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Twin Demons. Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2025-08-24 14:14:52 +0000 UTCAfter class, Menma wasn’t in a hurry to go home. Instead, he turned toward the academy library, sending a shadow clone ahead to make lunch.
The speed at which he devoured knowledge was frightening. Clones gave him a monstrous boost—after just a month his chakra flow had loosened so much it surprised even him. Before, the energy crawled sluggishly through his channels, thick and sticky, like molasses. Now it surged like a spring river after the thaw. On one hand, progress. On the other—limits. The technique Mizuki-sensei had shown him no longer made sense.
The next steps were subtler things: swirling funnels, spirals, zigzags—the same tricks Hiruzen had shown off so flashily during the demonstration.
[Except they have no intention of teaching “ordinary students” any of that. And the “kind old man” clearly isn’t in a rush to power up his jinchūriki.]
Which left Menma with only one legal option—the library.
He hadn’t expected much, but was still disappointed. “Library” was putting it generously. A tiny room with six shelves. Three of them—dreary duplicates of the same textbooks handed out in class. The rest—a pile of worn-out novels and a few collections of fairy tales.
Students had open access to higher-grade books. Menma picked up three thin manuals on chakra control and sat at the nearest table. He skimmed the first, the second, the third…
“Amazing,” he muttered dryly. “A whole three exercises: one’s exactly what Mizuki gave us, the second’s toughening skin and muscles, the third’s pushing chakra outward.”
[The deeper I dig, the more convinced I am: Konoha’s leadership deliberately stunts their shinobi’s growth. How else do you explain such a crumbs-only diet?]
Still, he kept the manuals—two of the exercises would come in handy. But first, he meant to squeeze every drop of progress out of internal control before moving on to external.
Leaving the library, Menma almost immediately ran into Sasuke. The Uchiha raised a brow at the books in Menma’s hands and smirked.
“So you also think the academy can make you stronger?” he drawled. “Waste of effort. Everything they give here can be mastered in a year. That’s what my brother did.”
The last words dripped with pride. Diagnosis: brocon.
Menma’s eyes flicked to the identical stack of textbooks in Sasuke’s hands.
“Funny,” he said evenly. “Looks like you took the same bait.”
“I’m returning them,” Sasuke declared with great solemnity. “I’ve already wrung out all the useful parts. Surprising you only made it here now. I was in the library on day one.”
“I had more important things to do,” Menma replied in the same tone. “But I see you’re after strength too. How about an exchange of experience?”
Sasuke narrowed his eyes. Interest flickered, but his voice stayed cold:
“Five minutes. On the roof.”
He turned and went to return his books to the librarian.
Menma shrugged and headed upstairs. The stairwell wasn’t locked, and soon he stepped out onto a broad rooftop overlooking the village. A lone bench stood there—a spot clearly made for fresh-air talks.
Sasuke didn’t keep him waiting. He sat down, arms crossed, and got straight to the point:
“Well? What are you offering?”
“That depends on what you’ve got,” Menma switched to a businesslike tone.
“I’m not handing out techniques,” Sasuke cut him off. “They’re passed down only within the Uchiha clan.”
[Yeah, sure. Especially that fireball technique half of fire-users know. But fine—I won’t shatter the boy’s illusions.]
“I’m not after techniques yet,” Menma sighed. “It’s like martial arts—without stretching and muscle training, trying to master a spin-kick is pointless.”
Sasuke nodded, as if hearing something utterly obvious. His clan had drilled such truths into him since childhood.
“That’s why,” Menma continued, “I’m looking for chakra control drills. Got anything worthwhile?”
Sasuke leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes narrowed.
“Maybe. What do you have in return?”
“An exercise on external control.”
The deal turned out surprisingly profitable.
Sasuke shared a method for shaping chakra into a gaseous state—the foundation for future fire techniques. Menma, in return, gave him the water-ball exercise: hold a sphere of water in your palm and pierce it from within using only chakra. The first step toward Rasengan, and excellent for developing fine control.
