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Twin Demons. Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 13:13:55 +0000 UTC“The school year has come to an end,” Mizuki announced, leaning against the edge of the teacher’s desk. His smile was soft, almost fatherly, but carried that familiar note of condescension. “Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with long speeches about how you’re ‘the future of the village’ and all that. The Academy principal will handle that at the ceremony.” He winked at the class, earning a wave of chuckles and whispers. “So relax. All that’s left is the chakra control test. Come on, don’t be shy. I’m sure most of you will pass.”
He opened the roster and began calling the students in order.
The exam went quickly, almost mechanically. A student stepped forward, Mizuki laid his palm on their head, closed his eyes for a brief moment to feel the chakra flow through the channels, and either released them with a nod or… paused. And that pause was enough to send a chill through the class.
Each check took no more than five seconds. Half the class was already back in their seats, chatting lazily about vacation plans. Outside, the sky was bright and clear, and the chorus of cicadas felt mocking—freedom was so close.
But for everyone?
“Not good, Torifu.” Mizuki lifted his hand from the head of a scrawny boy who looked ready to collapse even without the verdict. “Your chakra is barely moving. I’ll have to hold you back a year.”
“Wait, Mizuki-sensei!” Torifu formed the concentration seal, straining so hard his face turned red and the veins on his neck bulged. “Just give me a second! I can do it!”
“It’s pointless.” Mizuki’s voice stayed gentle, but the tilt of his head made the finality clear. “Torifu, you can’t accomplish in a minute what you’ve neglected all year. To reach the passing level, you needed consistent training—and you didn’t do it.”
“But I… I tried!” the boy’s trembling voice broke in a last attempt, but the teacher brushed him off.
“You’ll repeat the year,” Mizuki said calmly, almost kindly, as if putting a reassuring bow on the matter. “Believe me, it’s for your own good.”
Torifu dropped his head and trudged back to his seat, walking like he carried a sack of stones on his shoulders. The class watched him with mixed looks: pity from some, indifference from others, but mostly that same disdain that clings to every weakling in the Academy.
“Poor guy,” Naruko whispered, leaning toward her brother. For once, her usually bold and cheerful face showed a flicker of sympathy. “Seriously, what would it cost Mizuki to just look the other way and pass him? There are still five more years of classes. Torifu could’ve caught up.”
“I think Mizuki did the right thing,” Menma replied without taking his eyes off the teacher’s desk. His tone was calm, almost indifferent, but carried his usual logic. “If someone can’t make himself do basic exercises, how’s he supposed to follow the Hokage’s orders? He doesn’t have the discipline for a shinobi’s life.”
Naruko puffed her cheeks but didn’t argue.
The line kept moving, and soon the room filled with relieved sighs.
“Finally done.” Shikamaru slumped into his seat as though he’d just survived some epic ordeal. “Now I can rest until next year.”
“Why’d you even bother passing?” Naruko teased, narrowing her eyes with a sly grin. “You’re lazy to the core! You could’ve failed on purpose and stayed back a year. No new subjects, no extra effort—the perfect plan for a slacker!”
“I thought about it,” Shikamaru admitted honestly, scratching the back of his head. “But my mom wouldn’t buy it.”
“You’re such a slowpoke.” Naruko smacked him on the forehead. “You should’ve failed grammar! You’d sit drooling in class, get labeled the eternal idiot, and no one would bother you ever again. Want me to hit you with a brick to sell it?”
The class burst out laughing, Ino and Kiba pounding their desks.
“It’s moments like this,” Shikamaru drawled, shifting his tired gaze from grinning Naruko to calm Menma, “that make it really easy to tell you two apart.”
“Uzumaki Menma,” Mizuki’s voice rang out from the teacher’s desk. A touch louder than usual, as if he’d been waiting for this. “To the front!”
Menma rose, walked down unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, and stopped before the teacher. His face stayed composed, but a faint smirk flickered in his eyes: the exam was nothing more than a formality to him.
“Don’t worry.” Mizuki smiled softly, resting his hand on the boy’s head. “This takes only a few seconds and doesn’t hurt at all.”
For the others, the test had been simple and uneventful. But inside Menma, a storm raged. His chakra tore through his channels like a raging train, shifting its form every split second—spiraling, scattering into beads, crashing in waves, breaking apart into dust.
Mizuki frowned, tightened his grip as if afraid to lose the sensation, and snapped his eyes open.
“Wow…” The word slipped out of his mouth. He pulled his hand back at once, as though burned. “Menma-kun… this is far beyond the level of a standard genin. In my whole career, I’ve only encountered something like this once.”
He cast a quick glance at the class, but to his relief, the students were still loudly chatting about vacation plans, paying no attention to the teacher’s desk.
“That student was Uchiha Itachi,” he finally said, lowering his voice so the children wouldn’t be rattled by the name of a mass murderer.
[What?! I risk my life every day, grinding out hundreds of shadow clones for training, and Itachi got the same results? Without even being a jinchūriki?! How does that make sense?]
