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Twin Demons. Chapter 23
🕑 Added 2025-09-19 21:34:08 +0000 UTCA fresh building had recently sprung up beside the Shinigami shrine — a white one-story structure with a bright red roof. On top, the whirlpool emblem gleamed proudly above a large sign: “Fuinjutsu Shop.”
The store was open only two hours a day — not as a marketing trick, but as a harsh reality. One hour in the morning was Naruко’s shift — loud, cheerful, pulling in customers with sheer pressure and charisma. One hour in the evening was Menma’s — quiet, laid-back, and devilishly calculating.
It was his hour now.
Menma sat behind a modest counter — just a couple of stools, the counter itself, and two shelves nearby: one with scrolls, the other with ink jars. At first glance, the shop might have looked like a pathetic parody of business, if not for the “Uzumaki” sign above the door. The name alone worked better than any advertisement.
The boy leaned lazily over a math notebook. His pencil scratched against the paper, numbers mixing in his head with seal diagrams.
The door creaked softly, and the bell above it jingled. Menma, unhurried, lifted his gaze from a bisector problem and glanced at the visitor with languid interest.
In the doorway stood a girl: miniskirt, mesh shirt, and over it a long beige coat, hiding whatever the mesh might have revealed a little too openly.
[Oh, Shinigami, another victim of “personal style.” In the shinobi world, everyone feels obliged to stand out — the more absurd, the better. Still… at least Mitarashi Anko is pleasant to look at. Unlike Maito Gai.]
Anko strolled lazily along the shelf, running her finger over the glass display. She stayed silent for a minute, then snorted:
“Just blank scrolls. From the legendary Uzumaki shop, I expected more.”
Menma replied in a rehearsed tone, as if reading instructions off a label:
“These aren’t ordinary scrolls or ordinary ink. If you look at the back, you’ll see the Uzumaki clan crest. Everything’s made with a special family recipe, tested for centuries.”
Anko raised a brow and leaned closer, examining the markings on the goods.
“Oh-ho, is that so…” she said, sounding more intrigued.
[I just sold her nonsense with the straightest face. These scrolls are no different from the ones Uncle Hiroshi sells around the corner. I just slapped our clan crest on them and tripled the price. And people happily buy them. Reputation is a mighty thing.]
Anko turned from the shelf to face Menma.
“And why do you only work two hours a day?”
The boy shrugged, as if he’d answered this question a hundred times already:
“That’s enough for us. The shop is just for taking orders: what and how much needs sealing. Weapons, food, building materials — we handle anything.”
[Every new order is a puzzle. And puzzles are the best way to train your brain. The more you work, the faster your chakra reserve grows.]
“You do all that yourselves?” Anko asked in genuine surprise. “But you’re just kids!”
Menma set down his pencil and nodded toward the wall behind him. A photo hung there: the Hokage surrounded by smiling twins, holding a massive scroll. Beside it — a letter of recommendation stamped with Hiruzen’s seal.
“We’ve got a quality guarantee,” he said calmly.
[That photo is our gold. The Hokage’s word beats any signboard. And Hiruzen really does help sometimes: gives tips on tackling tricky formulas. I nearly fried my brain trying to seal ramen. I accounted for temperature, bowl weight, ingredients — and it still wouldn’t seal. Turned out you have to factor in the caloric value of the food! That’s when I understood why most shinobi quit fuinjutsu at the “put sword in — take sword out” stage. And then there are people like Orochimaru, who manage to stuff other people’s DNA into a seal… genius.]
Anko’s gaze shifted to a sheet pinned to the wall.
“What’s this?” she frowned. “You’re buying jutsu at twice the price of their rank?”
“Yup,” Menma confirmed casually. “Gotta spend the earnings somewhere.”
[We get at least ten clients a day. Everyone wants hot homemade meals in the field or an arsenal packed neatly in a scroll. We even have to take two days off a week just not to keel over at the ink. The money piles up fast. We own our house, no rent. The stipend covers food and pocket money. Hokage’s office pays for materials. So cash just sits there. And I hate letting resources rot unused.]
“I’m not talking about the money,” Anko waved her hand. “I mean the idea itself! Shinobi guard their techniques with their lives, and you want to buy them up like vegetables at the market.”
Menma leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, and drawled lazily:
“Well, I’m not asking for clan secrets or S-rank jutsu. I take anything. Even the most basic tricks any genin knows.”
“But why?” Anko’s voice rang with genuine bewilderment.
Menma smirked faintly at the corner of his lips:
“For self-development. I don’t have to study them all. But ideas can come from anywhere. Even the most useless jutsu can spark inspiration for something of my own. Yesterday I bought Shunshin. I know my future jōnin-sensei will have to teach it to me anyway. But why wait when I can start breaking it down now?”
[Knowledge is a resource too. And I don’t waste resources.]
“Now I get it,” Anko smirked, narrowing her eyes slightly. “The only people selling you jutsu are genin who haven’t yet figured out how the system works.”
Menma lazily tapped his pencil against the counter.
