Chapter 33: New King of Ramen, Still So Red!!!

The crisp, fresh spring air danced through the streets and slipped in through the windows of Konoha, weaving itself into every breath and whisper of the village. The trees were budding with delicate greens. Wildflowers sprouted defiantly from the cracks in the walls and the hard concrete of the training grounds, breathing color into the awakening city. Even the air seemed to hum with gentle contentment, the harshness of winter melting into memory.

Children sprinted joyfully through narrow alleyways, their laughter echoing between the buildings. Merchants hollered out prices with grins on their faces, their stalls overflowing with blooming plants, woven silks, and warm, colorful fabrics. The village was alive.

But nowhere pulsed with as much excitement as the Uchiha Clan Bazaar—the heart of Konoha's newfound prosperity and its undeniable fashion capital. It was no longer just a dream to wear clothing as stylish as the famed Uchiha. These days, it was a reality for anyone who walked through their market. Their once-feared clan was now the darling of spring commerce.

And yet, despite all this light and laughter, a small boy limped quietly along the street toward the hospital.

Menma, holding his crutch in one arm and supporting a regal-looking white kitten in the other, drew looks for a different reason altogether. His crimson-red hair now hung longer and lower—he had grown nearly four inches taller in just one month of rest. His body, too, had begun to change again, taking on the leaner, longer build of a child nearly eight years old.

Though his beauty hadn't faded—if anything, it had matured into something more captivating—it was obvious that this sudden change wasn't natural. Still, the one in his arms didn't seem to mind. Snow, the little queen of fluff and pride, lay sprawled across Menma's forearm like royalty being paraded through the capital. Every few steps, Menma would try to lean in to give her a kiss on the forehead, only to be gently swatted by a firm white paw. Public displays of affection were beneath her status.

Beside them walked Kakashi, a book wrapped in brown waste paper in his hand, face slightly pink and eyes lowered as he turned the pages with quiet devotion. Menma didn't need to ask. He already knew—it was another one of Jiraiya's pervy novels, smuggled in and read with feverish joy whenever Yoruusagi wasn't around. Typical Kakashi.

As they passed the outer gates of the Uchiha compound, Menma glanced inward and saw a peculiar sight: a small crowd of Uchiha women gathered together, some with their hands resting gently on rounded stomachs, others laughing and whispering about cravings and weight and names. A strange glow of warmth and love seemed to fill the air inside the compound. A deep pink light of harmony. Spring had truly arrived for the Uchiha.

Menma felt his mentor stumble slightly beside him—clearly distracted by the image. Menma sighed. It wasn't the first time Kakashi had been caught slipping into wistful daydreams lately. And with how tightly he still clung to the ghosts of his past, Menma wasn't sure what to do other than walk alongside him... and sigh again.

Lately, even Mr. Fox had been acting strange inside the seal. He had started covering his face with his paw whenever Menma entered, answering in muffled grunts or with flicks of his ears. Was he embarrassed? Did he need a vixen? But where was Menma supposed to find a tailed beast-sized girlfriend? One time he asked the Fox if he had ever been in love, and the answer had been a resentful growl: "Never touched a woman in my entire life!" No wonder the grump was so awkward.

Still... it was amusing to watch him struggle.

But that laughter faded when a sudden, familiar sensation reached Menma's senses—hatred. Thick and raw, like bile rising in the back of the throat. Someone nearby was glaring at the village itself, not just the people in it. He turned sharply and pinpointed a chakra signature hiding high above on the rooftops. He narrowed his eyes but didn't linger. He just pointed subtly to Kakashi, then kept walking, pretending he hadn't noticed. He would remember the face. He always did.

And with that, his mind drifted back to his last memory of Granny Biwako—the day she gave him permission to walk again.

---

Konoha Hospital – Ward 3C

"Your body is holding up well enough to move around again," Biwako said, gently pulling her glowing hand away from Menma's chest and ending her chakra examination. "You're free to walk and limp your way out of my hospital."

She crossed her arms sternly but with warmth. "Of course, normally, we would've healed you with advanced medical ninjutsu by now. But because of your age, your body would react unpredictably to intense chakra stimulation. And despite your terrifying healing factor, your body's muscle and bone density is so high that it slows the natural recovery."

Menma nodded obediently.

"And to make matters worse," she added, sharply, "your inability to control your chakra means that any attempt to use it speeds up your muscle strain and damage. So I'll say this one last time, loud and clear—no chakra use until you're fully healed. Not even a drop."

"Yes, ma'am!"

She gave a final nod, then turned to Kakashi. "Kakashi, help him gather his things. And please retrieve that white devil cat from the windowsill before she breaks in. She's been staring daggers at me since dawn."

"I'll try, Lady Biwako," Kakashi said dryly.

