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Twin Demons. Chapter 19
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 16:12:26 +0000 UTCThe Uzumaki twins pushed aside the white curtain—familiar scents of noodles, broth, and boiled eggs hit their noses. In perfect sync, they took their “honored seats” at the counter.
“Ah, my dearest customers!” Teuchi turned to them, smiling as though he’d just seen his own children. Behind him, a huge pot of broth bubbled cheerfully, sending out an aroma that made any stomach growl with joy. “The usual? A big bowl of ramen with extra pork?”
“Not this time,” Naruko cut him off with a mysterious smile.
The chef froze as if doused with cold water. He was used to these two having more imagination than was healthy, but refusing “the usual” felt ominous.
“Not this time?” he repeated cautiously, as if bracing for a death sentence.
“Teuchi, I want you to make ramen with this!” Naruko declared solemnly, pulling a small glass jar from inside her jacket with great ceremony.
The crooked label read: Curry Of Life.
Teuchi slowly unscrewed the lid, and at once a bead of sweat formed on his forehead. A suspicious steam rose, carrying the sharp sting of spices. Inside, something thick and black bubbled as if trying to escape.
“As a professional chef, I can judge the quality of an ingredient at a glance…” Teuchi said darkly, eyes locked on the sinister substance. “And I can state with certainty: this is pure poison. Where did you even get this, Naruko?”
“From Thick-Brows-sensei!” the girl announced proudly, as though showing off a rare treasure. “He feeds it to Lee every single day! I asked for a jar and he gave me one!”
Ayame, polishing bowls nearby, almost dropped one.
“W-what?” Her eyes went wide. “Your sensei feeds you poison?!”
“That’s nothing,” Naruko waved it off like it was no big deal. “He’s Guy! Every day he runs us half to death.”
“To total death,” Menma corrected without looking up from the counter.
“Exactly!” his sister nodded vigorously. “We’re practically ghosts already, but at least we’re fast ones!”
“He’s insane!” Ayame burst out. “I’ve heard stories about the Green Beast of Konoha, but I didn’t know he was trying to kill kids!”
Teuchi gingerly pinched the jar between two fingers like it was a ticking bomb.
“I’m disposing of this poison immediately,” he declared and started toward the trash bin.
“Hey! No!” Naruko protested, throwing up her arms. “What are you doing? Lee eats it every day and he’s happy! I tried it—and yeah, I puked… but that’s just an adjustment thing! That’s why I want to mix it with ramen, to really taste it properly.”
“You’ve lost your mind!” Ayame planted her fists on her hips, face burning with outrage. “That’s poison, not seasoning!”
[The situation had hit a deadlock. Time to step in.]
Menma lazily lifted his eyes from his interlaced fingers.
“A little poison is good for you,” he remarked in a tone that sounded like an old proverb. “Guy… well… has his methods. But they work. Otherwise he wouldn’t be Konoha’s top taijutsu master.”
Teuchi froze at the sink, jar still in hand.
Menma went on, meeting the chef’s troubled gaze:
“I don’t doubt your instincts, Teuchi-san. It is poison. But deadly only in high doses. In small amounts, it’s more of a stimulant. That’s how Lee builds resistance—gradual exposure. Mix it with real food, and you get a way to develop tolerance.”
“See? See? Listen to my brother!” Naruko latched onto his words like a lifeline. “He’s smart, he reads books!”
Menma calmly straightened his shoulders. Endorsements from his sister—sacred business.
Teuchi sighed heavily and set the jar down at the edge of the counter.
“Fine. But I’m not cooking with it today,” he said firmly. “It’ll take time to experiment. To figure out the right dose so I don’t have to resuscitate you afterwards.”
“You’ll nail it!” Naruko beamed, giving him a big thumbs-up. “You’re the best chef in all of Konoha! I believe in you!”
Teuchi coughed awkwardly to hide his smile, then went back to the safe zone—his pot of broth and a slab of pork to slice.
Menma rested his elbows on the counter, fingers steepled like a strategist at a shogi board.
[Everything is going according to plan.]
Naruko only wanted a new taste and some adventure, but his aims were more practical.
[Observing Lee made it clear: the curry doesn’t just restore stamina after training, it strengthens the body. Seems to alter chakra flow too—boosting its link to fire. The question is dosage. Learning to harness it properly—that’s the real goal.]
