After hearing what Teacher Fox said, Menma sat cross-legged and began to meditate, expanding his senses outward. He'd done this once before back in Konoha, and the results had been… less than heroic. We're talking migraines, nonstop puking, dizziness, temporary insanity, the whole day long.
He'd basically triggered a chakra data bomb and fried his little CPU. The sheer amount of energy signatures, aura impressions, emotional feedback, and weird energy pulses, that even teacher fox said that he didn't know what they were, had wrecked him for a week.
Since then, he'd only trained to control his range, to sharpen focus and ignore the junk signals. But now? The teacher wanted him to go all out.
Even thou the idea made him nervous, there was a small spark of excitement too as it would show him what were his truest limits. He calmed his breathing, stilled his thoughts, and became one with the raft. A tiny meditating monk floating in the middle of the sea.
His senses reached outward. First a few meters. Then several. Then kilometers. And then — boom — the world unfolded.
A 50-kilometer sensory sphere spread from him in every direction. He could feel the cold abyssal zones beneath the waves, fish darting like little chakra needles, huge beasts slumbering deep in the trench, clouds rolling across the atmosphere...
But not a single sign of land. Or birds. Or a salty old sailor humming a sea shanty. Nothing. It was like the sea was giving him the middle fin.
Feeling like a soggy breadcrumb on a blank ocean canvas, he pulled his senses back, very intentionally ignoring the terrifying energy signatures of things lurking below. He didn't need a sea monster friend. Not today.
He opened his eyes and sighed. "All clear. Which means it is all hopeless. Teacher Fox, your plan has gone highway."
Kurama, as helpful as ever, just told him to repeat the scan every half hour. "Miracles don't pop up on demand, you little brat."
Menma mentally filed Kurama under "Most Irresponsible Teacher Alive", then returned to his new routine: training his reflexes with string snaps and water splashes, and keeping Snow entertained so she didn't try leaping into the sea every time a fish popped out.
The day passed like this. The raft drifted under the orange sky. At night, he sat with Snow watching the moonlight dance across the waves. It was peaceful — in a "we're totally doomed but the lighting scene is nice" sort of way.
Except for that one group of stupid fish.
They kept jumping. Repeatedly. Mocking him. By morning, Menma decided to end the fish's reign of splashy terror.
He got to work. Three kunai. One wire. A simple but evil trap.
He waited… he sensed... There!
Whoosh!
Blub!
Puff!
SPLASH.
Bullseye!
"100 points for Menma, the grand champion of the Konai Fishing Olympics!"
Kurama and Minato were speechless inside the seal. Snow was already seated, waiting for her royal meal.
But as Menma pulled the line up… both he and Snow froze.
It was… hideous.
A fish that looked like a fusion between a tailfish and a stonefish. With the personality of a wet mop and the face of a tax form.
"Nope. Absolutely not."
Back into the sea it went.
He cleaned the kunai and tried again. And again. And again.
Thirty fish later, not a single one looked even remotely edible. It was as if the ocean wanted to introduce them to the ugliest lineup in aquatic history.
Minato just stared blankly. Kurama muttered something about sea karma.
Snow's face said everything.
"I may be starving, but I will not dine with sea trolls."
Menma was already numb.
Thirty fish. Thirty ugly, inedible, reject-from-a-horror-story fish.
He felt like he was grinding in a video game for a legendary sword, but every chest drop gave him the same cursed common shirt. "+1 to Uselessness."
Mechanically, he yanked the newest monstrosity off the kunai and flung it behind the raft like all the others. Then he lazily rinsed the kunai in the sea water, contemplating whether to throw another or just lie down and re-evaluate his life decisions.
Snow, on the other hand, was deep in research. She had noticed a pattern—the moment Menma tossed a fish, something big would gobble it up from below. The scent was interesting too. She wasn't a culinary expert (yet), but she trusted her nose. So, with the precision of a military sniper and the poise of a royal empress, she kept watching. The latest fish was drifting... drifting... almost there...
Meow!
Menma, who had been spacing out like a philosopher in crisis, felt a shift on the raft. His instincts screamed. Snow!
He turned just in time to see Her Royal Madness leaping off the raft toward the sea like a dive-bombing falcon.
His soul nearly vacated his body.
He didn't even think. He jumped too—hands stretching, heart pounding. He reached out just in time to grab her back legs and yank her back before she could pounce on the mysterious shadow rising beneath the water.
Splash!
They hit the water hard, Menma wrapping himself around Snow to keep her safe. A kunai had already left his hand mid-air, striking something in the ocean below—but he couldn't see what through the turbulence.
