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Twin Demons. Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 21:55:01 +0000 UTCHiruzen Sarutobi stepped into the office, quietly closing the door behind him.
The familiar scent of old wood and the faint tang of tobacco greeted him like the rightful master of the house returning home. A massive dark walnut desk dominated the center of the room, and behind it a wide window opened onto Konoha: evening mist clung to the rooftops while the last rays of the sun broke through the haze, bathing the village in soft gold. Portraits of the previous Hokage lined the walls—calm, stern gazes that, to Sarutobi, carried a silent reproach: Don’t fail.
He removed the white hat with the crest and set it gently on the corner of the desk, as if afraid an unnecessary motion might disturb the order. Then he sank into the chair.
Across from him, in a heavy seat obviously too big for him, sat Menma. The boy looked calm, but his gaze was far too direct for a six-year-old.
Hiruzen’s eyes involuntarily flicked to Minato’s portrait. The face shape—different. But the eyes… the same piercing blue. The rest was all mother: the shape of the nose, the shade of hair, even the little habit of twitching one corner of the mouth when concentrating.
“You said you had something very important to tell me,” Hiruzen said, adding a soft, almost fatherly warmth to his voice. “I’m listening.”
Menma didn’t look away.
“I know I’m the jinchūriki of the Kyūbi.”
For a moment, the room grew quieter, even the ticking of the wall clock seeming to soften.
Hiruzen didn’t bother pretending to be surprised—he’d been expecting this moment the way one waits for rain in summer: knowing it’s inevitable, but hoping the clouds might still scatter. He exhaled slowly, pushing his weariness aside. This secret had always rested on nothing more than a promise and the fear of punishment, and any drunken tongue could undo it. Apparently, that was exactly what had happened…
He would have to find the talker and make an example of them.
“Menma-kun,” Hiruzen said evenly. “Who told you?”
“The Kyūbi.”
The old Hokage’s brow lifted slightly, but not a trace of change touched his voice.
“From the beginning. In detail.”
He reached for his pipe, packing it with tobacco. His fingers moved a little slower than usual—not from age, but from the sense that this conversation would be… slippery.
“Well…” Menma cleared his throat. “Two months ago, my sister went into the mask shop…”
Hiruzen tensed inwardly. His mind at once recalled that cursed day: a furious, half-drunk old man, shouting in the street, children startled. The broom in the shopkeeper’s hands that at first seemed only a threat—until it cracked against the boy’s temple.
The child had been taken to the hospital; the shopkeeper had been warming a cell ever since and was unlikely to leave it soon.
“I remember that day,” Hiruzen said, lighting the tobacco. The flame briefly lit his face before soft bluish smoke drifted into the air. “So that’s when it happened?”
Menma nodded.
“After the hit, I… woke up in some kind of sewer,” the boy said calmly, though with a faint hesitation, as if unsure he fully believed his own words. “I wandered around for a long time. Don’t know how much time passed, but in the end I came out into this huge hall with a cage. And… I didn’t even get a word out before a fox face appeared inside.”
“Did he yell at you?” Hiruzen exhaled a stream of smoke, watching the child’s reaction carefully. “Demand anything?”
“No. He just wanted to talk. Oh, and his name’s Kurama.”
The name hung in the air like a drop of poison on a blade’s tip.
Hiruzen didn’t flinch, but something tightened inside him. A talkative demon was a hundred times more dangerous than a raging one.
“And what did he talk to you about?” The question sounded almost casual, but behind it was the full caution of an old shinobi.
“Mostly about my parents.” A faint curve touched the corner of Menma’s lips. “How they met. That Mom was kidnapped by Kumo shinobi, but Dad found her… by her hair, and saved her.”
“So you know who they are?” Hiruzen asked, getting a short nod in reply. “What else did he tell you?”
“A lot. That Dad was the most talented shinobi of his generation. That Mom was also a jinchūriki. And… how they died.”
“And how was that?” Hiruzen leaned forward slightly. Very few knew the truth of that night—even him.
“Someone took control of Kurama,” the boy said without a trace of doubt. “He didn’t want to kill anyone. Kurama is innocent.”
