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Twin Demons. Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 13:13:52 +0000 UTCBefore death, they say, your whole life flashes before your eyes.
Although, if you think about it, it’s more like a trailer with a selection of key scenes.
University years — lectures, desks buried under notes, stressed-out classmates, and him, acing exams with the highest scores.
Then a handshake in a spacious office: a job offer from a private research company right after graduation.
White lab walls, the scent of metal and plastic, shelves lined with instruments and neatly labeled containers. They studied the human brain, searching for a way to store a copy of someone’s memory inside a machine.
The first trial. A metal chair cooling his back, electrodes tugging slightly at the skin of his scalp. Lines of data raced across the monitor. The computer was reading everything: memories, personal habits, aspects of character. The progress bar froze at 98%.
And then lightning struck the building.
A flash — bright, blinding. The air filled with crackling and the smell of ozone. A power surge, a loud snap, sparks, and then an explosion. The sweetish stench of burnt plastic and wiring flooded the room, and somewhere in the distance the fire alarm was already screaming.
Another memory.
An orphanage. The adults eyed him warily, as if he were not a child, but a wild animal. A caretaker pushed a bowl of food toward him with a mop, careful not to get close. The other kids, taking cues from the grown-ups, avoided him too.
Life would have been unbearable — no one talked to him, no one called him to play — if it weren’t for his twin sister. She was treated the same way, but being outcasts together was far easier than being alone.
[What orphanage? I grew up in a normal family. I’ve never had a sister. And this is suspiciously similar to the plot of that ninja anime I used to watch as a kid…]
Menma’s eyes flew open.
This wasn’t his two-story house, but a one-room apartment with gray walls, minimal furniture, and a silence in which every footstep sounded too loud.
He jumped out of bed and rushed to the tiny bathroom. Shower, toilet, a small mirror over the sink.
A six-year-old boy stared back at him in the reflection: blue eyes, bright red hair, and three whisker marks on each cheek.
“…Holy crap,” he breathed almost in a whisper. “I’m Uzumaki Menma.”
There was no room for doubt. Staring back at him was the character from that children’s show he had once binge-watched late into the night. And the new memories only confirmed it.
The apartment was so small that every few steps he would bump into a wall. Menma paced back and forth, trying to sort recent events into neat mental boxes.
How did this happen? The last thing he remembered from his previous life was lightning striking and the computer exploding. Since ancient times, lightning had been seen as something magical — divine sparks, portals to another world.
Maybe it was just like in Chinese web novels: the body destroyed, the soul crossing into a new world and finding a suitable vessel. That would explain the two sets of memories — his own and the child’s.
[Mmm… shady option. That would mean I just booted the original Menma’s soul out and took over his body against his will.]
But there was another possibility. The lightning hadn’t hit him, but the computer holding the copy of his memories. What if that data had been transferred here? The mind of an adult merged with that of a child, but remained dominant.
[Now that’s better. I’d rather not be a killer of children’s souls.]
He kept pacing for several more minutes, going over theories. No new ideas appeared. And most likely, no new data would ever come.
He didn’t believe for a second in the possibility of going back.
What did he know about this new world?
He didn’t have to go far for information — it was already in his head. This was Konoha, and everything was going strictly by canon. Minato had died fighting the Nine-Tails, Hiruzen had resumed the position of Hokage, and the signing of the alliance treaty with Kumo had been foiled. Everything matched down to the smallest detail… with one exception. On that fateful night, Kushina had given birth to red-haired twins: a boy, Menma, and a girl, Naruko. Half of Kurama’s Yin chakra was sealed inside him, and the Yang half in her.
Putting it all together with what he knew of the plot, Menma was pleased. The major events of the world were a perfect match, which meant that knowledge of the future could — and should — be used.
[Perfect. I’d rather not end up in some alternate universe where Sasuke’s a playboy and Hinata’s a total diva. And having a sister? That’s just a bonus.]
Now it was time to at least sketch out a plan for the future. But as the wise philosophers said: “First, know yourself — then the world.”
He had to decide who he was going to be here:
a tourist, idly observing the locals’ problems and ready to vanish at the first opportunity, or a full-fledged resident, for whom every action would echo in his reputation.
[Definitely the second option. I doubt I can go back… and I don’t want to. There was nothing holding me there except work. There’s also an unpleasant suspicion: maybe the body and soul in my old world survived, which means there’s simply nowhere to return to. And here… I’m the Hokage’s son, an Uzumaki by bloodline, with the strongest bijuu inside me. Excellent starting conditions. And the shinobi world does have something awfully close to magic.]
He didn’t have to look far for proof. One glance out the window and he saw a shinobi in a green vest casually leap into a third-story window. No twisted ankles, no limping. A soft landing, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
[Yeah — I want that. Decision made. I’m Uzumaki Menma. Wiser, with knowledge of the future, but still Menma.]
It was a pleasant thought… until a cold shiver ran down his spine.