[Not like he can reach Rasengan without more clues. But when the time comes, Chidori will come easier. Fine by me.]
As for cover stories, Menma wasn’t worried. If anyone asked where he got the exercise—he’d just blame Kurama. Say the demon had whispered a trick from his father’s signature technique. Everyone would buy it.
“Huh,” Menma muttered, jotting down Sasuke’s notes in his notebook. “Funny, isn’t it? We’re at a shinobi academy, a place where teachers are supposed to pass on knowledge… yet we’re trading it like peasants at a market. Bartering.”
Sasuke shrugged, but there was an unexpected note of approval in his voice.
“In Konoha it’s not so bad. My brother said in other countries it’s much worse.”
“And how would he know?” Menma narrowed his eyes.
“My brother’s a jōnin!” Sasuke straightened instantly, shoulders back, chin high. “He’s completed hundreds of missions. He’s seen the world.”
[So much puppy-like admiration in him… It’ll hurt all the more when Itachi drives a kunai through his heart.]
“Anyway,” Menma changed the subject, “coming to the park this weekend? We’re playing hide-and-seek.”
Sasuke smirked.
“Of course. You and Kiba might be faster than me. But let’s see you try to hide.”
Every weekend the Uzumaki twins hosted a “big game” in the park. In practice—it was training disguised as fun. Clan kids flocked there eagerly, while Menma got a chance to build connections and, when possible, trade knowledge.
[Wonder how much more I can squeeze out of that same water-ball exercise?]
///
Answer: a lot.
Kiba, glowing with pride, revealed the secret of spiral-shaped chakra—indispensable in his clan for performing Gatsūga. Technically he hadn’t broken any rules—without the clan’s beast-mimicry style the technique went nowhere. But to Menma, it was gold: the spiral principle mattered in countless jutsu.
Chōji was another story. No “technique-for-technique” exchange—only barter. For an all-you-can-eat dinner at Ichiraku he gave up an exercise on molding chakra into beads. Menma ended up paying for twenty bowls of double pork ramen and watching a blissful Akimichi pass out from overeating.
[Expensive… but worth it. Not every day you find a shinobi willing to sell even the simplest drill for food.]
Shikamaru, as usual, played the lazy victim.
“Working hard stresses me out,” he sighed.
That’s when heavy artillery came in—Naruko. She nagged him all day until Shikamaru admitted it was easier to hand over the exercise than endure the torment.
Shino, on the other hand, shared easily. There was even a flicker of gratitude in his eyes—the Uzumaki treated him as an equal comrade, not “the creepy bug guy.”
Ino was trickier. The fashionista from the Yamanaka clan refused to hear of “technique-for-technique.” But Naruko lured her in with a girly pact—shopping in exchange for an exercise.
A few clanless kids also opened up. Each had picked up little drills from their parents, and, flattered by the friendship of the Fourth Hokage’s children, shared them readily.
Menma had studied shinobi etiquette in advance. He phrased requests properly, making sure no one felt pressured or bound by tradition. Chakra-control drills weren’t jutsu or hiden—they were common groundwork. And good chakra control was mandatory for any jōnin.
Which meant the Uzumaki twins now had more than enough to keep them busy.
///
Meanwhile, at the academy, Iruka was wrestling with another problem: how to tell the twins apart. His brooding mind finally produced what he thought was a brilliant solution.
“Now you won’t fool me!” he announced with a triumphant smile, approaching the twins’ desk. In his hands were two badges with big letters, “M” and “N.” He promptly pinned them to their jackets. “There! Now I’ll always know who’s who!”
Menma and Naruko exchanged a glance. Mischief lit up in both sets of eyes.
“Heh, look,” the boy tapped his own badge, where the letter “N” gleamed. “I’m Nenmа now, and you’re Maruko.”
The class burst into laughter.
“Hey!” Iruka frowned and quickly swapped the badges.
“Haha!” Naruko cackled. “I was joking! The first time was right. Maybe.”
The laughter grew louder. Even the quietest students were choking on giggles.
