The afternoon sun spilled golden light across the village, bathing the Konoha Bazaar in a warm, drowsy hue. Laughter and voices filled the air as Menma weaved through the bustling crowd with practiced ease, a short grocery list folded in one hand. He moved with purpose but not urgency, his eyes scanning stalls with a keen precision—selecting vegetables, spices, meats, and grains with deliberate care. These weren't just ingredients for a meal—they were offerings of warmth, of gratitude, of connection.
Tomorrow was his birthday, and although he didn't make a fuss over it, Menma intended to cook a feast. Not just for himself, but for those who had quietly become his makeshift family. Each item he picked out was tied to a thought, a memory, or a hope—for Kakashi, for Biwako, for Guy, even for Raven and Phantom.
With bulging paper bags in both arms, he moved on to the flower shop, where the scent of damp earth and blossoms wrapped around him like a gentle breeze. He bought small pots, bags of soil and fertilizer, and a few simple seeds—nothing extravagant, just quiet tokens of life he planned to nurture, a contrast to the cold steel world he was trained for.
He carried them all to Kakashi's house, and once inside, carefully washed and set the pots in a sunlit corner. He filled them with soil, mixed in fertilizer, and pressed the seeds into the earth with quiet reverence. When he watered them, he smiled—wondering idly what they might look like when they bloomed. Would they stand tall? Would they wilt? Would Kakashi even notice?
Leaving the house again, he went to retrieve the food boxes he'd prepared earlier. On the way, he spotted a familiar figure.
"Teacher Guy!" Menma called, raising a hand.
Guy was enthusiastically buying skewers from a food stand, loading up for himself and his friend Ebisu. When he saw Menma, his smile stretched even wider.
"Menma! Your cooking! Youthful and flavorful—how can I describe it? It's like eating fire and springtime at the same time!" he bellowed, giving a thumbs up that nearly knocked over a nearby stand.
Menma chuckled. "Glad you liked it. I'll bring something new tomorrow. You better be ready—it's going to be a brand new dish's birthday."
Guy laughed so hard his skewer wobbled in the air. "Then I shall welcome it with the same passion I once used to challenge Kakashi! Let the flames of flavor consume me!"
With a nod and a grin, Menma continued on, heading toward the hospital next. The sterile scent hit him as he entered the long hallway of Konoha's medical wing. But instead of his warm, scolding Granny Biwako, there was only silence in her usual room. A nurse explained she was in surgery again—another batch of wounded had returned from the Cloud frontlines.
His eyes narrowed just slightly.
So it had already begun.
Still, he played the part. He smiled, cracked a joke or two, and when asked about his recipes, he clutched Snow dramatically and whispered, "Secret. If I tell you, I'd have to feed you forever."
The hungry glint in some of the nurses' eyes was enough to send him jogging out with Snow in his arms, both of them laughing—one nervously, the other wagging her tail.
Finally, he made his way to the Hokage's conference hall, where the looming double doors stood like the sealed gates of judgment. Phantom and Raven stood at their posts, as silent and eerie as ever. Menma gave them a nod, receiving only impassive stares in return. Under their blank gazes, he picked up the food boxes he had prepared, neatly stacked in a quiet corner. As he walked away, he smiled and waved, completely unaware that his earlier presence had triggered ripples that still hadn't settled.
They watched him leave, their impassive masks hiding the storm of thoughts behind their eyes. Neither said a word. The boy was a walking paradox—light in tone, but shadows in his wake.
Back home, Menma cleaned and dried the food boxes, ensuring everything was perfect for the next day. Then, he took Snow to the hot springs spa, where steam billowed into the night air like ghosts exhaling. He soaked for what felt like hours, his head resting on a warm towel, eyes lost in the stars above. It was quiet, and for once, his thoughts didn't race.
On the way back, he stopped at a quiet shop and bought a delicate necklace and a sleek new face mask for Kakashi—small gifts, to be tucked secretly into their respective food boxes. He didn't need thanks. He just wanted to see them smile.
Back in his room, he changed into soft clothes, removed the training weights from his wrists and ankles, and collapsed into bed. Snow curled against his side, and together, they drifted into sleep—peaceful and unaware.
Menma's eyes closed on a wish.
A birthday with his family of four.
A long, happy day.
But fate, silent and cruel, had already broken that wish into pieces.
---
In the darkness of Konoha, deep underground, Danzo sat in his stone chair, gazing at the documents spread before him.
He had just returned from the meeting and negotiation table, and now, he was certain of the truth his spies had delivered.