[What if I’m wrong? What if I’m not a memory imprint, but a parasitic soul that just took over someone else’s body? That’s very bad. In the shinobi world, working with souls is an entire field. There are jutsu to extract them, summon them from the Pure Land, even feed them to the Shinigami. Madara figured out at a glance that he and Sasuke were Indra’s reincarnations. What if someone sees right through me? If I were just an ordinary orphan, I could shrug it off. But I’m a jinchūriki. The Third Hokage himself is watching me. He’s the Professor, the God of Shinobi. That old man could notice the swap. I need to find out immediately whether my soul is the same or not. And I know one expert who’ll definitely keep the results a secret.]
Menma lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and focused on the dark, simmering hatred quietly churning somewhere in his gut.
An instant later, the world around him changed. He stood in the familiar space of the seal: a grim labyrinth flooded knee-deep with water, narrow passages, towering walls, and from somewhere above — a muffled, oppressive light.
A memory surfaced of the first time he’d been here.
Two months ago, Naruko had stopped at a shop selling masks. She’d only asked to see one, but the shopkeeper, as if he’d snapped, turned crimson with rage and raised his hand to strike her. Menma didn’t even think — he lunged forward, shielding his sister… and took the blow to the head. The lights went out, and the next thing he saw was this waterlogged labyrinth. And the prisoner behind the bars.
[The Yang half of the Nine-Tails in the anime was a grumbling, sarcastic bastard. But the Yin half… that’s a different story.]
Knowing the way to the cage by heart, Menma strode confidently through the flooded corridors. Sloshing water underfoot, he took a couple of turns and reached the center of the maze, where a massive iron gate loomed like a fortress. On the lock hung an enormous sheet of paper with a sealing formula.
In the depths of the cage, in the shadows, sat the Nine-Tails. His silhouette was almost swallowed by darkness, only the ears and outline of the massive body faintly visible in the gloom. As Menma approached, two red eyes flared in the dark — cold, yet piercingly attentive.
[He’s so huge, I feel like an insect.]
“Greetings, Menma,” the voice was even, calm, carrying notes of ancient weariness, like a sage who was rarely surprised by anything.
“Hey, Kyūbi.”
“Don’t call me that,” the tone hardened, a note of steel in it. “That’s a name given to me by cruel and ignorant humans. Would you like it if I called you ‘demon spawn’?”
“Well… no, of course not,” Menma dropped his gaze. “Sorry.”
“Mutual respect begins with courtesy,” he continued as if stating the obvious. “Call me Kurama.”
[Mhm… that’s what it’s like dealing with the smart half. Naruto in canon had to punch the name out of him.]
“Do you have something to tell me?” Kurama asked, like someone interrupted from something more important.
Menma nodded.
“But first, let me remind you of the terms of our arrangement,” Kurama’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You give me valuable information from the outside world. In return, I share details about your parents. I don’t care who you fought or how many baby teeth your sister lost. The exchange must be equivalent.”
“I’ve already told you all the latest news from the papers,” Menma reminded him with a faint smile. For those trivialities, he’d once extracted the names of his parents and a few useful tidbits. “But this time… I can tell you about a major change in my life.”
Kurama didn’t blink. His gaze pressed down hard enough to make Menma want to take a step back.
“In the end, since we share the same body, this concerns you too,” Menma added. “Listen first, then decide if it’s worth anything.”
“Speak.”
“Yesterday the caretaker at the orphanage announced that all children aged six must leave. Now my sister and I live in our own apartment. We’ll be getting an allowance until we graduate from the Academy. They say it teaches independence.”
[Wild to me, but in the shinobi world, that’s normal. Kids with chakra grow up faster. Kakashi, for example, was already a chunin at this age and leading squads.]
“In two months, classes at the Academy will start,” he finished.
“Hm…” Kurama drawled. “Describe the apartment.”
“One living room, small kitchen, toilet.”
“For two?” A note of distrust slid into his voice. “What about furniture?”
“Almost none,” Menma shrugged. “A wardrobe, a bed, a small stove, a little fridge. All standard. It’s a building for single shinobi.”
“One bed for a boy and a girl…” Kurama mused. “When puberty comes… under one blanket, things will get very… heated.”
[Like I don’t know that already! But now’s not the time to sass him. Staying polite — I need information.]
“So,” Menma went on, “I’ve shared information about how Konoha handles orphans before the Academy. I think that’s worth something.”
“It is,” Kurama nodded slowly. “I’ll tell you your parents’ last words.”
[I didn’t really care — I already knew them. But I stepped closer, keeping the image of a curious child.]
“Right before their deaths, Minato and Kushina thought only of their children’s happiness,” Kurama said, and something unusually soft slipped into his voice. “They begged Hiruzen to make sure Konoha treated you as heroes. Hiruzen promised to fulfill their dying wish.”
Menma felt his fists clench on their own.
[Guess there’s still something left of the original Menma in me. Just remembering how the old monkey betrayed my parents makes me want to break something.]
