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Twin Demons. Chapter 9
🕑 Added 2025-08-22 16:40:55 +0000 UTCMenma sat on the temple roof, one leg bent, his elbow resting on his knee. The night was quiet and damp—after the evening rain the air was thick with the smell of wet grass and stone. Somewhere below, in the dark clearing, a thousand of his clones sat with closed eyes, lost in the same monotonous rhythm: breathing, focusing, pushing chakra through their channels.
A little further off, on the opposite side of the clearing, a thousand of his sister’s clones were doing exactly the same thing. Perfectly in sync, like some bizarre army of twins with identical expressions. If a stranger stumbled upon the scene, they’d probably think they’d walked into a creepy cult gathering, not a training session.
The Uzumaki temple stood on Konoha’s outskirts, away from the noisy streets and prying eyes. Around it stretched only green meadows rolling into the forest, with no neighbors to complain about their nightly experiments. Well—except the Uchiha, who lived barely a kilometer away. But no complaints had come so far. Maybe they didn’t want trouble with “the Hokage’s foster grandchildren,” or maybe they just didn’t care.
Menma glanced at his clones. They sat on the damp earth, clothes soaked through, hair plastered to their foreheads—yet not a single one twitched. They stubbornly kept circulating chakra, as if being drenched and freezing didn’t matter in the slightest.
That was the beauty of shadow clones: they kept his personality, thought like him, but were absolutely obedient. Order them to march in circles or hop on one leg for three days—they’d do it without complaint. Otherwise the technique would be… not exactly practical.
“Go sit in the Academy in my place while I train? Screw you!” Menma imagined a grumbling clone and smirked. If the jutsu worked like that, it would’ve been tossed out ages ago.
On top of that, a clone’s experience could be absorbed selectively. If he wanted, he could take in everything they’d gone through. If not—he could simply dismiss them with no side effects. In canon, Naruto didn’t even realize this for three whole years, not until Kakashi shoved his face in it. Three years! With Kakashi and Jiraiya as his teachers, no less. And neither thought to explain the basic mechanics of the jutsu.
[Sure, I can buy that Naruto ignored the instructions in the scroll. But Kakashi? Jiraiya? What, do they have a hobby—“cripple the jinchūriki’s development until the world’s good and doomed”?]
With a head on his shoulders and the benefit of canon knowledge, Menma intended to squeeze the situation for all it was worth. Because no one knew when schemers like Hiruzen and Danzō might decide to cut off their air.
The clones down below weren’t feeding him boring memories of sitting twelve hours in lotus pose. Why would they? Who needed to relive twelve straight hours of soaking their backside on damp ground? No—Menma took only one thing from them: chakra altered by training.
The process was slow but effective. Like salting water: throw one spoon of salt into a lake—nothing changes. A thousand spoons—the water tastes different. A million—and the lake turns into a sea.
That’s why the clone technique was useless to most. An average shinobi simply didn’t have the chakra to make even ten copies. And with fewer than ten, the effect was negligible. For most, it was easier and more productive to cycle chakra on their own.
Menma rose to his feet, shaking the rain off his cloak.
“Gentlemen,” he called, loud enough for the clones to hear. “Twelve hours of hard work. Let’s see the result.”
“Yes, sir!” the clones shouted in unison.
And in the next instant, the whole thousand dispersed at once.
The impact hit like a mountain crashing down on his shoulders. Hundreds of streams of chakra poured into his system, mingled, reshaped it—and along with them came such a crushing wave of fatigue that the world went dark.
///
When Menma came to, he was already in his bed. His whole body prickled, as if pierced by hundreds of needles, and he was ravenously hungry. His stomach growled in protest.
“Big brother!” his sister’s voice rang from the hall. A heartbeat later, Naruko burst in, beaming, and plopped onto his bed. “You’re finally awake!”
“‘Finally’?” he croaked, propping himself on his elbows. “How long was I out?”
“Thirty-five hours,” Enma cut in from the doorway, tail twitching irritably. “You could’ve died if not for the Uzumaki endurance and the Kyūbi’s regeneration. What idiot dispels a thousand clones at once?”
