of us. But do you know how to use it?"
A hand shot up from the first row. Sakura. She nearly bounced in her seat, clearly desperate to show off.
The teacher didn't even glance her way.
"Menma-kun," he said instead. "Perhaps you'd like to explain?"
From the next row, Naruko stifled a snicker, her eyes lighting up—she was already cooking up a cheeky remark. But Menma gave the slightest shake of his head. Not now.
He stood.
"To use jutsu, you need to imagine the effect you want and form hand seals."
"And why the seals?" Mizuki prompted gently.
"To direct the chakra where it needs to go."
The teacher nodded in approval.
"Correct. And today we'll take the first step—learning to feel your chakra."
Menma sat back down and caught Sakura's glare from the corner of his eye. She looked so offended, it was as if someone had stolen her dessert roll.
[Mm-hm. Competing with classmates for the teacher's attention. No wonder she hasn't made a single friend in the first week.]
"Watch closely," Mizuki said, folding his fingers together. "This is the concentration seal. Now close your eyes and do the same. Focus."
The room buzzed as the children copied the seal and shut their eyes.
Menma did the same. Almost instantly, he felt it: a tiny spark glowing somewhere deep in his stomach. Warm. Not burning—more like a blanket and hot tea after a long walk.
"Anyone struggling?" Mizuki asked.
No hands went up. Apparently, this part really was easy.
"Good," the teacher continued. "Now try to stir it. Imagine nudging the energy from side to side. You can glance at the board—the diagram shows how chakra flows through the channels."
Menma pictured the movement… and immediately realized it wasn't that simple.
[Damn. Feels like an ant trying to move a mountain. I can sense the warmth, but shifting it? No chance.]
He opened his eyes, studied the illusion again, then shut them. Tried nudging gently, harder, harder still. He broke into a sweat, face reddening. Finally, the warmth quivered, vibrated—then froze again, immovable.
"If it's not working for some of you—that's normal," Mizuki said, sweeping his gaze across the class. "Chakra is like a muscle. At first it's stiff, like ice. To make it flexible, you have to train."
The class broke into whispers. Some looked relieved they weren't the only ones struggling, others frowned in frustration.
Menma glanced at his sister—Naruko sat with a grimace, clearly trying the same thing. Judging by her expression, her results were just as bad.
"This," Mizuki continued, pointing back to the image, "is how it should be. Always. Chakra should flow freely, without effort, without the concentration seal or closed eyes."
Menma unclasped his fingers—and the warmth vanished instantly. Like someone had switched off a lamp.
"Keep practicing," Mizuki said, settling into his chair and pulling out a book. "Circulate your chakra as often as you can. By the time of the exam next year, you must reach the result I showed. Otherwise, you'll repeat the year."
The children gasped in unison. The threat sounded serious.
"Here's my advice: train whenever you can, not just here." The teacher opened his book and, without looking at the class, added: "Without chakra control, you'll never become shinobi."
And with the calm air of a man fully convinced of his own truth, he began to read.
"Ha!" Kiba jumped up, waving his arms like he'd just won a martial arts tournament. "I did it! I can already move my chakra!"
"Oh really," Mizuki said evenly, without the slightest hint of surprise. "Come here."
Beaming, Kiba strutted past the desks and stopped in front of the teacher. Mizuki briefly closed his eyes and placed a hand on the boy's head.
"Your chakra moves… a little sluggishly," he said, like a doctor announcing a diagnosis. "But it's enough for a passing level. Congratulations, Kiba-kun. You don't need to come to my lessons anymore. Though I strongly recommend you keep training."
"Woo-hoo!" Kiba roared, jumped, and nearly kicked the door off its hinges. "Later, losers!"
He dashed out of the classroom, grinning from ear to ear.
"What an idiot," Shikamaru drawled lazily, not lifting his head from the desk.
Menma turned to him.
"Why? He was the first one to pull it off."
Shikamaru sighed like he was explaining basic math.
"Fewer lessons means more free time. More free time means more chores from your parents. And Kiba's mom… let's just say he won't be getting much rest at home."
Menma snorted but conceded:
"Still, he did it faster than anyone else."
"He just yelled louder than anyone else," Shikamaru shot back. Then he lowered his voice and added: "All the kids with shinobi parents learn this from the cradle. Feeling chakra's like brushing their teeth."
[Mm. And here I almost believed Kiba was a prodigy. Turns out he just started earlier than the rest.]
One by one, the others began lining up at Mizuki's desk. Everyone wanted their progress checked and, if lucky, to pass the course early. And sure enough—one after another, they left: Sasuke, Ino, Shino, Hinata. Even Sakura, glowing like a holiday lantern, proudly walked out.
[Yeah, no surprise. Her mom's a chunin, probably slipped her daughter some insider tips. Naruko and I grew up in an orphanage—nobody ever taught us anything.]
Menma stayed in his seat, listening to the door click shut behind each new "genius."
[Mm. Now I fully get why the Academy starts from zero. Without that baseline, kids like me end up at the bottom of the pile.]
"Idiots," Shikamaru muttered, watching their classmates leave. "This place is paradise. Sit back, do nothing, and everyone's happy. But no, they're running home to more training and more chores."