“So, how are things at the academy?” Ayame broke the silence as her father deftly chopped an onion.
Naruko instantly launched into an animated explanation, waving her hands as if words alone couldn’t capture her feelings:
“Oh! We’ve got tons of new subjects! History, geography, biology, even chemistry! But they cut grammar. Iruka-sensei said that if we’re in the second year already, we should know how to read and write.”
“So many subjects?” Ayame raised her brows in surprise. “And that’s only second year… What comes next?”
“Advanced math, organic chemistry, astrophysics,” Menma inserted calmly without blinking.
Ayame stared at him, unsure if he was joking.
“You do go to a normal school, right?” he asked with an innocent look.
“Well… yeah,” she admitted awkwardly. “But we only started chemistry this year… and I’m four years older than you!”
“It’s because of the shinobi profession,” Menma said evenly, holding her gaze. His voice was steady, almost like a lecture. “Our lives can end at any moment. So they teach us everything faster.”
“Oh…” Ayame murmured, fingers absently tugging at her apron hem. “I never thought of it that way…”
“Moreover,” Menma went on, never missing a chance to fan the flames, “it’s considered proper that within a year of graduation—so, at thirteen—we’ve already chosen our specialty. Assault trooper, investigator, medic-nin… The shinobi trade has hundreds of branches, and we’re expected to pick our path as early as possible.”
“Hm.” Ayame nodded, frowning slightly. “Well, I may not be a kunoichi, but I’ve already found my place.” She pointed to her white Ichiraku uniform. “This is my craft, and I’m proud of it. What about you? Do you have any ideas what you’ll be?” she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
Before he could answer, Naruko butted in, beaming as if she’d been waiting for the perfect chance to tease him:
“Ayame-chan, you’ve seen how my brother loves to lecture! He’ll totally end up a boring teacher.”
Menma shot her a sidelong glance and said coldly:
“And judging by your appetite, you’ll just end up fat.”
A second of silence—and lightning crackled between them. Their sharp glares collided, ready to ignite into a quarrel.
“Don’t fight,” Ayame cut in quickly, setting steaming bowls in front of them. “Or I’ll take them back.”
The words worked like a spell. In an instant, the twins forgot their spat: the aroma of fresh broth with noodles and roasted pork filled their noses, making their stomachs rumble with joy. They inhaled in unison, exchanged a glance, and wordlessly pressed their fingers together in a sign of harmony.
“That’s better,” Ayame smiled.
A moment later they were already diving into their bowls, and the warm silence was broken only by cheerful slurping.
“Seconds!” Naruko announced, shoving her empty bowl aside with a clatter.
“Just a minute!” Teuchi called back as usual, already tossing more slices of pork onto the pan.
Menma licked his lips and raised a hand politely:
“No rush, Teuchi-san. Give me a moment to burn off the calories.”
He crossed his fingers into familiar hand seals and closed his eyes.
Kagura Shingan.
He no longer even needed to say the name aloud—the technique obeyed easily. Many shinobi at this level abandoned a jutsu to chase after something new, just for the sake of variety. But Menma was firmly against that “circus of too many tricks.”
[Why carry a hundred useless techniques when you can perfect ten that matter?]
In the darkness of his mind, chakra signatures lit up. They glowed sharp and vivid, like living figures instead of blurry smudges. He easily distinguished people nearby, felt the familiar pulses of his shadow clones—six of them now.
[Guy’s training paid off. My reserves are growing. With one more clone, my sensory skills will advance faster. If I can sense the clones this clearly, I’ll need to spread them farther apart. Efficiency will spike.]
“Damn,” Naruko hissed, eyes half-shut too. “That creep again.”
Menma focused instantly. On a nearby rooftop, a familiar chakra silhouette burned—a lightning-tinged aura with something alien and dark from the right eye.
Hatake Kakashi.
Once a week, sometimes more, he showed up. Sat hidden, watching. For long stretches—sometimes two hours. Then vanished, like he’d never been there.
[Doesn’t look like the Hokage sent him. Too irregular. More like his own whim. Probably depression. Instead of haunting his team’s graves, he’s latched onto us. Minato’s kids—the new targets of his gloom.]
Menma frowned.