“That all?” Kurama tilted his head back slightly, eyelids lowering as if he was ready to return to meditation.
“Not quite,” Menma admitted. “It’s not part of our deal… but I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“That’s for me to decide,” Kurama replied lazily, but with an undertone of authority, like a boss being interrupted from important work. “Speak.”
“I had a strange dream today,” Menma began cautiously. “Like… scenes from another life. I’ve heard there are cases of reincarnation. Maybe that’s what it was?”
“What exactly did you dream?” Kurama’s voice sharpened, as if he’d switched from idle conversation to interrogation.
“Different things,” Menma shrugged. “Talking to strangers. Fires. Some buildings… It was all mixed together.”
“Interesting…” Kurama drawled, his gaze never leaving Menma. It felt like he was judging not the words, but the very essence of the one speaking. “Menma, do you know what chakra is?”
“Well, I haven’t even started the Academy yet,” he began, pretending to search for words, “but I’ve read that chakra is a mix of spiritual and physical energy.”
[That’s the truth. Menma’s a local book-loving prodigy. Thanks to that, I can speak to him as an equal without pretending to be a clueless kid.]
“Correct,” Kurama nodded. “Chakra grows when both components grow. Physical, Yang, increases with bodily training. Spiritual, Yin, with experience. And right now, your Yin has grown slightly.”
[At first I was annoyed that twenty-five years of my life amounted to “slightly.” But then it hit me… The Nine-Tails can see the original Menma’s soul! Which means I don’t have to worry about being exposed!]
“You’ve likely recalled fragments of your past life,” Kurama concluded. “Not such a rare phenomenon.”
“Thanks for explaining,” Menma nodded, turning toward the exit — but stopped halfway. “Don’t you get… bored in here? I mean, I leave, but you stay locked up.”
“Only fools can be locked in a cage,” Kurama smirked arrogantly. “I go into meditation for self-discovery. For you, months and years pass between our meetings, but for me — no more than a second. I won’t even notice you growing old and dying.”
He was already closing his eyes, but then opened them again.
“Menma… if you bring me truly valuable information,” a predatory grin flickered at the corners of his mouth, “I’ll teach you something.”
The sealing space shuddered, and in the next instant Menma was literally thrown back into the real world.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm a heart that was pounding like he’d just finished a sprint.
This was a real mess. If Yang-Kurama growled, clawed, and threatened to rip your guts out, then Yin-Kurama was a whole different story. He didn’t attack head-on — he wove intrigues.
The way he’d set the stage was almost elegant: hiding his fox face behind shadows and a polite mask, insisting on the “positive” name — Kurama. As if he were some kindly old neighbor offering candy, not an ancient demon. It lulled you, made you forget who you were actually talking to. A kitsune. A demon.
Even his “you give me this, I give you that” wasn’t an exchange — it was bait. As if the Nine-Tails really cared how Konoha treated its orphans. Of course not. It was a subtle mind game: “I’m not planting ideas in your head. You’re the one coming to me for answers.”
A demon never speaks idly. Every word is another brick in a wall leading toward one chilling conclusion: Konoha is full of scum, and I’m your only friend.
Kurama wasn’t wrong about Hiruzen — a thief and a rat — but that didn’t mean Menma should get in the same boat with a kitsune.
As John Constantine once said, it’s better to cut your own balls off than to dance to a demon’s tune. You’ll live longer.
[And he’d already offered me a “pig in a poke” training deal today. If I hadn’t shown up, the fox would have wrapped the kid around his finger — and been free in no time.]
Still, the strongest bijuu was willing to talk… and that was something worth using. Very carefully.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock.
A girl of about six stepped into the room, with the same blue eyes, the same whisker marks on her cheeks, and the same vivid crimson hair — tied into two mischievous pigtails. She was wearing baggy gray clothes — the standard “gift” from the orphanage.
[I’ve got the same hideous rags on me. That needs fixing fast.]
“Naruko, where have you been?” Menma crossed his arms and glanced at the clock. “You went out to take the trash and vanished for two hours!”
“I couldn’t find the trash bin,” she sniffled. “I went too far and got lost… I asked for directions, but everyone… everyone just ignored me…”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t get to finish — Menma had already pulled her into a tight embrace.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, holding her close. “I’m here. And I’m never letting you go anywhere alone again.”
“Really?” she looked up at him, eyes full of hope.
“I promise,” Menma said seriously. “And I never break my word.”
Naruko wiped her tears on her sleeve, but a smirk was already forming on her face.
“Even if I ask you to come with me to the women’s bath?”
"Have mercy," Menma sighed. "Even the Hokage isn’t as dangerous as a kunoichi who catches a man in the bath.”
She giggled and snuggled closer.
An ever-shining crimson sun.
[The plan for the future is set. Reclaim my parents’ legacy. Punish the thieves and manipulators. And make sure my sister never cries again.]