"Thank you, Granny!" Menma called. "I'll be going now. Bye!"

Snow leapt into his arms the moment the window cracked open, rubbing against his chin like a velvet whip. Menma, leaning on a crutch, made his slow way out of the room—one step at a time.

Biwako stood silently for a moment, watching the boy limp out.

He had suffered more than anyone knew.

And yet, despite everything, he still smiled like a child. Her eyes drifted back to the medical records left on the table. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached to lift them.

---

Medical Profile – Patient: Menma Uzumaki

Biwako had personally overseen the tests. The data was real. And terrifying.

Bone Density: Higher than Might Guy, a ninja known for dedicating his life to taijutsu and physical conditioning. At first, she feared Menma had a bone-growth disorder—the kind that would cause a painful, irreversible calcification. But no. His bones weren't diseased. They were designed for combat.

Cell Behavior: Normal under standard conditions. But when stressed—whether through heat, vibration, or chemical interference—the cells became aggressive, mutating and evolving rapidly. They responded to pain by strengthening. Responded to poison by becoming immune. They dissolved foreign agents like they were eating them. Then came the worst part:

Chakra Reaction: Under laboratory tests, the cells began producing their own violent, deep red chakra—a fusion of natural and tailed beast energy. When exposed to other cells or chakra types, they didn't resist… they devoured them. And when starved, they began trying to reach other sources on their own.

Biwako had destroyed the lab samples and memorized the data herself. She wasn't going to let anyone find them.

This child, she believed now with certainty, was a tailed beast made of flesh and blood.

Heart & Lungs: Unbelievably powerful. His heart could outpace a water pump. His lungs could filter even toxic gases.

Liver & Digestive System: Could process poisons in seconds and digest raw meat in under half an hour. His stomach would shame even Akimichi digestion speeds.

Neural Response Time: Baseline average at rest. But when focused? She saw reaction speeds that rivaled—and possibly exceeded—Minato Namikaze.

And perhaps most baffling of all—

Growth Signals: Menma's body was receiving brain signals urging rapid physical growth. And the only reason it had plateaued around the form of a seven-year-old was due to the extreme strain from his training—his own body pausing growth just to keep up with itself.

She sighed and sealed the records in her personal vault. Hidden away, where even the prying eyes of Konoha's elders couldn't reach.

Menma wasn't just a Jinchūriki.

He was something new.

A being shaped by tragedy, forged in chakra, and now—walking freely through Konoha with a kitten in his arms and a fire in his blood.

What would he become?

That question haunted her more than any medical puzzle ever had.

---

The hospital doors creaked open behind them as Menma stepped out into the crisp midday air. Though winter had passed, spring's warmth was still a whisper on the wind. A weak, cold breeze brushed across his cheeks and nipped gently at his fingers and arms. He instinctively curled tighter around Snow, cradling her against his chest to shield both her and himself.

His first instinct was to call forth chakra for warmth, to let that searing river of fire beneath his skin push back the cold. But he paused, Granny Biwako's strict warning echoing in his ears: "Don't use chakra. Not even a drop."

So he obeyed.

Instead, he buried his face gently into the clean white fluff of his tiny queen's fur. In response, Snow huffed in feline disapproval, her ears flattening as she mewed her annoyance at the unsolicited affection. Menma winced, loosening his hold and mumbling a sheepish apology.

"Sorry, Your Highness..."

She flicked her tail in approval and returned to resting regally in his lap, smug as ever. Menma sighed, smiled softly, and followed the slow pace of Kakashi as they made their way toward the outer gates of the hospital grounds.

The sun glistened lazily above, casting the trio in golden light—Kakashi reading from a book covered in scrap paper, Menma hobbling beside him on a crutch, and Snow riding atop him like a conqueror atop her throne. They looked like something out of a street painter's sketchbook—a curious image of peace, absurdity, and quiet warmth.

But then, a figure stepped into their path—a silhouette in heavy robes and thick clothing, a pipe clenched between thin lips, the faint odor of aged tobacco swirling around him like a second coat.

"Little Menma," the man said, smiling around the stem of the pipe. "I see that you've recovered well and regained that spark in your step."

Both Menma and Kakashi paused, eyebrows rising in unison.

"Lord Third?"

"Grandpa Third?"

They each bowed slightly, unsure what business the retired Hokage had with them in the middle of the street.

But the old man raised a palm, motioning for them to relax.

"Be easy, both of you. I'm not here as the Hokage today—just as an old man who owes you more than he could ever repay. It's a chilly day, and I thought… well, a warm meal might say what words cannot. Menma, I know hospital food isn't satisfying. So, allow me to buy you a proper lunch. Just this once, I'll bleed my wallet dry if I must."

Kakashi blinked.