“Not only them,” he drawled. “Everyone needs money. One time even a jōnin colleague of yours stopped by.”
“A jōnin?” Anko’s brows shot up. “And which one of ours is so enterprising?”
Menma frowned, trying to pull the name from memory:
“Young, green vest. Always chewing senbon, like he’s never heard of toothpicks.”
“Shiranui Genma,” Anko identified instantly.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Menma nodded. “He sold me the technique for rapid senbon spitting. Useless to me, honestly — I don’t chew senbon and don’t plan to. But the description included a new chakra formation on the tongue. That’s what I’m working on now. Genma got easy money. Everyone’s happy.”
“Easy money, huh?” A predatory, openly mercantile gleam flashed in Anko’s eyes. “Will you buy academy techniques?”
“No,” Menma cut her off calmly. “Because I already bought them.”
Anko bit her lip like a sulky kid and snorted.
“Damn, someone sly beat me to it! Let’s see… what basic stuff do I still know… Aha! Kid, you know Killing Intent?”
“Not yet,” Menma admitted. “But I’ve heard of the art. I’ll buy it for the price of two D-rank jutsu. Deal?”
“Of course it’s a deal! They should teach you that on your first missions, but since you’re so impatient…” Anko smirked and held out her hand. “Money first!”
Menma didn’t even twitch. He calmly pulled a blank notebook and pen from under the counter and laid them in front of her.
“Not so fast. Demonstration first, instructions after.”
“Ha, easy,” Anko grinned predatorily. Her eyes gleamed, and she fixed them on Menma.
The world seemed to dim. The air grew heavy and sticky, like swamp mire. A second later, a shiver shot through Menma. His knees trembled, a trickle of cold sweat slid down his back. His throat went bone dry, as if he’d exhaled all the air in one breath.
“Well, kid,” Anko asked sweetly, “not pissing yourself yet?”
Menma grimaced, punched his thigh with a fist to shake off the trembling.
“Under control,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “Write the instructions.”
[Now that’s something… The aura, the pressure, like death itself staring straight at you. This one’s worth studying.]
Anko chuckled in satisfaction, scribbled a few lines, and handed him the notebook.
“Done.”
“Sign it at the end too,” Menma said evenly.
“Why?” Anko raised a brow.
“For authenticity,” he explained, nodding toward the photo of the Hokage on the wall. “The Hokage personally reviews the instructions. If he finds a deliberate mistake — he personally pays the scammer a visit.”
Anko flinched almost imperceptibly, then forced a smile.
“Oh, but my handwriting’s terrible!” She quickly snatched back the notebook, tore out the page, and stuffed it in her pocket. “I’ll just rewrite it, much better that way…”
[Yeah, right. Another failed attempt to trick the ‘naive kids.’ Happens almost every day. Shinobi, honestly — they’ll lie at every chance they get.]
///
After lunch, right on schedule, Hiruzen stepped onto Uzumaki grounds. The old man never changed his habits: steady stride, hands behind his back, pipe between his teeth. He looked more like a wise neighbor than the Hokage.
Naturally, Naruko couldn’t resist — and this time decided to try out her freshly bought technique.
“Gotcha!” She shot him a bloodthirsty glare.
Hiruzen narrowed his eyes for a second, then took a calm puff from his pipe.
“Mmm, Killing Intent,” he said evenly. “Useful skill.”
Naruko puffed out her cheeks.
“Gramps! Why didn’t it work on you? I tested it on all my classmates, they dropped like flies! It was hilarious!”
“Spare the children, Naruko-chan,” Hiruzen chuckled softly, exhaling a smoky cloud. “And to answer your question: with age, you build an immunity. The more often your life hangs by a thread, the harder it is to impress you with the threat of death.”
Menma looked up from his notebook, where he’d been sketching something.
“I have a question,” he said. “You once mentioned that any technique can be perfected within five years. Does that rule apply to Killing Intent too?”
“Ho-ho. I see you’re not just collecting techniques for the numbers, but trying to master each one,” Hiruzen chuckled warmly. “A good mindset, Menma-kun. Even with my entire library, I have a dozen favorite techniques I polished to perfection.”
“Gramps!” Naruko protested. “You’re dodging the question again! Answer straight!”
“Ah, forgive an old man,” Hiruzen coughed lightly and drew on his pipe once more. “Yes, Menma-kun. Killing Intent can be developed. At higher levels, victims begin to see hallucinations of their worst nightmares. I haven’t met such masters personally, but I’ve heard that their aura becomes visible, taking the form of a demon.”
[Ha! That’s Zabuza’s signature trick. Even veterans shook under his Killing Intent. And it looked damn stylish. Definitely worth training. Maybe you can’t kill a jōnin with it, but you can scatter a crowd of genin with just a smirk.]
“So, if there are no more questions…” Hiruzen cleared his throat, pausing as he glanced at the twins, “then let’s complete today’s quota.”
He walked over to a row of enormous water barrels nearby. There were about a dozen of them, each large enough for a whole squad of genin to bathe inside. Using ready-made water was far easier and cheaper than creating it anew with jutsu. Nearby stood a massive brazier, logs stacked inside, ready to blaze with simple firewood. A little further off hummed a heavy electric generator, thick cables trailing from it — the power source for lightning-style training.
