Time flies, and five years passed in the blink of an eye.
It was now the 53rd year of Konoha. On the top floor of a slightly worn-down apartment on the west side of the village, a short red-haired boy sat quietly on a wooden railing. Facing the rising sun, he let the first rays of morning light fall across his face while his eyes fixed on the distant Hokage Rock. Beneath his seemingly calm expression, however, a faint trace of sarcasm flickered in his pupils.
"Five years… has it really been five years since I came to this world? Uzumaki Menma—what a twisted, ironic name. Different, yet the same all the damn time."
Namikaze Minato.
Uzumaki Kushina.
The names of his parents in this life.
That's right—this red-haired boy was not originally of this world. He came from a planet called Earth. Or perhaps, more precisely, he retained the memories of his former life. Whether this existence was reincarnation or possession, he couldn't quite tell.
All he remembered was falling asleep in a classroom on Earth. When he opened his eyes, he was here—in the middle of a nightmare—watching Minato and Kushina sacrifice their lives before his very eyes.
That scene left a mark carved deep in his soul.
At first, he thought he had become Naruto.
But soon, he realized he wasn't Naruto.
And yet… in a twisted way, he was.
Because his surname was Uzumaki. Because the Nine-Tails was sealed inside him. But he wasn't the golden-haired, blue-eyed boy everyone knew as Naruto.
He was Uzumaki Menma—his features resembling Minato by a small degree, but with Kushina's vibrant red hair and cold gray eyes.
Meanwhile, the blond, blue-eyed boy was not Uzumaki Naruto at all—he was Namikaze Naruto.
Brothers of the same blood, born of the same parents.
And yet their fates couldn't be more different.
Namikaze Naruto was raised in the home of the Fourth Hokage, cherished by the village as the son of a hero.
But what about him?
He was shoved aside, called a demon vessel, branded a monster, and left to rot in a run-down apartment.
Although he told himself countless times that it wasn't Naruto's fault—that the ordinary villagers were merely deceived, misled by the higher-ups of Konoha—his heart couldn't erase the bitterness, the loneliness, the gnawing resentment.
"We share the same father and mother… so why!?"
Menma's small fists clenched tightly as he stared up at the carved face of the Fourth Hokage.
Even with two lifetimes behind him, he was no saint. In his previous life he was just an ordinary university student, an average man with ordinary emotions—anger, sorrow, jealousy, longing.
He knew full well he had to bury those feelings deep inside. He could rage, despair, even curse fate in silence, but he could never allow those emotions to leak out.
Because survival demanded restraint.
After five years under the rule of the Third Hokage, Menma understood Sarutobi Hiruzen well enough.
The Third was not the saintly figure some fans of the original series painted him as, nor was he as dark and malicious as others claimed. He was the kind of leader who carried the will of the village above all else, yet also bore his own selfishness.
In his prime, Hiruzen had been the "Professor," the man who carried Konoha through danger and brought it to its peak. But now, in old age, the flaws of his character only grew larger, while his strengths diminished.
He still held justice and fairness in his heart—but not as much as before.
Above all else, Hiruzen's priority was stability, power, and the survival of the village. Everything else came second.
And if one day he were to sense hatred or malice festering inside Menma?
Even if he couldn't bring himself to execute Minato and Kushina's son outright, he would surely strip Menma of the Nine-Tails and lock him away forever.
That was reality.
Which meant until Menma gained power of his own, reckless action was out of the question.
"Step by step. Always one step ahead… Today, I should head out."
Menma jumped down from the railing and slipped back inside, moving quickly down the corridor and stairwell. He always left early in the morning, when the streets were nearly empty—reducing his chances of running into villagers who glared at him with hatred.
His destination lay about a kilometer from the apartment—a stretch of wooded mountains belonging to the Hidden Leaf. For the past two years, he had gone there to train, to breathe freely, and to gather food for himself.
It wasn't that Hiruzen denied him sustenance—he still received the bare minimum orphan stipend. But no shopkeeper in Konoha would sell to him. Almost every villager met him with scornful glares.
So Menma had learned to survive on his own.
By the age of three, he had begun physical training, even without knowledge of chakra refinement. He understood well enough—this was a world where children like Kakashi Hatake could graduate from the Academy by the age of five. Waiting for adulthood would only mean weakness.
If he wanted to endure, he had to prepare early.
His body demanded energy for the training, and since he had no reliable way of buying food, Menma turned to the forests. The fish and shrimp in the rivers, the fruits and wild greens in the woods—they became his lifeline.
"Splash!"
Finishing his morning exercises, Menma arrived at the riverbank. Without hesitation, he leapt into the icy waters.
December's chill pierced his body, and the freshly fallen snow had made the river frigid. His small frame shuddered, but he forced himself to keep swimming, his eyes sharp.
Moments later, his hand struck, and with practiced skill he hauled a wriggling fish from the stream. Then another.
By the time he dragged a basketful back to shore, his lips were blue, his body trembling, but his eyes glimmered with satisfaction.
"Heh… winter swimming really does wake you up."
Menma looked down at the basket filled with his catch. Despite the biting cold, a small smile tugged at his lips.
At least, for now, he could still live.