Menma winced and rubbed his temples.
“But I didn’t take their memories. Why do I feel like hell?”
“You seriously thought a sudden modification of chakra would be painless?” Enma bared his fangs. “In Hidden Waterfall they have an artifact—the Hero’s Water. One sip boosts your chakra instantly. The effect’s temporary, and fatal for most. Only a rare few can endure it.” He narrowed his eyes, staring straight into Menma’s. “You just got lucky to be one of them.”
Naruko flinched as if struck. Her eyes glistened suspiciously.
“You… almost died?”
“The big hairy one is exaggerating,” Menma drawled, shooting Enma a sharp glance. “Jinchūriki are built for sudden chakra surges. That won’t kill us.”
“So you weren’t risking anything?” Naruko sniffled and quickly wiped her tears with her sleeve.
“Of course not. I’ve always got everything under control,” he replied calmly, pulling his sister into an embrace.
Enma snorted disdainfully, clearly unconvinced, and padded out of the room, claws clicking against the floor.
“By the way,” Menma let go of Naruko and stretched. “It’s Monday. School day. And I’m, you know, not at the Academy.”
“Ah, whatever!” Naruko waved it off like the Academy was just some optional basket-weaving club. “I already went there this morning and told them you were sick. Oh, you should’ve seen Iruka’s face!” She scrunched her nose, covering her mouth with her hand. “He was so relieved he wouldn’t have to mix us up again. Made me answer for both of us all day.”
“Reckless move,” Menma narrowed his eyes. “But we’re not going to let that slide, are we?”
Naruko’s eyes gleamed, her lips curling in a wicked grin.
“He’s going to regret today. We’ll make sure he learns to hate the word ‘twins.’”
She launched into an enthusiastic list of ways to drive Iruka up the wall: synchronized answers, switching places. Menma half-listened, while inwardly checking the results of his insane training.
His chakra felt different now. He no longer needed a focus seal or to close his eyes. The source of power pulsed on its own—heavy, thick, sticky, like sweet syrup… only with shards of ice floating inside. But it moved!
That tiny advancement was enough to let him create a hundred more clones than before. Previously, too much chakra had just bled into nothing. Of course, he had no intention of repeating the thousand-clone stunt—losing thirty-five hours of his life was too much. Maybe on a weekend, when he had nothing better to do. On weekdays—only in reasonable doses.
“Naruko,” he interrupted her plans for “teacher revenge.” “How did you train while I was out? You didn’t just laze around, did you?”
“Nope!” she lifted her chin proudly. “After you… well, let’s call it your ‘departure,’ Enma-sensei stayed with me.”
[She’s already calling the monkey “sensei”? Guy racks up points with my sister the second I black out.]
“He said normal shinobi train gradually. That slow development of the chakra channels doesn’t overload the body.” Naruko raised her finger like she was quoting a library scroll. “So we dispelled my clones one by one and checked how I felt. At clone number two hundred seventeen, my body started hurting, so we stopped. Since then I don’t go above that number.”
Menma listened to the tailed tutor’s advice—but decided to do things his way.
The following week he dedicated to experiments. Turned out if he dispelled exactly three hundred fifty-two clones, his body would shut down for nine hours. No more, no less.
Thus the Uzumaki twins built themselves a new routine: at six sharp every morning they created clones, went off to the Academy, and in the evening at nine they dispelled them—dropping instantly into sleep. Then at six it started all over again. Progress became much faster, and falling asleep had never been so easy.
///
After PE class at the Academy, the children split into the usual changing rooms: boys to the left, girls to the right. Sweaty and flushed, they switched into clean everyday clothes. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, damp fabric, and soap.
Menma pulled off his T-shirt and was about to change when Kiba, restless as ever, scrambled onto a bench and yelled:
“Hey, guys! I’ve got an idea! Let’s have a tournament this weekend!”
The changing room fell silent at once. Even those fumbling with their shoelaces looked up.
“Rules are simple!” Kiba gestured excitedly. “Everyone brings something tasty. Cakes, pizza, sushi—whatever! But no vegetables, got it, Shino?” He jabbed a finger at his friend, who only adjusted his glasses in silence. “That’ll be the entry fee. The challenge—a race with obstacles. First one to the finish wins all the goodies!”