“Mizuki-sensei,” Menma asked calmly, masking his irritation, “do you know how Itachi achieved that?”
“I do.” Mizuki shrugged, as if the question had an obvious answer. “Itachi is a true prodigy. One like him is born once in a generation. The principal said similar results were shown by Orochimaru, Hatake Kakashi… and your father, Namikaze Minato. I’ve heard our Hokage himself was no less gifted.”
[Great. The full set of local legends. So with my ‘cheat’ method, I’m still not standing out compared to prodigies. That’s actually good—better not to draw too much attention.]
“But I still don’t get it,” Menma frowned. “I heard that kind of control takes ten years of nonstop training. How could they achieve it without shadow clones?”
“Oh, so you know that training method, Menma-kun.” Mizuki’s reply was calm, showing no surprise—almost as if he expected such knowledge from the twins. “But do you know what makes a genius a genius? Not just chakra reserves, but processing speed. Everyone I mentioned learned to sense and manipulate their chakra before they even learned to speak. In other words, an early start gives them an advantage no ordinary child can catch up to.”
Menma gave a short nod.
“Got it. Thanks for explaining, Mizuki-sensei.”
“You’re welcome.” The teacher’s soft smile returned. “Curious students are a joy to any teacher. But let’s not keep the others waiting—we need to finish the test.”
Menma was about to head back to his seat, but Mizuki raised a hand to stop him.
“Hold on. Stand to my right,” he asked. “That way I’ll see you the whole time. Uzumaki Naruko!”
[Damn. He really thinks I might try to pass the exam for my sister.]
Naruko stepped forward with her usual cocky grin, and the moment his hand touched her head, Mizuki’s brows shot upward.
“The same level as your brother… Magnificent.” Mizuki even drew back a little, as if doubting his own senses. “You two have the best results in the entire class this year.”
Naruko smacked her brother’s palm with a triumphant grin.
“Keep it up!” Mizuki announced loudly, this time for the whole class to hear. “At this pace, you’ll graduate with results on par with your father.”
“That’s the goal,” Menma answered with a calm smirk.
///
Summer break did come at last, but for the Uzumaki twins nothing really changed. They kept training, day after day, squeezing the most out of themselves.
Menma sat on the roof of a shrine watching as his own and his sister’s clones worked diligently on chakra control.
They’d reached the peak of internal manipulation five months ago. Four months back, they had perfected infusing their muscles and skin with chakra. Since then, only one direction remained—external control.
Now, hundreds of clones sat in lotus position, each with a focused expression. Tiny green leaves slid slowly across their bodies—rising from heel to crown and back again, held aloft by the thinnest threads of chakra.
[I can already release chakra from every cell of my body and control it. If I want, I could recreate the Hyūga clan’s Kaiten. At least in theory. No one’s ever going to hand me the instructions.]
Clenching his fingers, Menma realized: every control exercise he could get his hands on—whether from the Academy, traded with classmates, or pried from Enma—had already been mastered to perfection.
Only one practice remained.
He leapt down from the roof and approached Enma, who as always stood watching them with an inscrutable face.
“Teach me how to walk on trees,” Menma said bluntly.
“Why now?” Enma narrowed his eyes. “That’s taught only in squads, after graduation.”
“So what?” Menma shrugged. “No point waiting another five years when I can learn it now.”
The monkey narrowed his eyes even further, then gave a slow nod.
“Fine. Since you insist.” He turned and headed for the nearest tree.
[Agreed that quickly? Odd. Looks like the old monkey’s just bored and happy for a workout.]
A few minutes later, three figures stood at the foot of a tall tree: Menma, Naruko—and their mentor.
“This shouldn’t be difficult for you,” Enma said calmly, turning to the twins. “You already know how to channel chakra into your feet and give it adhesive properties. That’s where most rookie genin stumble. Follow me.”
He stepped up to the trunk, his broad paws sticking easily to the bark without effort. Slowly, deliberately, Enma walked up the vertical tree, as if demonstrating the most basic drill. His silhouette vanished into the leaves, then reappeared as he walked back down toward the roots, as casually as if taking a stroll. Finally, he landed on the ground and motioned with his hand.
“Your turn.”
The twins exchanged a glance, smirked in unison, and stepped onto the trunk without hesitation. Their booted soles gripped the surface smoothly. Within seconds they were standing high above the ground, then just as easily walked back down.
“That easy?” Naruko breathed out in surprise. “I thought this was some insane exercise, since they only teach it after graduation.”
“For normal children—it is insane,” Enma nodded. “But you’ve already mastered every form of chakra. Adjusting its speed and shape is the foundation of any jutsu. If you can sense and control chakra down to the smallest detail, then just a few words of instruction are enough to reproduce a technique. That’s why my friend Hiruzen is called the Professor. His control is flawless. Over his lifetime, he mastered every technique in Konoha.”
“Gramps is that amazing?” Naruko’s eyes went wide. “Wow!”