"Wait... not eating well?"

He resisted the urge to laugh.

You just had THREE whole fish for breakfast, you glutton.

Menma, however, was surprised—and flattered. Someone… was inviting him to lunch? Someone outside of Kakashi and Yoruusagi? Not because they had to, but because they wanted to?

It stirred something inside his heart.

Still, Menma hesitated. He looked down at himself—his oversized jacket had no sleeves, one pant leg was cut short around the plaster on his foot, and his casted arm clutched the royal Snow. He looked like a bandaged beggar at best, hardly ready for an honorary lunch.

But... he couldn't exactly decline the Third Hokage. Not only was the man the most powerful elder in the village, but he was also one of the few still keeping the truth of Menma's past buried from prying eyes.

So Menma grinned, flashing mischief and appetite all at once.

"It would be an honor, Hokage-sama. But... you're not allowed to complain when I start eating like I haven't had a full meal in a year, alright?"

Sarutobi chuckled.

"Challenge accepted."

Kakashi, watching quietly, had to wonder:

Wait... so all those meals I cooked were only half-full to you?! Am I just some free cook to be pitied?!

He sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead.

This boy will bankrupt the entire village.

---

Ten Minutes Later – Ichiraku Ramen

Now Menma understood why the old man had been so confident. This place… was a trap.

A small ramen shop tucked into the corner of a busy street, its wooden sign slightly faded but charming. The menu hung neatly over the counter, and the scent of miso and soy broth clung to the air like a warm embrace.

A humble shop—with humble prices.

Menma eyed the chalkboard.

Thirty grams of beef is the most expensive dish? Hmph. No wonder he looked so smug...

He stepped inside and immediately took the corner-most seat at the bar, leaning his cane against the wall with care. Then, like placing a precious treasure, he sat Snow in his lap, her snowy white head popping up proudly over the counter edge.

The Third took the center seat. Kakashi, still reading, settled beside them.

Menma's stomach growled without restraint, loud enough that even Snow gave him a deadpan side glance from her perch on his lap. He gently patted her head in apology, then looked up to take in his surroundings.

The shop owner, a man with a long, flat face and slitted eyes so narrow that Menma genuinely wondered if any light got through, stepped forward from behind the counter. His expression was unreadable at first glance, but Menma's mind had already taken off.

"Seriously… how do you even see with those eyes? Is there a special jutsu for that? Maybe chakra echolocation? Should I ask?"

Before he could let his internal monologue get out of hand, the man—Teuchi, based on the faded nameplate behind him—placed a small sign on the table, ready to take their orders. He glanced curiously at the cat in Menma's lap, instinctively opening his mouth to say something about not placing pets on the table.

But just as he inhaled to speak, Kakashi raised a hand silently, shaking his head slightly.

That was all it took.

Teuchi froze.

Something in Kakashi's singular visible eye sent a clear message:

"Don't. Just don't."

Teuchi swallowed. Then his gaze wandered back to Snow—and that was when he understood.

The cat was watching him.

Not just passively. She was assessing him—like a queen inspecting a court jester. Her crystalline eyes glinted like twin senbon ready to fire if he dared open his mouth again.

She was terrifying. And terrifyingly clean.

Resigned, he returned to his menu, noting that the cat remained on the boy's lap, not the counter, and decided to let fate carry him through this customer service nightmare.

But then—he saw the child.

And his soul nearly left his body.

That hair. That posture. Those eyes.

He looked like a phantom from Teuchi's memories—a ghost of someone who used to sit in the same seat with the same appetite, and laugh with the same fire.

Kushina.

No... It can't be.

Then another image surfaced—Minato. Yes, there was that softness, that calm, that subtle sharpness in the gaze. The boy looked like both of them… but he couldn't be Naruto. Naruto should be younger. This boy was older, bigger, and carried a completely different aura—not so lighthearted or brash, but something deeper. Wiser. Sadder.

Teuchi felt his knees weaken, and before he could stop himself, he drew a sharp breath, ready to speak—

"Wait, are you—"

But again, Kakashi subtly cleared his throat, this time loud enough to break the tension but quiet enough to remind Teuchi he was treading a minefield.

The man paled and nodded quickly, redirecting himself like a true professional.

"Ah, welcome! Can I take your orders?"

Menma smiled, completely oblivious to the drama swirling around him.

Kakashi said in soft voice,

"Mr. Teuchi, can I have a miso ramen, please?"

"A classic!" Teuchi replied, voice cracking just slightly.

He turned next to Sarutobi.

"And for you, Hokage-sama?"

Hiruzen, still watching Teuchi like a hawk, gave a casual wave.

"Hmm, let's go light. Vegetable ramen for me. This old stomach can't compete with those young flames anymore."

