The port lights blurred behind him, shrinking into the mist and distance like the last chapter of a book he wasn't planning to reread. Menma's small raft—barely a hunk of half-rotted wood and desperate rope—drifted farther out, lashed firmly to the back end of the ship like an uninvited tick on a whale.
The makeshift ride groaned beneath him, threatening mutiny with every wave, but Menma had used his vast and elite (read: barely passable) knowledge of ships and knots to keep it intact. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.
Leaning into the corner of the raft, he pulled Snow into his chest, wrapping around her like a warm, half-broken blanket. She meowed once in protest, flopped her head against his chin, and immediately began snoring. Just like that, he felt his body finally giving in—cooling, softening, unwinding like a tightly wound spring that had been held for far too long.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the chakra roaring in his veins was quiet. The fire had gone out. He was no longer a blaze in the dark.
He was just... a kid.
A very, very tired kid.
Exhaustion hit him harder than Danzo's head had hit the ground.
Everything he'd experienced over the last twenty-four hours—Snow's fake death, the slaughter, the betrayal, the sheer speed at which he'd run—came crashing down in silence. It wasn't even grief anymore. It was numbness. A bone-deep, soul-numbing fatigue that wrapped itself around his spine like a cold iron chain.
But even now—even now—Menma was Menma. He had a few more things to check before letting himself drop unconscious on a questionable raft in the middle of an ocean with nothing but a cat and a pack of knives. Like a responsible adult.
First, the rope. Tied tight. He double-checked the knot. Then checked again. (Then poked it once for luck.)
Second, leaks. Zero.
Third, inventory. He untied his pouch and laid it open with the gentle reverence of someone unboxing sacred treasure. Inside: five konai, ten shuriken, twenty senbon, three precious explosion tags, a roll of near-invisible steel thread, and a tiny scroll sealed tight enough to make a paranoid squirrel jealous. There were some documents too, which he didn't even glance at, because bureaucracy could wait until he wasn't barely surviving on sea drift.
And then—the jackpot.
Two small bottles.
The first: healing pills. The standard green kind he vaguely remembered seeing in one of Kakashi's lessons. He popped three into his mouth like candy, then plucked one out and nudged it gently into Snow's mouth. She swallowed with an annoyed snort, as if how dare you interrupt my nap for vitamins, peasant.
The second bottle? Food pills.
"YES!" Menma whispered like he'd found buried treasure.
Sixteen days' worth if rationed carefully. That meant one full pill for him per day, and a quarter for Snow (she'd complain, but she always did).
He sealed them carefully, tucked them in the very center of his pouch like gold bars, and cinched it tight. After that, he took the plastic cover he'd stolen from a dock ferry during his earlier ninja-cat stealth paddle, and made a makeshift roof over the raft. Rainproof, mostly. Visibility: zero. Safety? Let's not talk about it.
Only the tie to the ship remained visible—Menma made sure it looked casual, like just a random chunk of trash floating near the ship's hull.
Finally, finally, finally, he lay down. A plank of wood under his head, Snow curled against his chest, a strange plastic roof over his world... and the sea, stretching forever.
His eyes shut.
His breathing slowed.
And with the sound of waves lapping at the sides of the raft, and soft rain tapping like lullabies against the cover, Menma drifted into the deepest sleep he'd had since he was born.
He didn't even flinch when the rope creaked ominously in the dark. Didn't notice when the sea shook. Didn't hear the snap of one line, half-loosened by a passing wave.
Because—for once—his soul was safe.
Somewhere in the dream world, a version of him lay in a sunlit field, laughing, while Snow wore a ridiculous crown and ordered imaginary fox butlers to bring her snacks. Kurama played the grumpy maid. Minato watered flowers. And nobody cried.
At least for tonight, his soul had a bed to sleep in.
...
After what felt like an entire year of beauty sleep (but was probably more like fifteen hours and thirty-nine minutes), Menma was pulled from his coma by a very wet, very insistent lick to the face.
Something cold and furry sat right on his cheek, purring loudly enough to make his eyelashes vibrate. He opened one eye and found himself staring directly into a pair of golden feline eyes.
"Ghhhaaa—snow, your breath smells like yesterday's fish!"
Gently scooping her off his face, he plopped her down in front of him with a groggy yawn that turned into a full-face stretch, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. His back cracked. His soul creaked.
"Uuuuuhuhhhh... morning, Snow..."
He gave her a pat on the head while she pawed dramatically at her stomach like a starving actress. Yep—breakfast time.