Hiruzen might have believed him… if he hadn’t seen it himself. Yes, at the start of that battle, the Kyūbi’s eyes had burned with the Sharingan’s tomoe—but by the end, when all was over, no foreign influence remained in them. And yet, he had seen with his own eyes the fox’s claw pierce Minato and Kushina.
The Kyūbi twisted the truth—skillfully, subtly—worming his way into trust. Making the boy see him not as an enemy, but as an ally.
“You did the right thing by telling me, Menma-kun,” Hiruzen said with a nod, leaning forward slightly. His voice was gentle, but beneath it lay the weight of experience and a hidden wariness. “You may keep speaking with Kurama… but never forget that he’s a kitsune. And a kitsune always plays his own game. Always consult me first. My doors are open to you at any time.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the boy groaned, rolling his eyes. His tone balanced between irritation and fatigue, as if he’d heard the same lecture a hundred times before. “It’s just… I have a problem.”
“Menma, I am the Hokage!” Hiruzen straightened, as if remembering his own status. “Solving the problems of the village’s people is my duty. Tell me about your problem, my boy”—he put special weight on the last words, underlining his care—“and we’ll find a solution together.”
“It’s about how the people of Konoha treat me and my sister,” Menma said, shoulders dropping, and for a moment, the childlike vulnerability he usually hid showed through. “I can still handle it… but it’s much harder for Naruko.”
Hiruzen closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled a long stream of smoke from his pipe, as though wishing to let go of the weariness that years of leadership had piled on him.
“Understand this, Menma-kun… uneducated people are deeply superstitious. They believe you’re a demon in human form. I can’t punish them for a mistaken belief.”
“But you can tell everyone the Fourth Hokage is our father!” the boy’s voice suddenly turned firm, almost commanding. “Everyone respected him. After that, they’ll treat us better.”
Hiruzen narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Did the Kyūbi give you that idea?”
Menma stayed silent. But there was no need for an answer—the veteran shinobi could already read it in the faint, almost imperceptible flick of the boy’s eyes. No trace of a lie, yet not a hint of admission either.
“I told you… Kurama is a kitsune,” Hiruzen reminded quietly, almost fatherly, yet with a note of steel in his voice. “He’ll give you advice that seems brilliant on the surface… but will lead to disaster.”
He took a slow draw from the pipe, exhaled smoke rings, and only then continued:
“Your father had many enemies. A lot of them. If I announce that Minato had children… you and your sister will have a massive target on your backs.”
“Don’t we already?” Menma lifted his gaze. And for a fleeting instant, Hiruzen saw not a child, but Minato himself in his moments of resolve—cold eyes, a sharp tilt of the head. “Everyone in Konoha knows we’re jinchūriki. And, surely, far beyond its borders. My mom, the former jinchūriki, was almost kidnapped by Kumo shinobi inside Konoha itself.”
The argument was like a katana strike—sharp, clean, and without wasted words.
Hiruzen tapped his fingers on the desk, weighing the boy’s words. He knew full well Menma was right… but he also knew exactly how truth revealed too soon could backfire.
“I’ll think about how to solve your problem,” he said at last, slowly rubbing his beard. “For now… go home. Your sister must be worried.”
Menma rose, gave a slight nod, and without another word, left the office. The door closed softly, almost noiselessly—but to Hiruzen, it sounded like the blare of a war horn.
The Hokage remained seated in the silence, the faint crackle of burning tobacco in his pipe the only sound. He allowed himself a short sigh, then reached for a stack of fresh scrolls.
A minute later, several messenger hawks soared from the window—letters to old allies marked “emergency council” already on their way.
///
The room they gathered in had no windows—not a crack, not a sliver of outside light. Only the steady, cold glow of lamps fell across a massive oval table, its surface scarred by time and by past discussions known only to those who sat there. Thick walls smothered even the faintest rustle, and outside the door stood a pair of ANBU who knew the order “let no one in” was not up for debate.