No time to worry.
He kicked hard, surfacing in seconds, gasping.
"Huuuh... Snow! You—what were you thinking?! You can't just go jumping into the sea like that! What if something happened to you?! What am I supposed to do without you?!"
His voice trembled with frustration, fear, and a touch of dramatic flair.
Meow!
"Smelling good doesn't mean it's edible! That's not how this works!"
Snow, as always, remained unapologetic. The sea might be unforgiving, but her appetite was eternal.
Menma sighed—deep, existential, and saltwater-flavored. She really was a queen... just not a very wise one when food was involved.
While scolding her and swimming back to the raft, he sent out his chakra to scan behind them—just in case. What he sensed made him pale.
There wasn't just a fish.
There was a creature. Huge. Bigger than a wagon. More teeth than good intentions. It was moving fast and headed straight for them.
Teacher Fox's advice screamed in his head. Immediately, he ignited his chakra—boiling the seawater around him, creating a red mist.
But the fish-creature didn't care.
Instead, it surged forward like Menma was the main course.
Now fully panicking, Menma swam like his life depended on it—because, well, it absolutely did. Snow clung tightly to his shoulder like a soaked fur scarf with claws.
He grabbed the rope attached to the raft and yanked it toward him, kicking off the water. Behind them, the beast surged. The kunai stuck in its skull didn't even seem to slow it down.
Thus began the legendary race of:
The Fox and the Fish: Death in the Deep.
Menma was doing his best speedboat impression, the raft bouncing behind him like a cracked surfboard on vacation.
And the fish?
Well, the fish was probably just hungry.
Snow sat primly on Menma's shoulder like a living crown, her golden eyes fixed behind them, drooling over the sight of the fish that had risen from the depths. It wasn't just any fish. It was massive, glistening, ominous—and full of meat. Her tail swayed in hungry anticipation.
Meow! "My lunch! Come to me! This empress swears—your noble sacrifice shall not go to waste!"
Meanwhile, Menma was breaking world records in sea sprinting.
He was swimming like the Olympic ghost of chakra itself, slapping the water so fast he was literally parting the sea behind him. His arms moved in perfect rhythm, and his legs kicked with fire. Easily twenty meters per second. Poseidon would be jealous.
Luckily, the creature behind them—a tuna with the personality of a chainsaw—was not quite as fast. It was slowly falling behind, and Menma dared to believe they might make it.
Until he heard that sound.
Crack.
Menma's blood turned cold.
That sound was from the raft—and he knew what it meant. The tension. The strain. The warning. If the fish got any closer or if he so much as turned wrong… it was going to split clean in half.
He was stuck. If he stopped, the fish would shred the raft. If he turned to fight, the raft would collapse anyway. It was a true Menma special: a no-win scenario with bonus pressure.
And all he had were kunai, shuriken, and...
"Well… I hope this fish is as dumb as it looks." He muttered.
"Snow! You still want that fish, right? Good. You're about to get it, but hold onto your tiny guts—it's gonna be bumpy!"
Meow!
Menma pushed harder for a few more seconds, widening the distance between them and the beast, just enough to act. With one swift motion, he pulled out a kunai and an explosive tag, tied them together like a professional chef plating a final dish, and channeled chakra to activate the tag.
Then—toss!
He hurled it upward and swam like a sea demon in the opposite direction, yanking the raft along as the tag ticked down behind him.
Bang! Splash!
The ocean lurched. The shockwave hit like a backhand from fate. Menma staggered slightly, slipping through the water like a stunned dolphin.
Snow had smelled victory—or dinner, same thing—and was scratching at his head. With no energy left to argue, he swam in a quick loop, flung drenched Snow onto the raft, then peeked around it to check the aftermath.
What did he see?
A tuna. Floating. Decapitated.
Menma and Snow blinked together in shock at the bloody soup on water surface. Somewhere in the seal, Kurama and Minato were pinching their noses.
A moment of silence passed.
"Did… he just use an explosion tag on a fish?"
"…Yes."
"…Was it necessary?"
"…No."
Even snow wasn't sure if he should be impressed or disappointed.
But hey! At least they had their first edible catch of the journey.
Menma swam to the tuna's tail and carefully pulled it out of the sea, away from the cloud of blood and sharks that might join the dinner party. He roped it to the raft and began towing it through the water, ignoring Snow's shrieking demands to let her eat it now.