Menma glanced at the teacher's desk. Mizuki was calmly flipping through his book, completely ignoring the class.
And Shikamaru was right. This really was a place to relax.
Menma pulled a deck of cards from his bag and slapped it on the desk.
"Game?"
"Sure," Shikamaru shrugged, as if it made no difference how he killed the remaining hour.
A couple minutes later, Naruko, Choji, and a few other kids joined them—apparently deciding that goofing off was way better than sweating through drills at home.
Menma smirked to himself.
[For now my "son of the genius Yondaime" cover holds. Everyone thinks I just don't want to graduate early and would rather hang around the Academy. Only Shikamaru might suspect my chakra hasn't even budged. But he's tight-lipped—he won't talk. Still, I need to do something. And fast.]
///
After class, Menma headed for the Hokage Tower.
[The old man said I could come to him anytime with any question. Why not take advantage? Naruko talks to him more than I do. Not good for only her to keep the contact. Time I showed some initiative.]
At the office entrance he gave his name. The secretary barely nodded and immediately ushered him past the line. In the hall, a few jonin, a couple chunin, even a merchant with a stack of papers were waiting, but they only exchanged glances as the boy was waved through first without a word.
[Heh. Guess there really are special instructions about me. Feels nice being VIP.]
The office smelled of tobacco and old paper. Scrolls piled on the desk, a soft lamplight falling from above. Behind the massive desk sat Hiruzen. At the sight of Menma, he even set his pipe aside, looking concerned.
"What is it, my boy?" the old man's voice was gentle, though tinged with wariness. "Has Kurama spoken to you again?"
"No," Menma shook his head and plopped into a visitor's chair, too big for him so his legs dangled above the floor. "But I do have a problem. It's about the Academy."
[I've already dug through reference books, hunting for even a hint of fast methods to unlock chakra. Nothing. My only hope is the 'Professor.' If anyone has a secret trick, it's him.]
The worry faded from Hiruzen's eyes, and with it—the sharp spark of interest. He leisurely lit his pipe, let out a puff of smoke, and looked at the boy.
"Well then," he said in a tone laced with mild indifference. "Tell me."
"Today we learned to sense and direct chakra inside the body," Menma began, trying to sound as serious as possible. "And I've got a problem with that."
"Hm…" Hiruzen rose from behind the desk, stepped closer, and gently placed a hand on the boy's head. "Try."
Menma squeezed his eyes shut, formed the concentration seal. As always, a little spark lit in his stomach.
"Chakra control—rudimentary," the Hokage declared after a pause, exhaling a smoke ring. "And your chakra mixes with the Nine-Tails' and becomes heavier. You've got a lot of training ahead of you, Menma-kun."
"Maybe there's some kind of special training?" the boy asked hopefully.
The old man slowly returned to his chair and shook his head.
"Alas, no. Truth is, you should get used to hard work already. Remember: what the Academy requires is just the basic level for an ordinary genin."
He snapped his fingers, and a three-dimensional image appeared in the air: a human figure with a glowing chakra system. But the movement was different—lines blurred and overlapped, energy flowed not only forward but backward, spiraling.
"This is what chakra circulation looks like in a chunin," Hiruzen revealed. "And this… is mine."
He breathed out a cloud of smoke, and the illusion shifted. The channels thickened like ropes, rivers of energy coursing through them. Fire chakra spun in a spiral, entwined with strands of earth. A whirl of air and water clashed and merged, sometimes birthing lightning from the chaos. It kept changing endlessly—like the elements themselves refused to freeze into one shape.
[Whoa… that's a storm inside a man.]
His amazement must have shown too plainly, because Hiruzen explained himself:
"I do this automatically now. Experience and habit—it's saved my life more than once. Constantly shifting circulation makes most genjutsu useless on me. And flexible chakra makes it easy to learn new techniques."
"That's awesome," Menma admitted honestly. "How long does it take to get that good?"
Hiruzen smiled warmly, as if savoring the reaction.
"I'm glad you chose me as your role model. But remember, I became Hokage because I'm the strongest shinobi in Konoha."
"Still," Menma pressed stubbornly. "How long?"
The old man exhaled a thin stream of smoke, gazing out the window.
"Mastering all five elements took me twenty-five years."
"And without elements?" Menma asked quickly. "Just control, form, fluidity of chakra."
"Well… if you work diligently…"
"I'm ready to train from dawn to dusk, like Might Guy!" Menma shot out.
Hiruzen narrowed his eyes, then chuckled.
"Determination is admirable. But be realistic. Even without elemental transformation, that level is shown only by elite jonin and top medical-nin. Considering your… passenger, and if you work hard, I'd say ten years."
Menma froze.
[Ten?! By then I'll be sixteen. And in canon, that's resurrected Madara, Kabuto with Sage Mode, Kaguya for dessert. Perfect. I'll be busting my back for a decade, doing nothing else, and just about crawl up to jonin-level chakra control. No. That doesn't fly.]
"Thank you," he said, rising from the chair. His voice was steady, though inside everything boiled.
"Heading off to train?" Hiruzen asked.
"Something like that," Menma tossed casually, moving to the door.
At the threshold, he smirked.
[Kurama's been breaking his head for two months trying to lure me onto his hook. Maybe it's time I toss him a couple of ideas.]