[Convenient setup, old man. Saves his own chakra.]
Hiruzen formed seals, and with a splash, ten tons of water vanished from a barrel, instantly reappearing in the scroll Menma held. He felt the parchment tremble in his hands — as if an entire ocean now sloshed inside.
A minute later it was Naruko’s turn. With a new set of seals, Hiruzen unleashed a roaring wave of fire dozens of meters long. The girl squealed in delight but managed to thrust her scroll forward in time — and the flames vanished as if they’d never existed.
Two minutes, and they already had two fresh A-rank scrolls in hand.
“That was scroll number three hundred and one!” Naruko jabbed her finger at Hiruzen triumphantly. “You promised you’d teach us a new jutsu!”
“I remember my promises,” Hiruzen replied with a gentle smile. He carefully tucked the two scrolls into his sleeve, then added, “I made arrangements with Enma. Today he’ll teach you his signature technique.”
He nicked his finger and slapped his palm against the ground. A seal flared, and beside him appeared a monkey in kimono, his eyes sharp yet faintly weary.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Hiruzen said, trading a quick glance with his summoned partner. “You know what to do.”
And with that, leaving the twins in Enma’s care, he strolled away unhurriedly, taking the scent of tobacco with him.
“Hey, brats,” Enma smirked. “Been a while. What’s it been… a year and a half?”
“In that time, I’ve grown and become cooler than you,” Naruko declared grandly, running a hand through her hair, tied into two pigtails. “Now I’ve got two tails, and you still only have one!”
“I admit defeat,” the monkey bowed with a slight smile, swishing his white tail. “But I won’t waste time. Tell me, what do you know about adamantine?”
“That’s the stuff you used to kick the Kyūbi’s butt!” Naruko exclaimed in awe.
“You could put it that way,” Enma scratched his head sheepishly. “But to be precise, adamantine is the highest form of chakra. Its carriers are descendants of the Senju and related clans. It’s strong enough to restrain even a bijū.”
“Wait a sec!” Naruko frowned. “If you’ve got adamantine, then… are you our tailed relative?!”
“Only spiritually,” Enma corrected gently. “When I was still a child, I wandered into the Forest of Death and gorged on the fruit of trees grown by Hashirama. Along with the fruit, I absorbed his chakra.”
[Unbelievable. And yet I buy it. If Kinkaku and Ginkaku could snag power by munching on Kurama, then what’s stopping a monkey from juicing up on fruit? Too bad you can’t awaken Wood Release that way, or I’d have moved into the Forest of Death already.]
“So you’ll teach us adamantine techniques?” Menma asked, arms folded across his chest.
“Not all at once,” Enma raised a finger. “Like the Sharingan, adamantine has to be awakened first.”
“And how exactly?” Menma frowned.
“The most reliable way is to face a bijū in battle,” Enma said seriously. “Hiruzen told me your mother awakened adamantine at your age, when the Eight-Tails attacked Uzushio.”
Menma narrowed his eyes.
“And a fight with a jinchūriki won’t do?”
[For the sake of the experiment, I could lift the seal of will on Kurama for a couple of minutes. Then put it back. Entirely manageable.]
“No,” Enma answered firmly. “It has to be a real bijū. That’s how I awakened adamantine myself.”
“So you came here just to say you can’t do anything?!” Naruko protested, stomping her foot.
“That would be too cruel,” Enma shook his head. “Over the past six months, I came up with a way to manage without a direct fight.”
He pulled a large red crystal from his robes. It glowed from within with a soft yet unsettling light, as if a bonfire burned inside it.
“This is sealed chakra of the Four-Tails,” Enma explained. “He gifted it to my grandfather a hundred years ago. Now you can use it for training.”
“How exactly?” Menma asked at once.
Enma activated the crystal. From it burst a stream of acrid red chakra, gathering into the form of a small Four-Tails. It stood motionless, which somehow made it even more terrifying. The air thickened, and Menma felt his skin burn just from the entity’s presence.
“Your task is to fight it,” Enma said, extending his palm. From it shot a chain of chakra, shimmering with a silvery glow. “This is what it should look like. Not as fast as a real battle with a bijū, but safer.”
Menma narrowed his eyes, then smirked.
“You don’t need to worry about speed.”
He formed a hand seal, and ten shadow clones appeared around him, spreading out in a circle around the crystal, each extending a palm the way Enma had shown.
“No need to rush,” Enma waved his tail casually. “I won’t start teaching you an adamantine technique until you bring Hiruzen another three hundred scrolls.”
[Cheeky monkeys! Won’t give a thing for free. I could churn out more than two scrolls a day — I’ve got the chakra — but I won’t. Doubt there are even ten adamantine techniques in total. At two per year, I’ll calmly claim my inheritance before graduating the Academy. Better to spend spare chakra perfecting basic shinobi skills, not feeding Hiruzen’s arsenal.]
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