“I’m in!” boomed Chōji’s voice, his eyes instantly blazing with fire.
“Don’t bother,” Shikamaru muttered, yawning as he leaned against the wall. “Running isn’t your strong suit.”
“When food’s at stake, I’m unstoppable!” Chōji clenched his fists, radiating iron determination.
“There’s our second contestant!” Kiba grinned. “After me, of course.”
“What makes you so confident?” Sasuke asked with a smirk as he zipped up his jacket. “In class I always outrun you.”
“That’s because I’m taking it easy,” Kiba waved him off. “You think I’m stupid enough to go all out and stink of sweat the whole day? No way. But this weekend I’ll show my true speed! Come and see for yourself.”
“The winner takes it all?” Sasuke clarifiedl.
“That’s the whole point!” Kiba nodded fervently.
Sasuke smirked faintly.
“Then consider the goodies already mine.”
Listening to the exchange, Menma chuckled inwardly.
[Yeah, Sasuke’s actually a decent guy. Talks to people, cracks jokes, even smiles. If only he could stay like this. But no… later his life gets wrecked by ‘caring’ Itachi.]
“Count me in too,” Menma said evenly as he pulled on his shirt.
“Now that’s the spirit!” Kiba grinned, scribbling something in his notebook.
[Why am I even doing this? Sure as hell not for a bag of chips. But it’s the first event where almost the whole class shows up. Would be stupid to miss a chance to build connections. Let them think I’m chasing the prize too.]
“We should invite the girls,” Shino suddenly suggested in his flat, muffled voice. “That would raise the stakes.”
“Ugh, no girls!” Kiba made a face like someone had offered him a glass of vinegar. “They’ll show up in dresses, start squealing, and ruin everything! This tournament’s for guys only!”
“What a drag…” Shikamaru groaned, dropping his head onto his arms.
///
On Sunday morning, every boy in the class—except Shikamaru, whose slacker code strictly forbade running—gathered in a park on Konoha’s outskirts. The spot was perfect: a wide clearing, forest nearby, and just beyond it a small hill crowned with a lone tall tree.
“All participants, gather up!” Kiba barked with a commander’s tone. In his hands was a wicker basket. “Drop your goodies in.”
Under his critical eye, the boys placed their “stakes” one by one.
Menma neatly set down a box of pastries.
Sasuke, looking oddly proud, offered a tin of homemade cookies.
Chōji, nearly in tears, parted with a bag of chips.
Shino, unhurried, produced a jar of honey.
Kiba himself added a packet of snacks.
Then one classmate dropped in a paper-wrapped bundle. Kiba raised a suspicious eyebrow and sniffed at it.
“Fish… pies?” His voice carried the same horror as if he’d found a dead ferret in the basket. “I said only tasty stuff!”
“Well… my grandma likes them,” the boy mumbled.
“Out!” Kiba barked, jabbing a finger toward the park exit.
The boy slouched off, blushing furiously. No one stopped him—fish pies were a lost cause.
“All right!” Kiba raised his hand ceremoniously. “Rules reminder: no attacking or tripping other contestants. No leaving the path. First one to reach that tree wins!”
He pointed at the tall tree on the hilltop. The trail zigzagged through the woods, some spots blocked by logs, others cut with puddles. The course wasn’t long—about two kilometers—but enough to test speed and stamina.
“Line up!” Kiba ordered, scratching a crooked line in the dirt. “On my mark… go!”
Ten boys shot forward, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Thanks to Uzumaki endurance, Menma surged ahead early. But he knew better than to rely only on natural stamina. In PE he’d already noticed half the class knew how to feed chakra into their legs; sooner or later they’d overtake him.
Sure enough, as he hit the first bend, footsteps thundered behind him—the clan kids suddenly picked up speed. Sasuke shot into the lead, his movements swift and fluid, almost gliding.
But that was just the opening act.
“Ha!” Kiba activated Beast Mimicry. His nails and fangs lengthened, his movements turned sharp and feral. He tore forward ten times faster, blowing past classmates like a gust of wind.