After about thirty minutes of paddling, he found a quiet spot and hauled himself back onto the raft. Snow was there, glaring daggers, tail puffed like a broom. She looked like a soaked queen whose roast banquet had been delayed by technical difficulties.
While she dried in the sun and kept giving him passive-aggressive side-eyes, Menma inspected the raft. Despite everything, it had held together. Barely. The knots were worn, the ropes frayed, the wood splintering—but it was alive.
He patted the raft with deep gratitude.
"Good girl. You didn't let us down."
Then came repairs. He retied the rope, used the plastic sheet as reinforcement, and fixed weak points. Once satisfied it wouldn't collapse under them, he turned to their catch.
He cut off the waste, trimmed away inedible parts, and set the clean meat to the side. Snow, sitting right between his knees, reached up like a ninja with her paw every time he pulled the fish closer.
He teased her. Pulled it close, then snatched it back.
Snow stared.
He smirked.
She pounced.
CHOMP.
"OW! OKAY, OKAY, HERE!"
Menma frantically offered her a thin slice of meat like a peace treaty. Snow accepted it like a queen receiving tribute. She flopped down and nibbled with elegance.
Menma smiled.
He looked at her little fluff-covered face and said quietly to himself,
"Well, This is more then enough."
Placing the massive tuna onto the raft, Menma watched nervously as the wood creaked under the weight and dipped noticeably into the water. For a second, he held his breath.
But it held.
"Good girl…" he whispered to the raft with a gentle pat, like it was a tired but loyal friend who had just carried them through a warzone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Menma knelt beside the fish and got to work. With practiced ease and a kunai-turned-sushi knife, he began slicing the tuna into thin, even strips—laying them out across the raft in sunlit spots to dry slightly. He carved out one especially juicy cut, sliced it into small, elegant pieces, and placed them neatly in front of his ever-hungry queen.
Snow meowed in satisfaction, nodded at her servant's proper etiquette, and flopped down like a noodle before digging in.
Only after she was served did Menma allow himself to relax. He sat down, grabbed a slice of tuna, and popped it into his mouth. The salty taste and oily texture were like heaven in that moment. His shoulders dropped. The stress of escape, fear, hunger, and pain seemed to peel off his back and be carried away by the breeze.
As he chewed, he gazed out at the horizon. The sea glimmered gold and blue under the midday sun, waves clashing and rising like soft applause.
And then, he laughed.
"Hahahaha!"
Snow paused mid-bite and tilted her head, meowing up at him like, "You've finally lost it, haven't you?"
Menma wiped his eye and grinned at her, showing a full set of teeth—with one little corner gap like a badge of adventure.
"Oh, Snow!" he chuckled. "It just hit me. I shot thirty fish with chakra and shuriken like a maniac and not a single one was edible—but you? You pounced once and got us this monster tuna like it was nothing!"
He ruffled her fur and Snow, pleased with the compliment, gave a regal meow as if to say, "That's why I'm the empress and you're the servant."
They sat together near the edge of the raft, side by side, watching the ocean breathe. Menma continued to nibble at his food, telling Snow about the future he wanted to build—the one that was just out there somewhere, beyond the sun.
"We'll build a new world, Snow. A world that's fair, where people smile for real, and no one's ever left behind. No kids crying, no cats abandoned, no monsters inside you judged before they even open their mouths. A real home. We'll make it."
Snow purred in reply, her little tail curling around his arm.
He took a deep bite of tuna, felt the warmth of the sun on his face, the soft purring against his heart, and the wind whispering in his ear, carrying his dream far into the distance.
Inside the seal, Minato and Kurama watched in silence.
Menma's radiant joy, his bold dreams, and that silly wide smile pierced through the darkness like a beacon. It was a strange thing to witness—this boy who had been bathed in the shadows, building a future of light as if it were inevitable. No bitterness. No cynicism. Only hope.
Minato's heart ached quietly.
"Kushina... you would be so proud. He's still full of love, even after everything."
Kurama, arms crossed and tail flicking thoughtfully, finally spoke:
"The kid has a big courage and even a bigger heart. Bigger than you did."
He smirked.
"He's not the child of prophecy. He's not anyone's chosen one. But he's ripping fate apart and writing his own script... and it's beyond impressive."
The nine tails closed his eyes, a rare softness blooming behind them as Menma's voice floated through the seal, narrating a world filled with peace, invention, music, cities, laughter... and of course, foxes and cats treated like royalty.
Kurama pictured his siblings walking freely in that world—no longer called monsters, but guardians.
For the first time in a long, long while, Kurama dared to believe.
Maybe... just maybe... this little idiot would make it real.