[Tragic, sure. But it doesn’t make a stalker any easier to deal with. And what to do about him… I’ve got no answers yet.]
He slowly opened his eyes, returning to reality—where his sister was already attacking her second helping, and Ayame was laughing at her impatience.
///
This year brought their first chakra control lesson. Unlike the earlier ones, it wasn’t in a stuffy classroom but in a forest not far from the academy. Tree shade shielded them from the bright sun, and the air was fresh, filled with birdsong.
Mizuki-sensei stood before the class, leaning lightly against a tree, speaking in his usual calm tone:
“We’ve already mastered internal chakra flow,” he reminded them, sweeping his gaze across the students. “Today begins the next stage: infusing your skin and muscles with chakra to enhance your physical abilities.”
The students fell silent.
“There’s nothing difficult about this,” Mizuki went on. “In fact, you already do it all the time, just unconsciously. Like when you’re running from someone. Today’s task is to learn to do it consciously.”
To demonstrate, Mizuki stepped forward… and suddenly soared upward. With a light jump he cleared ten meters, landing softly on a branch. Then, as if it were child’s play, he flipped backward and came down smoothly.
“As you see, it’s simple,” Mizuki continued calmly, as though he were discussing something as ordinary as breathing. “You’ll keep jumping until you learn to distribute chakra evenly. This jump will be your trial for the semester.”
“Just for the semester?” Sakura raised her hand. “What about the end of the year?”
“Starting next semester,” Mizuki explained readily, “I’ll be teaching you how to strengthen your strikes and tighten your core. So my class comes with two exams per year.”
The whole class groaned in unison. The clanless kids sighed the loudest—they had no secret techniques, no shinobi parents to advise them. They looked at the teacher as if he’d just pronounced their death sentence.
“Train, and you’ll succeed,” Mizuki added gently.
But words of comfort didn’t help. What followed was a parade of disasters.
Some channeled too little chakra into their legs and couldn’t even reach the lowest branches, crashing back down in shame. Others overdid it, overshooting the tree and nearly breaking their necks. A few slammed their foreheads straight into the trunk—but every time Mizuki was there, catching them at the last second.
“Pfft, kindergarten stuff!” came a voice from above. Kiba stood on a branch with a smug grin. “Easy!”
He pushed off neatly and flipped backward, landing with flair.
“Very good,” Mizuki nodded, clearly pleased. “Kiba-kun, you don’t need to attend my class for the rest of the semester.”
Kiba barely held back a howl of joy and bolted home.
“And what about you two?” Mizuki snapped toward the shade under a tree, where Shikamaru and Choji were lounging. “Up. Now. Do the exercise!”
Choji mumbled something about “not moving after a heavy lunch,” but under the teacher’s stern glare he backed off. Shikamaru, however, rose reluctantly, stretching like he’d just woken up, and stepped forward with lazy indifference.
And—to everyone’s shock—on his first try he hopped onto the branch with ease, pushed off, flipped, and landed as if it were no harder than yawning.
“Not bad,” Mizuki smirked. “You don’t need to attend either, for the rest of the semester.”
Shikamaru had already turned to leave when Naruko pounced on him like a tigress, knocking him flat.
“Who are you?!” she grabbed his hair and shook him. “What have you done with my lazy Shikamaru?!”
“Ow-ow-ow!” he howled, glancing around for help. But no one paid attention—the classmates were still busy crashing and flailing, and Mizuki was too focused on keeping them from breaking bones.
“Menma!” Shikamaru groaned, wincing under Naruko’s grip. “Get your sister off me and I’ll… I’ll let you borrow that rare book on herbs my dad found.”
[Heh. My lovely sister just scored me another gift.]
Without hesitation, Menma pried Naruko off and dragged her away from the poor boy.
“Thanks,” Shikamaru muttered, brushing off his clothes. He looked at Naruko and shrugged. “I may be lazy, but I see the big picture. This year slacking won’t work. Mizuki-sensei keeps everyone on a short leash because of the injury risk. So it’s easier to give a hundred percent right away than fake being useless all semester.”
Naruko scowled but didn’t get to argue—another scream from a falling classmate stole her attention.