Iruka grabbed his head and groaned, as if aging on the spot.
“Why me?..”
///
One day Menma caught himself on an unpleasant thought: he wasn’t training enough.
Yes, shadow clones worked wonders. They sped up jutsu practice, let him improve chakra control ten times faster. But there was one catch: taijutsu didn’t benefit. Muscles couldn’t be “multiplied” by clones—strength, stamina, and strikes had to be built the hard way.
Otherwise he risked becoming a “glass cannon”: a sea of techniques, but down with one punch to the jaw. Besides, a stronger body meant another key bonus—it could handle the crushing backlash when clones dispelled, memories and exhaustion slamming into him all at once.
And then… there was the guilty itch from beating Kiba in that race. More precisely, from the fact that he’d won by outright cheating.
[Time to fix the imbalance. And who in Konoha’s the top taijutsu specialist? Of course—the Green Beast. Might Guy. One of the few jōnin willing to train for free. So far, the craziest thing I’ve seen in this life.]
Finding him was laughably easy. All you had to do was step outside and listen for the deafening shouts about “the power of youth.” Guy used his voice as often as his fists.
The real challenge lay elsewhere: how to persuade him? Counting on a simple “uncle, teach us” was far too optimistic. Guy might look like a fool, but he was still a shinobi.
So that evening, Menma gathered his sister at the kitchen table for a “briefing.”
“All right,” he leaned his elbows on the table, staring at Naruko with the seriousness of both an older brother and a field commander. “Let’s run through the behavior model.”
“I’m supposed to say…” she drawled, lazily twirling a lock of hair around her finger, “that Gramps told us to learn from him.”
[Technically, Hiruzen had only said to draw on Guy’s “spirit of rivalry.” But who cares about details? The important thing is invoking authority. Gramps casts a long shadow—perfect cover for fishing.]
“Good,” Menma nodded, pleased. “Next.”
“Then I’m supposed to say I want to train so I can compare myself to Dad.”
[Minato—the sainted image of Konoha. No one can refuse that argument.]
“Wait.” Naruko frowned. “But what’s in it for Guy?”
“Because he had a strong bond with his own father,” Menma explained patiently. “If we show we’re walking in Minato’s footsteps, it’ll hit him hard. Got it?”
Naruko snorted but nodded.
“No more questions, then.” Menma snapped his fingers. “Dismiss your clones and off to bed.”
“But it’s only seven!” she protested. “Why so early?”
“Because the Green Beast starts training at five in the morning.”
///
The next morning they headed for the outskirts of Konoha. The sun hadn’t risen yet, the streets lay drowned in pre-dawn mist, and the grass sparkled with dew.
“I could say it’s beautiful,” Naruko yawned, hugging herself, “if it weren’t so cold.”
Menma adjusted his jacket and frowned at the empty path.
“Bear with it. In a minute our green key to taijutsu will appear.”
And he was right.
Out of the fog burst… a monster. Dressed in a skin-tight green suit, flashing a blinding white grin, and, worst of all, running on his hands. Behind him—a smaller monster, clearly Rock Lee, already taken as his student.
Menma tried to start his carefully prepared speech… and drowned in the roar.
“POWEEEER OF YOOOUTH!!!” the two green beasts bellowed in unison, storming past in a cloud of dust.
He coughed, twitched an eyelid, and thought:
[I knew it would be tough. But this tough?]
“What are you waiting for?!” Naruko shouted, bolting after them. “If I woke up this early, I’m training full out!”
Within seconds she caught up, flipped onto her hands, and joined the run.
“I SEE THE FLAMES OF YOUTH BURNING IN YOU, LITTLE GIRL!” Guy roared, officially welcoming her into the pack of green monsters.
Menma froze, jaw hanging.
[Seriously? That easy? I wracked my brain, planned everything—and all it took was standing on your hands and yelling? I’ll never understand these people.]
He sighed, flipped upside down, planted his palms on the ground, and, gritting his teeth, ran to catch up.