His mind finally booted up, and he scanned his surroundings.
First realization: he had slid from one end of the raft to the other in his sleep. If there had been any remaining pride in his ninja reflexes, it was now at the bottom of the sea.
Second realization: there were puddles of rainwater pooling in the corners of the raft. The kind of puddles that whispered, "You definitely shouldn't fall asleep again."
Third realization: His pouch was still secure on his back—thank the gods—which meant food for today was secure.
He broke open the bottle, pulled out one food pill for himself and a quarter for Snow. She sniffed it suspiciously, then nibbled, tail flicking like she was critiquing a three-star restaurant.
Standing up slowly, Menma opened the top cover of the raft to check outside.
Endless sea.
Literally just... sea.
Ocean.
Water.
Mist.
Nothing but blue and gray stretching in all directions like a waterlogged painting. His eyes widened slowly as he spotted something: a rope, floating in the waves beside the raft like a dead snake.
Confused, he leaned inside to double-check that he hadn't somehow jumped rafts in his sleep. Nope. Still the same soggy mess he'd crawled into the night before.
Back up again. Eyes narrowed.
Where's the ship?
And then—
"...oh."
He was alone.
Completely.
Utterly.
Alone.
Not even the ship remained. The rope had snapped, likely during one of the waves, and he hadn't even noticed. The tie had been rotten. Not the knot. The rope.
A moment of silence passed. Then came the meltdown.
Menma dropped like a sack of potatoes back into the raft, curling into a fetal position of despair.
"This is it. I'm going to die floating on a glorified bathtub with a cat and some steel wire."
Snow watched him, head tilted.
Menma slowly sat up and looked at her as she dipped her paw into a puddle, staring at it expectantly as if hoping it might magically become tuna.
He couldn't help it. A small, broken laugh escaped his lips.
"Well... we're officially lost. Which means even if the whole world wanted to find us—too bad, they can't."
Snow meowed, completely unbothered.
"At least that means we're safe," he added with a crooked smile. "No one chasing us. No more shouting. No more fake funerals. No more Danzo heads."
His stomach growled. Right on cue.
Menma sat back, trying to collect himself. He examined the puddles, carefully dipping a finger into one that looked relatively clean. Rainwater, mixed with aged wood. Not great. Not the worst.
He hesitated... gave himself a full TED Talk about survival... and then gulped most of it down, grimacing the entire time.
"Ughhhh... That's foul. I hate survival."
He returned to check the rope. As expected—rotten. The break was jagged, frayed with age and moisture. No fixing that.
For a while, he just sat.
Doing nothing.
Saying nothing.
Snow, sensing the quiet, walked to his side and curled into his belly, her purring low and soothing.
Menma rested his hand on her back.
"Snow... I don't know where we are. I don't even know where we're supposed to go. I'm not scared of enemies, but I'm a little scared of... floating like a log forever."
Meow.
"But you're still here, huh?"
Meow.
"Heh. My queen."
Meow!
"You've saved me more times than I can count. From loneliness. From myself. From... the thing I'm turning into."
Snow didn't answer this time. She just butted her head under his chin.
Suddenly—
"HEY! WHO ARE YOU CALLING A THING?!"
Menma froze.
Nearly fell into the sea.
He whipped his head around, heart hammering, and saw the familiar foxish figure lying lazily in the seal space.
"Teacher Fox?! I almost forgot I had you!"
"Yeah, real flattering," Kurama muttered. "Here I am, the most powerful chakra beast in history, and you forget I exist while you're floating off to oblivion with your glorified hairball."
"Teacher, help me! I'm lost! Starving! Wet! Cold! Possibly hallucinating!"
Kurama pinched the bridge of his nose (mentally, of course).
"Alright. Here's the deal. Sit your bony butt down and meditate. Try to sense chakra in a wide radius. If you sense a ship, swim toward it. If you sense a big sea creature—think shark, but worse—just blast chakra like a maniac while imagining how to kill it."
"...That's it?"
"That's it."
Menma blinked.
And then his entire mood did a 180.
"Yes, sir!" he shouted, saluting like a tiny general. He immediately dropped into meditation pose, eyes narrowed with purpose.
For the first time in hours, he wasn't hopeless.
Kurama sighed deeply, watching this child who could destroy the world but needed directions to find dry land.
"I swear, Kushina... your son is both a disaster and the future."
...