That left only one customer.

Teuchi turned last to the red-haired boy, who was eyeing the menu with both strategic hunger and noble patience—as if preparing for war.

"And you, young man?"

Menma looked up, thoughtful.

"Well, I don't know how your ramen tastes yet, so how about this—make me whatever you think I'll love the most. If I do, I'll take twenty bowls of it. Oh, and some fried fish for Snow here. She has high standards and a very refined tongue."

He said it as casually as if he were asking for a glass of water.

Teuchi stiffened.

Twenty?

Only one person in all of Konoha's history had made such a request.

Only one person had eaten bowl after bowl while laughing, while wiping her nose, while complaining about the spiciness—and that person had once said with pride: "I'm going to eat until this ramen shop gives me a seat with my name on it!"

Teuchi's hands trembled.

His chef's instincts ignited.

This was no ordinary meal—this was a legacy to uphold.

determined, Teuchi returned to his stove.

Outside, the world turned gently under the spring sun. But inside that tiny ramen shop, a silent tradition was passed on.

The crown of the greatest Ichiraku glutton, long held by one red-haired woman, now rested upon the head of a small boy with a mischievous smile and a dragon's appetite.

And the bowl count... had only just begun.

-------

By the time the final bowl was set down and the last noodle slurped, the quiet corner of Ichiraku Ramen had become a battleground of legend.

No longer was it just a meal—it had become an event. A crowd had gathered out front, murmuring in disbelief, gawking at the tower of ceramic bowls stacked beside a red-haired boy and his snowy white cat, both seated like monarchs upon a noodle throne.

The total count?

Forty-six.

Forty-six ramen bowls.

Even the third Hokage was having trouble standing straight, both from disbelief and the devastating lightness of his wallet. He stared down at it as if it had personally betrayed him.

Kakashi, meanwhile, sat beside Menma in stunned, silent awe. For the first time in his life, he finally understood something deep and irrefutable:

Menma had been merciful.

All those times he had fed him five fish, seven fish, even nine—it had been mercy. If he had ever dared to ask Menma to eat to his heart's content, his kitchen would now be buried beneath a mountain of bones, oil, and the broken dreams of a tired shinobi cook.

"I would've needed to cook from sunrise to midnight… every day. I… I never stood a chance…"

Kakashi's single visible eye was wide with terror and respect.

And Teuchi?

The brave chef leaned weakly against the counter, shirt drenched in sweat, face pale with the intensity of battle. His daughter Ayame stood behind him, eyes filled with concern as she offered him a cup of water.

She had been watching with bated breath each time the boy tapped his chopsticks and said softly, "Another, please."

Every time he said it, a piece of her soul quivered.

But now it was over.

Menma sat back triumphantly, one arm draped protectively around Snow, who looked every bit like a queen on her throne, her tiny paws gently resting on her very full belly. She hadn't eaten as much as Menma, but it was clear from the soft purring and glassy eyes that she too had entered a food-induced bliss.

Snow stretched once with the grace of royalty, then returned to hugging her round belly like it was a sacred relic.

Menma laughed quietly and leaned down to kiss her soft fur—but once again, a paw stopped him short.

Still… denied.

Still, he loved her.

He turned toward the third Hokage, who was now visibly trembling—not from cold, but from the wound Menma had inflicted upon his wallet.

Menma smirked devilishly.

"Serves you right for trying to dodge the bill, Grandpa Third."

And still, despite everything, Hiruzen smiled.

Because when he looked at this boy—this hungry, chaotic, broken, beautiful boy—he knew in his heart: This was no ordinary child.

Menma may not have been born with love… but the world was slowly giving it to him.

And in return, he would someday change that world.

After some photos were taken—one of Menma proudly posing beside the chef, bowls towering beside him like castle walls—they finally exited the shop. The townsfolk bowed or whispered as they passed. Menma, for all his innocent mischief, walked away a little more proud… a little more full… and perhaps, with a slightly rounder face.

Just a few steps down the road, Hiruzen gestured to a quiet tea house, tucked into the corner of the street like an old memory.

"Let's sit," he said softly. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

They made their way in. The owner greeted the Hokage with polite surprise, then brought over a warm pot of herbal tea known for aiding digestion.

Menma's gaze lingered on the tea house owner a moment too long—there was something strangely familiar in the way the man moved and hide the emotion in his heart. He didn't know what it means, but he would ask it later. As for now...

Menma leaned back in the seat, Snow curled up beside him, the room warm and the air gentle, he glanced at the old man—who was no longer smiling.

Something about his eyes had changed too.

Menma felt it instantly. The shift in atmosphere. The soft hush of breath before an important moment.

His smile faded. His eyes sharpened.

Whatever was coming now…

It wasn't about ramen anymore.