Two months ago, one of the prisoners inside the ANBU headquarters had escaped. Danzo had gone over the prisoner's information—the confessions he had made, what he had been after, and his origins—trying to understand how and with whose help he had escaped. But all the data led to a dead end. There was no way to grasp what had truly occurred, just like the mystery surrounding the prisoner the Fourth had caught that night.
Reaching this unsettling conclusion, Danzo grew extremely cautious and raised his security, attempting to view the situation as a whole.
Not long after, word arrived that the people of the Hidden Cloud were seeking peace negotiations, claiming they had wasted too much energy in a pointless battle that gained them nothing.
While that might have held some truth, Danzo—the shadow king of Konoha's underground—knew better. With the unresolved mystery of the escaped prisoner still fresh, he saw clearly that those words of peace were nothing more than an elaborate trap.
He reviewed the information the spy had been after, and his actions before being captured, in order to decipher the greater scheme.
The targets were two—or, more precisely, three: two pairs of unsealed Byakugan, and the unstable, dangerous Jinchūriki.
To confirm his suspicions, Danzo even allowed one of the questionable spies to infiltrate Root, placing him under complete surveillance and control. That act alone solidified the enemy's intended targets.
Now came the critical question—how to handle their foolish plot.
He put aside the idea of informing Hiruzen, and began pondering his next steps carefully. After long contemplation, he came up with several plans. What remained was to gauge the scale of the enemy's mobilization and determine how much force they were willing to use.
The results he received surpassed even his grim expectations.
Just before the envoy team moved, twenty elite jonin—among the best of the best—vanished without a trace, while a considerable force of shinobi began amassing near the border. Infiltration forces were also detected in another region of the country.
It was now painfully clear that the enemy was fully invested, and had already made extensive preparations for the operation.
But what they didn't realize was that their entire plan had been laid bare, exposed under Danzo's ever-watchful eyes.
Connecting the timing and the fragments of intel, he had practically reconstructed the full operation. And in doing so, his own counterplan became equally clear.
First, he manipulated Hiruzen into rotating out the tired and wounded on the front lines, replacing them with fresh, powerful troops.
Then he dispatched agents to lay numerous traps along the enemy's infiltration routes, monitored their movements closely, and summoned his strongest operatives back to the village.
It was a painful reality that many of his original Root soldiers had been lost in the Rain conflict, and the new generation had yet to mature. Still, the preparation had to continue.
Next came internal security.
He reached out to the Hyuga clan and negotiated a deal. In exchange for their support after the coming incident, he promised to challenge Hiruzen's leadership and bring him down over his failure to protect the village.
At first, the Hyuga naturally refused. But after sufficient pressure—veiled threats and calculated coercion—they were pushed into reluctant cooperation.
They agreed to use both children as bait, laying a trap that would allow them to strike and eliminate the Cloud operatives once and for all.
With that matter settled, it was finally the Jinchūriki's turn.
That boy was far too dangerous—for Danzo's plans, and for the village's future.
Not only would he go on a rampage the moment he uncovered the truth about his past, but his talents already put Minato and even his own teacher to shame. Coupled with a body that rivaled the First Hokage—the God of Shinobi—Danzo had no doubt that when the truth came out, the boy would be his end.
Even more troubling was the boy's mind.
Hiruzen had tried to bury it, but Danzo had unearthed it: Menma was an idealist—one who might even sacrifice Konoha itself in pursuit of global peace.
Such dangerous thinking could never be tolerated.
All of this led Danzo to a single conclusion: eliminate him.
The thought had lingered in his mind for a long time, and now, the opportunity lay before him. He would dispose of the Jinchūriki using the Hidden Cloud's blade. A borrowed knife, wielded cleanly.
But it would require preparation.
He started by removing everyone close to the boy and placing them under Hiruzen's influence, including the three Uchiha and the Hatake boy. That fool was even reassigned to patrol distant streets.
Next, he used the very spy he had allowed into Root to monitor Menma and feed the Cloud's infiltration team information about his movements.
Then, he gathered all key individuals who might come to the boy's aid and lured them to the Jinchūriki's own brother's birthday celebration.
Once they were all in place, he cast an isolation barrier around the location—cutting them off completely from the events unfolding outside.
He also prepared the necessary tools and materials to reseal the Nine Tails if needed.
He activated every sleeper agent he had hidden within the clans to secure both the Jinchūriki and the elite jonin they had stationed at the border.
He was ready.
Completely, absolutely ready.
By this time tomorrow, he would no longer have to fear the unstable fox-boy.
He would possess the beast itself—whole and undivided—and mold it however he pleased.
No longer half, no longer compromised.
A weapon, forged entirely under his command.
---