By the time the late sun turned golden, casting long shadows over Konoha's rooftops, three shinobi slipped out of the village quietly, under orders and under pressure. Their mission was simple on paper: find the missing boy.
Shisui.
Itachi.
Might Guy.
The three of them were fast, sharp, and trusted—especially with the task of tracking the village's most unstable prodigy.
Shisui led the team. Guy's role was clear: do not engage unless necessary, and only after finding Menma. Tracking, however, was left to the Uchiha.
They found the first sign quickly: the place where Menma had jumped over the village wall.
From there, the trail unfolded like a secret path only visible to those trained to see what others couldn't. Shisui and Itachi, their Sharingan eyes scanning with razor precision, moved like shadows.
A bent branch.
A subtle footprint.
A single strand of red hair caught in a bush.
A paw print from a tiny feline empress.
Each clue stitched together the escape route Menma had taken. A few broken leaves here, a smudge of chakra there. And then, finally, they reached the river by nightfall.
Here, the path became unclear.
Menma's steps vanished at the bank. The water shimmered dark under the starlight. Waves lapped gently, revealing nothing.
Did he cross upstream? Or head downstream? Or worse, double back?
Itachi narrowed his eyes.
"This is where we could lose him," he murmured.
Shisui agreed silently, his eyes scanning both banks. And then—
"I believe he went downstream," came Guy's voice, quiet and uncharacteristically serious.
Itachi turned, eyebrows raised. Shisui tilted his head slightly.
"Do you have proof?" Itachi asked, his tone not judgmental, but firm.
Guy stood at the edge of the river, the water kissing his boots, hands on his hips. His usual cheer was replaced with something sharper. Older.
"No. Just instinct. But I know that boy. He's not wasting energy going uphill. He'd use the river's current to his advantage—less effort, harder to trace, and more distance covered while conserving chakra."
Itachi was still skeptical. But before he could respond, Shisui made the decision for them.
"Then we follow the current. I'll take the opposite bank. We'll flank both sides. Stay sharp."
Itachi and Guy nodded, and with that, they split.
As they dashed downstream, Itachi finally broke the silence.
"Guy-sensei... who is Menma, really?"
Guy blinked mid-step, a little surprised by the directness. But then, he sighed.
"You've figured out the timing, haven't you?"
"His birth. It's the same day. Same time as Naruto."
Guy nodded, not hiding it anymore.
"Kushina Uzumaki… she was the last Jinchūriki before Menma. And yes, she was the Fourth's wife. Menma is her son. That's all I'll say. The rest... isn't mine to share."
Itachi went quiet. Everything clicked into place in his mind. The bloodline. The chakra. The sorrow.
Two sons, one village, one legacy split in half.
By dawn, they reached the mouth of the river, where it spilled into the vast sea. Their chase ended on a shoreline of silence.
They confirmed it quickly: Menma had run straight to the sea, never leaving the river.
Now the question was... which way had he gone from here?
Shisui and Itachi each created a shadow clone, sending them to check opposite coastlines while the three of them followed the path toward the nearby port city.
There was little to go on.
In fact, it was almost like he vanished.
They separated, scanning every dock, every shipping log, every merchant name and sailor's tale. When they gathered again one hour later, their expressions were dark.
Only two clues surfaced:
Seven ships had departed port yesterday.
A broken, battered raft and a waterproof cover had been stolen.
Itachi had traced all seven ships' destinations and noted them down. Still, it was no guarantee Menma was on any of them.
The trail had gone cold.
That was the reality.
That little fox had vanished.
---
Meanwhile...
A certain red-eyed, two-year-old Jinchūriki was currently paddling furiously across open sea, dragging a half-sunk raft behind him with a rope woven by half-rotten threads tied around his waist.
His expression was the perfect mix of panic and regret.
Behind him?
A massive tuna.
Not your average market-grade tuna either. No. This one had ambitions.
"WHY IS THIS FISH SO FAST?!"
Menma shouted into the void, kicking harder.
Snow, riding on his back like a furry captain, yowled excitedly.
"Meooooowwwww!!"
(Translation: FISH!! Giant fish! I want it!! I want it raw!!)
Menma coughed on seawater.
"SNOW, NOW IS NOT THE TIME!"
The tuna kept chasing them.
The raft bounced dangerously.
And somewhere far, far behind...
Three ninja stood at the edge of the continent, staring into the horizon, completely unaware that their runaway Jinchūriki was currently reenacting an episode of "Man vs Fish: Jinchūriki Edition."
...