Menma just snorted—but in the same instant, a cold electric jolt shot down his spine. His lungs clenched, the air turned heavy and acrid.
[What the…]
He spun around sharply. One of his clones was trembling, covered in an uneven crimson glow. Kurama’s chakra was flaring across its body, and within seconds the infected flow leapt into the other clones.
“There it is,” Enma growled, and without wasting time lunged forward. His fists and paws smashed the copies into smoke—but that proved a mistake.
The red chakra surged backward, rushing into the originals like a tidal wave.
Menma barely stayed on his feet. Fire tore through his insides—muscles, bones, even blood felt like molten iron. His teeth ached, pulling forward into fangs; claws scraped against his palms from within. Burning pain seared his eyes, and the world flooded with alien, furious colors.
But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was knowing his mind was slipping away with his body.
From the corner of his vision he saw his sister: a crimson cloak of chakra flared around her, sprouting three sinuous tails. She was crouched on all fours, her eyes glowing red with vertical pupils.
And in those pupils’ reflection—he saw himself. The same.
“Grrr…” A guttural sound ripped from his throat.
They lunged at each other. Not brother and sister—predators, beasts, feral and mad. Claws swiped for eyes, teeth snapped at throats. Affection, jokes, that bond of always having each other’s back—washed away in a crimson tide.
The last thing Menma saw was white-and-red robes. A strong hand pressed a sealing tag to his forehead. Cold spread for a heartbeat—and then… darkness.
But not complete.
Events flickered chaotically, like glimpses through shattered glass.
Menma surfaced from the dark, then sank again. In fragments, he saw:
…he and his sister being carried into a windowless chamber, its stone walls breathing cold.
…the Hokage on his knees, brush in hand, inscribing sealing formulas—dark lines of ink and blood snaking across walls and floor.
…the talismans on their foreheads smoldering, crackling, as Kurama’s burning threads punched through.
…Hiruzen cursing under his breath, summoning three shadow clones, all of them scribbling together in a desperate race against the spreading hatred.
…the twins seated back-to-back at the center. Their bare torsos gleamed with sweat.
…the old man weaving hand seals as the lines on the floor blazed. Symbols crawled toward their stomachs, carved inward. The pain—like molten lead being poured straight into their guts.
Menma screamed, but the sound drowned in emptiness.
Darkness again.
But not entirely.
He opened his eyes—and realized he was inside the seal’s space.
A monstrous crash thundered through the sewers. It felt as though the earth itself was shaking. Kurama, crazed with rage, hurled himself at the bars of his cage again and again. His colossal paws slammed down with cracking force, but the prison held. The metal rang with a mocking hum.
From the ceiling, between the bars, a thick gray sludge began to drip down—like molten iron. Drops splashed into the murky water with a heavy clang, and every strike echoed in Menma’s skull like a hammer against an anvil.
“You!” Kurama roared when he spotted him on the other side of the bars. His eyes blazed crimson, his breath rumbled like a volcano. “You little bastard! Traitor!”
His voice hit like thunder.
“I shared my chakra with you, gave you strength for your training in that temple cellar! And now—” the beast choked on his own roar, “During the jinchūriki transformation I saw everything through your eyes! You were training outside! In plain sight! Worse—there was that stinking monkey! You exposed everything to the Hokage! You betrayed me!”
“Shut your mouth, asshole!” Menma spat into the filthy water, the sound sharp and defiant. “Don’t play the victim. You wanted to weaken the seal and break free, didn’t you? If I’d kept listening to you and sneaking into that basement where no one would see me, I’d already be dead. You’re no mentor, no ally. You’re just a pile of shit wrapped in a red chakra cloak.”
“Ungrateful wretch!” Kurama’s eyes flared, his voice ringing with fury. “You think you’ve won? Ha! Not even close. From now on, you won’t get a single drop of my power!”
Menma snorted, unmoved.
“So what? I’m an Uzumaki. Endless chakra and regeneration run in my blood. Without you, I’m still stronger than most.”
“It’s not the same!” the demon snarled, baring his fangs. “Nothing compares to my power! That Hokage you grovel before will never give you what I can. Never!”
Menma tilted his head slightly, his gaze turning sharp and cold.
“You love playing the manipulator, Kurama. You think you’re holding the strings. But the truth is—you’re out of the game. I’ve already taken everything useful from you. Hiruzen has real power. You’re just a living battery.”
“Bastard!” Kurama howled, his voice breaking into a beast’s roar. “You’re nothing without me!”
The gray mass poured down faster. The iron curtain nearly touched the floor, shutting the beast away. Kurama lowered his head, pressing his muzzle to the ground just to keep glaring at Menma.
“For killing my parents,” the boy’s voice was quiet but edged with steel, “you got not freedom, but a filthy, stinking sewer. For trying to kill me and Naruko, you lose your voice and your right to see the light.”
The iron closed shut. Kurama’s last curses were drowned in a ringing crash, and the silence that followed was so heavy it sang in Menma’s ears.
He was alone.
One manipulator was dealt with.