Two advisers were already seated at the table—Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu. Their faces, lined and severe, looked as if carved from ancient oak. Nearby, a little apart from them, sat the third participant—Danzō Shimura, motionless as a statue, leaning on his cane. Only his single visible eye moved, lazily sweeping over the room.
Hiruzen, however, was not sitting. He paced from wall to wall, releasing smoke rings from his pipe that drifted upward and dissolved in the lamplight.
“What’s this about?” Utatane was the first to break the silence, covering her mouth with a hand to hide a yawn. “Couldn’t it have waited until morning? Why the rush?”
“The plan has failed,” Hiruzen said grimly, without looking at her. “The jinchūriki knows who his parents are.”
“Who told him?” Mitokado frowned. “Only ten people knew that information.”
“An unaccounted factor,” Hiruzen snorted, as if angry at himself for underestimating the threat. “The Kyūbi. Turns out he can speak to the host directly from within the seal’s space.”
Danzō lifted his chin and said evenly, without a hint of emotion:
“Are you certain it was the Kyūbi? A spy could have made contact. There are techniques that alter dreams, planting the desired images.”
“This time there’s no doubt,” Hiruzen cut him off, fixing him with a heavy stare. “Menma told me how Minato rescued Kushina from Kumo shinobi. Only four people knew the details of that operation—Minato, Kushina, myself… and the Kyūbi.”
“And what danger does that pose to us?” Utatane asked, propping her cheek on her hand. “So the boy knows his parents’ names—so what? It’s not as if he’ll march into a jōnin meeting to demand his inheritance.”
“Who can say,” Hiruzen murmured, his quiet voice more frightening than a shout. “The Kyūbi is already drawing the boy to his side.”
“Reseal the bijū,” Danzō said coldly. “Immediately.”
“And what’s the chance the new host wouldn’t give in to him?” Hiruzen stopped opposite his old comrade, meeting Shimura’s lone eye. There was no answer in it—only cold emptiness. “We’re lucky the Kyūbi made contact with Menma first. He’s got his father’s temperament—calm, calculating. But if it had been Naruko? She’s impulsive, hot-headed… she might have opened that cage and let dear Uncle Kurama out already.”
At those words, the room seemed to grow colder. Even Utatane stopped fidgeting in her seat, and Mitokado pressed his lips into a thin line. They all understood perfectly well: one more rampage from the Kyūbi, and Konoha might not survive.
“So what do you propose?” Mitokado asked, breaking the silence.
“From now on, both jinchūriki will be treated with care and affection,” Hiruzen said clearly, stepping up to the table. “Not the slightest hint that they’re feared or disliked. The Kyūbi must have no emotional leverage at all.”
“But what about the plan?” Utatane raised an eyebrow.
“The plan is already void,” Hiruzen’s voice rang with steel. “We spread the rumors to isolate them so that only I would treat them warmly. That way they’d cling to me, not to any clans. They were meant to become my weapon against internal opposition. But with the Kyūbi now in play… there’s a risk that weapon could be turned against us.”
“Isn’t it too late to change everything?” Utatane asked, and this time there was a trace of unease in her voice.
Hiruzen drew a slow breath, exhaled smoke, and continued in a steadier tone:
“Minato left us a priceless gift—two full-blooded Uzumaki. The Shinigami seal split the Kyūbi into two halves. Now we have two bijū, each with four and a half tails.”
He paused, sweeping them with his gaze.
“You don’t turn down a gift like that. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Hokage-sama,” the three replied in unison.
“I’ll still look for a replacement vessel,” Danzō said quietly, as if in passing. “The world is big—there may still be pure-blooded Uzumaki somewhere.”
“Do it in your spare time,” Hiruzen’s voice carried a cold metallic edge. “And don’t forget—you still have to come up with a way to deal with the Uchiha. Their attempts at rebellion are wearing thin.”
“I have some ideas,” the faintest shadow of a smile touched Danzō’s lips. “You’ll like them.”
Hiruzen gave a short nod, set his pipe into its stand, and spoke in a commander’s tone:
“The old plan regarding the jinchūriki is annulled. We move to Plan ‘Minato’s Will.’”
“Yes, Hokage-sama!” they answered in chorus.