Soon after, several others tried to “clear the test early.” Sakura, Shino, Ino, Menma, Sasuke, Hinata, Naruko—all of them managed the jump without much trouble. Even Choji, after a motivating shove from Shikamaru, pulled himself up onto the branch, puffing hard.
Mizuki exhaled in relief—the more students who passed right away, the less of a headache he’d have later.
“Excellent,” he said, hiding his satisfaction behind his usual restrained smile.
///
“I say we celebrate passing the exam!” Naruko announced grandly at the academy gates, rallying the “fast-trackers.” “Let’s go to Ichiraku!”
“Yes!” Choji backed her up, his eyes lighting up.
“My insects enjoy the aroma of their broth,” Shino added, leaving everyone else slightly unsettled.
“Father told me to always come home straight after class…” Hinata hesitated, then clenched her fists. “But I think today I can make an exception.”
[So nice to see her finding courage.]
“Still better than going home to chores,” Shikamaru added, hiding a yawn.
The group was already heading toward their favorite noodle shop when a hand dropped onto Menma’s shoulder.
“We need to talk. Alone,” Sasuke said, his gaze serious, almost grim.
[Interesting… What’s on his mind?]
“Naruko, I’ll see you at home,” Menma said curtly, and without waiting for her protests walked off with the Uchiha toward the deserted swings.
His sister followed them with a suspicious look. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to yell something, but in the end she only puffed her cheeks and stayed silent.
Menma sat on the old swings, rocking lazily back and forth. The rusty chains squeaked mournfully. He tilted his head back and asked:
“Well? What do you want?”
Sasuke sat beside him, fingers gripping the cold iron chains of the other swing. His eyes were sharp, stripped of childish carelessness.
“Power,” he said flatly.
Menma arched a brow, still rocking.
“Power, huh…” He chuckled. “Be specific.”
“I heard you’re studying sensory techniques.” Sasuke’s voice trembled with restrained tension. “Share your method.”
Menma stretched out his legs and stilled the swing, studying him.
“You still owe me from last time,” he reminded lazily. “I’m not an academy teacher handing out knowledge for free.”
“I know,” Sasuke ground his teeth. His eyes flashed red for a moment—a single tomoe spun in the Sharingan. “I can’t copy jutsu yet, but soon I will. Then I’ll have something to trade.”
Menma frowned, though interest flickered in his gaze.
“Hm. I see you’re serious. But why the rush?” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve already gone through all the scrolls I gave you?”
“Almost,” Sasuke admitted, and that answer genuinely surprised Menma. “I’m even considering studying a second nature. But sensory comes first. With it I can track down Itachi.”
The name fell like a sentence. Sasuke’s voice carried so much hate and obsession that even the swings seemed to stop creaking, as though the world itself held its breath.
Menma stopped rocking and looked at him intently.
“All right, friend. I’ll be honest. You can’t learn sensory skills from a description. You need special equipment—equipment only the Hokage has access to. The old man will never give you permission.”
“Damn it!” Sasuke slammed his fist into the tree beside him. Bark split, his knuckles went white. “How am I supposed to grow stronger if everything is just forbidden?!”
[There it is—the first notes of desertion. Leave him like this, and in a few years he’ll run to the first snake offering him power. I need to steer him. Carefully.]
“The Hokage isn’t the only option,” Menma said evenly, fingers steepled. “Konoha has other masters.”
Sasuke spun toward him instantly. Hope flared in his eyes.
“You know someone… stronger than Itachi?” His voice shook. “Who? You have to tell me!”
Menma raised a brow, smirking faintly.
“Have to?”
Sasuke froze. His shoulders twitched, then he let out a heavy breath.
“I… fine. When it comes to Itachi, I lose control. Sorry.”
“No harm done,” Menma nodded. He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower but firmer. “There is someone. A true genius. More than that—the one who trained Itachi.”
Sasuke’s eyes widened.
“Trained… Itachi?”
“Exactly,” Menma confirmed. “And before you argue—remember: the student isn’t always stronger than the teacher. Hiruzen, for example, could wipe out all three Sannin at once.”
Sasuke held his breath, as if afraid to scare away the revelation.
“Who is it?” he whispered, his voice ringing with fragile hope, like a man glimpsing light after endless darkness.
Menma let the silence stretch. The creak of the swings cut through it like a dramatic beat.
“Hatake Kakashi.”