[What a sly bastard! I knew he had a scheme. He set up the whole tournament just to secure an easy win. Almost.]
Confident of victory, Kiba charged up the hill first. Breath ragged, claws ready, eyes blazing—only to freeze. Menma was already there, leaning casually against the tree.
“Problem, doc?” Menma asked lazily.
Kiba skidded to a halt, eyes wide.
“How… how is that possible?! I’m supposed to be the fastest in class!”
“Everyone’s got their methods,” Menma shrugged calmly, nodding at Kiba’s claws and fangs. “Yours are yours. Mine are mine.”
The dog-boy clenched his fists, teeth grinding, then exhaled sharply. His claws and fangs retracted, the technique dispersed.
“Fine,” he said at last, extending a hand. “I admit defeat.”
[Huh. Not such a jerk after all. Behavior like this deserves encouragement.]
Menma nodded and shook his hand firmly.
A minute later the others reached the finish—Sasuke gasping for air, then Chōji and Shino wheezing and spitting, followed by a couple of unremarkable classmates. Their expressions were equally sour.
“How did you two get ahead of me?” Sasuke demanded between breaths, scowling at Menma and Kiba. His voice carried both disbelief and frustration.
“Secret technique,” Menma replied with a sly grin. Beside him, Kiba bared his teeth in perfect sync, as if they’d rehearsed it beforehand. “Want a rematch?”
Sasuke narrowed his eyes in irritation. It was obvious he was torn between two urges: the need to look cool and the burning desire to get a rematch.
“Maybe,” he muttered at last, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away.
Menma nodded and glanced at the basket.
“So, if I got this right, the food’s mine now?”
“Yeah…” Chōji sighed, staring at the basket as if it held his very soul.
“Clear meadow, cool shade, good company,” Menma drawled. “Sounds like the perfect spot for a picnic. Join me.”
“Acting quite comradely,” Shino noted in his usual flat tone, though the corner of his lips twitched slightly. “I approve.”
“Food!” Chōji bellowed as if announcing a battle charge.
Within minutes they were all sitting under the tree. Bags and boxes were opened, sweets passed around. Even Sasuke, who at first pretended to be above it all, eventually caved and took a cookie. It helped that they were nut-and-chocolate cookies from Mrs. Uchiha—perfect with Shino’s honey.
The only one who didn’t touch anything was Kiba. He sat off to the side, glaring gloomily at the bag of snacks.
“What’s with the long face?” Menma asked, arms folded across his chest.
Kiba squirmed, scratching the back of his head.
“Thing is… those snacks aren’t really mine. I swiped them from the kitchen, figured I’d win and put them back before Mom noticed. But now…”
“You fight over food at your house?” Chōji gasped as if hearing the greatest blasphemy.
Menma shrugged.
“Take them, Kiba.”
“Seriously?” Kiba blinked, not trusting his ears. “But it’s your prize. You won fair and square, you can do whatever you want with it—”
“Look,” Menma cut him off. “I’m not choking down those snacks knowing you’ll get punished for them. So take them and quit whining.”
Kiba glanced around. Chōji nodded approvingly, Shino silently adjusted his glasses, Sasuke just snorted but clearly didn’t object.
“Thanks, man!” Kiba blurted, and unable to hold back, threw his arms around Menma in a hug.
“Easy—claws in,” Menma said dryly, but didn’t pull away.
The picnic lasted almost another hour. Sunlight filtered through the leaves while the boys laughed, argued, and shared food. Even Sasuke allowed himself a couple of rare smiles, and Chōji was in pure bliss the whole time.
When the basket was finally empty and everyone started heading home, Kiba tucked the snack box under his arm, turned to Menma, and declared:
“I’m gonna train like a beast! Next time I’ll outrun you!” Then he bolted off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
Menma stayed under the tree, leaning against the trunk, watching the road.
That was when Naruko emerged from the bushes, brushing twigs out of her hair. She grinned ear to ear and held out her fist. Menma bumped it with his own.
“A dog will never catch a rabbit,” he remarked lazily.
“Because a rabbit can be in two places at once,” Naruko finished with a triumphant smile.
