Time flies. Five years slipped away in the blink of an eye.
It was now Year 53 of the Hidden Leaf. Perched high atop a run-down apartment building on the west side of the village, a small boy with red hair sat watching the sunrise. As the first rays of dawn hit the earth, he gazed out at the Hokage Rock in the distance. To a casual observer, his expression looked blank, but hidden deep within his pupils was a faint, lingering trace of mockery.
Has it really been five years since I came to this world? he thought. Menma Uzumaki... what a pitifully ironic name. It's supposed to be different, yet it's all the damn same.
Minato Namikaze.
Kushina Uzumaki.
Those were his parents in this life. But the red-haired boy wasn't originally from this world. He came from a planet called Earth, carrying memories of a past life. He couldn't say for sure if it was soul transmigration or straight-up reincarnation.
All he knew was that he'd dozed off during a lecture in his past life, and the moment he opened his eyes, he was witnessing the deaths of Minato and Kushina right in front of him.
That scene had been a massive shock to his system.
At first, he assumed he was Naruto. But he soon realized that wasn't the case.
Well, he wasn't Naruto, but in a way, he was.
He carried the Uzumaki surname, and he had the Nine-Tails sealed in his gut. But he didn't have the blonde hair or blue eyes, and his name certainly wasn't Naruto.
Instead, he was Menma Uzumaki—red hair, grey eyes, inheriting his mother's coloring while bearing a striking thirty or forty percent resemblance to his father's facial features.
The blonde, blue-eyed boy? That was Naruto. And his last name was Namikaze.
They were twin brothers, born from the same womb.
Yet, Naruto Namikaze lived in their parents' original home as the honored orphan of the Fourth Hokage, enjoying the love and protection of the entire village.
And Menma?
He was cast aside as a generic "war orphan," the vessel of the Nine-Tails, the "monster" in the mouths of the villagers, left to rot in this dilapidated apartment building.
He tried to remind himself—more than once—that this wasn't Naruto's fault. The civilians were being manipulated by the higher-ups. They had lost loved ones five years ago and needed a scapegoat; it was only natural they'd take their anger out on him.
But the loneliness, the resentment, the jealousy, the sheer pain burning in his chest... who could possibly understand that?
We have the same father! We have the same mother!
Menma stared at his father's stone face carved into the mountain, his small hands clenching into fists uncontrollably.
Even with two lives under his belt, his previous self was just an ordinary college student. "Iron will"? "Stoic mindset"?
Don't make me laugh.
He was a normal person. A human being with joy, anger, sorrow, and desires.
Yet, he knew perfectly well that all of this had to be buried deep inside. He was allowed to look depressed. He was allowed to look reluctant or in pain. But he absolutely could not show a single trace of hatred or rage.
That was the only way to survive and maintain what little pathetic freedom he had.
After five years of interaction, Menma had pretty much figured out exactly what kind of person the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, really was.
The Third Hokage wasn't as darkly evil or filthy as some conspiracy theorists from his past life speculated. But he certainly wasn't the righteous, benevolent, and reasonable grandfather figure portrayed in the original anime, either.
He was simply a typical political leader of a powerful organization—he cared about the "Greater Good" of the village, yes, but he also harbored personal selfishness. In his youth, his actions were indeed praiseworthy; he had saved the Leaf from crisis and led it to its peak.
But in his old age, his strengths had diminished, and his weaknesses were constantly magnified.
The current Third Hokage still had a sense of justice and morality... just not very much of it.
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All he cared about was holding onto his power while keeping the village's "Greater Good," peace, and general interests intact. Beyond that? The Third Hokage didn't give a damn.
Especially now that he had the hat back. If he ever caught a whiff of the malice and hatred Menma held for the Leaf, what do you think he'd do to him?
Even if Hiruzen went soft out of respect for Minato and Kushina and didn't execute Menma on the spot, the alternative wasn't much better. He'd likely rip the Tailed Beast out, leave Menma for dead, and if the kid somehow survived, lock him away in a dark hole forever. That was a guarantee.
So, until he had the strength to truly defend himself, Menma wouldn't try anything stupid. He couldn't afford to.
I'll just take it one day at a time. Better get moving.
Menma hopped back onto the balcony, slipped into the hallway, and headed down the stairs. He liked to head out at the crack of dawn while the streets were empty. It lowered the odds of running into civilians.
His destination was a wooded area less than a mile from his apartment. It was still within village borders, but for the past two years, it had been his sanctuary—a place to clear his head, train, and scavenge for extra food.
It wasn't that Hiruzen was starving him. Menma got the standard orphan stipend, and the ninja assigned to watch him were Hiruzen's loyalists, so they weren't going to pull any shady stunts like poisoning his milk.
But that was where the hospitality ended.
If he tried to buy anything in town, shopkeepers kicked him out. The disgust and hostility in everyone's eyes? That was very real.
Menma had started training his body systematically when he turned three. Even though he didn't know how to mold chakra yet—that special energy unique to this world—he knew building a strong physical foundation was crucial.
And don't think he was too young. That was "Earth logic," not "Ninja World logic." If training at three was impossible, how the hell did Kakashi graduate from the Academy at five?
So, Menma wasn't worried about stunting his growth. But training burned calories, and a growing body needed fuel. Since he couldn't buy extra food, he had to take matters into his own hands.
Fish and crawdads in the creek, wild fruits and veggies in the woods—it was all fair game.
Splash!
After his workout, Menma arrived at his usual spot by the river and dove right in.
After a quick swim, he started his hunt. He was a pro at this point. Despite being only five, his physical strength rivaled that of an adult from his previous life, allowing him to easily snag his catch for the day.
"Whoa! Nothing wakes you up like a winter dip."
It was December, and it had snowed just a few days ago. The water was freezing enough to make him shiver, but looking at the solid haul in his basket, a satisfied grin spread across his face.