Chapter 35: Trainees’ Trainer

Konoha Hospital, Clinic

"Ahhh, finally! I can touch it—and move it too!" Menma yelled with gleeful triumph, swinging his freshly-freed left arm in the air. "Big brother Kakashi! My second chopsticks holder is back! Let's throw a welcome-back feast and eat till our stomachs beg for mercy!"

Kakashi, standing by the window with his head in his palm, didn't flinch. He had witnessed all manner of disasters in his lifetime—but watching a half-healed Menma hopping around like a squirrel on fermented acorns was something else entirely.

"Little Menma," he tried gently, "maybe you should—"

He didn't finish.

A flicker of red shimmered at the edge of Menma's fingers and toes—thin and ominous, like steam rising from freshly-cooked miso soup. It wasn't just chakra—it was his chakra, wild and unruly, coiling in the air like something alive.

Kakashi grabbed Menma by the collar and yanked him behind the privacy curtain with a suspiciously calm tone. "Let's change your clothes."

Behind the curtain, Kakashi quickly checked Menma's limbs. His trained eye confirmed it: the moment the casts were removed, Menma's chakra-infused cells had begun to accelerate again—processing chakra autonomously like microscopic engines. His pathways had flared with activity, nearly overwhelmed by the cellular pull.

Thankfully, the cells had stopped just short of causing internal damage. For now.

"Looks like your body's gotten ahead of you again," Kakashi muttered, reaching for the clean clothes Yoruusagi had personally prepared. "Let's change before your aura sets the curtains on fire."

Menma, half-confused and half-curious, cooperated as he was helped into his new outfit. Yoruusagi's careful hand was evident in every detail: a short-sleeved, high-collar black shirt with crisp Uchiha-style tailoring, fitted white sports shorts, durable shinobi sandals, and most prominently—the red spiral of the Uzumaki clan, embroidered boldly on the back.

His hair had also been neatly braided down his back, each strand woven with care.

By the time he stepped out, he looked—at the very least—like an elite genin, if not a chūnin. But the truth was more absurd: he was still a one-year-old boy in the body of an eight-year-old, with the heart of a poet, and the chakra of a god.

Kakashi stared. For a moment, he felt a little insecure.

"He's almost prettier than me," he muttered. Then, after a pause, added smugly, "But I've still got mystery. And a mask."

"Menma, time to go," Kakashi said aloud. "We're due at the Hokage's office."

Still deep in philosophical debate over whether he or Snow was the prettier one, Menma snapped to attention and scooped up his queen from the window sill. The way Snow leapt gracefully into his arms made it look choreographed—as if they'd trained for it.

The trio left the hospital like a parade of style—one elite ninja, one princeling, and a snowy empress. The villagers turned to watch them pass, dazzled by Menma's aura and Kakashi's casual cool. Some whispered about the red-haired boy. Others whispered about the cat.

But at the Hokage Tower, the mood changed.

After a brief knock, they entered the office—and were met by a wall of paperwork taller than a rice silo. Only the small plume of smoke rising behind it confirmed that the Hokage hadn't died beneath the bureaucratic avalanche.

"Third Grandpa," Menma called with a grin, "do I need to use smoke signals just to know you're alive?"

Hiruzen lowered his pipe and glared with a deadpan expression.

"I'm trying to run a village, brat. Not a joke club."

But when he rose from behind the paper tower and got a proper look at Menma's new appearance, he faltered.

That face. That red hair, the calm eyes. In that moment, Hiruzen wasn't looking at Menma—he was staring at Kushina and Minato standing side by side. But unlike Naruto's bright, rambunctious features, Menma's aura was dense and subtle, wrapping the room in something colder, older.

Hiruzen quickly called for the ANBU.

Three masked figures appeared instantly, kneeling side-by-side before the Hokage's desk. They couldn't have been more different—one was tall and broad-shouldered, the other two smaller and slender, their chakra pulses uniquely distinct.

To Menma, the two shorter figures carried a whisper of familiarity in their chakra... Uchiha. Not just any Uchiha, but close in resonance to Yoruusagi.

"Menma," Hiruzen said, "these are the ANBU who'll serve as your detail. They'll alternate shifts with other assigned operatives, but these three are your core guardians. Let me introduce them."

He gestured to the tall one.

"This is A. He's someone Kakashi knows very well. He'll be with you anytime chakra usage is permitted—training, meditation, or field movement. If he's not present, you don't use chakra. Clear?"

Menma nodded solemnly. A's energy felt solid, like mountain earth layered in still water. But there was something distant about it too—a quiet hollowness in the core.

The Hokage continued, gesturing to the other two.

"These two are recent additions to ANBU. Talented, but in training. Part of their growth includes working with you."

"First," he added with a smile that made Menma suspicious, "if you sense any citizen consumed by hatred, you're to discreetly report them to your watchers. Second, they'll support your library education and ninja tool training. If you need help with understanding something, they're your tutors."

Menma blinked slowly.

Wait a minute.

That rooftop figure he saw earlier? That ANBU tailing them from the bazaar? That was one of them...

He realized suddenly: he wasn't just the one being trained. They were being trained through him. Again, the Third was using him—but like before, it wasn't for ill.

"Well played, old man," Menma thought. "I'll get you back at dinner."

Out loud, he reported what he saw in the Uchiha Bazaar earlier—mentioning the ANBU figure and their lingering emotion. Hiruzen's face changed subtly.

Danzo's back, he thought. Or at least, his shadows are.

The recent purge had shaken the village. Fifty-eight confirmed spies, uncovered thanks to Menma's "emotional radar." Half of the documents on his desk were post-execution reports. The rest were about what to do next.

Ironically, it was Menma's lack of hatred detection toward a handful of spies that had revealed another layer: some didn't hate Konoha at all. Two spies had confessed under gentle pressure—lovers of the village now broken away from their origin countries. They were slowly defecting.

If only Danzo were here to see the depth of intelligence gathered...

Trying to shake the thought of how much work awaited his old friend, Hiruzen waved them toward the door. Then, pausing, he called out again:

"Wait—Menma! Almost forgot!"

He shuffled back behind the desk, returning with a thin paper pouch.

His monthly allowance.

Menma received it like a holy relic—but before he could pocket it, the door slammed on his face, barely missing the tip of his nose.

"…Ow," he said, blinking.

But then the door opened again.

Snow walked out with silent elegance, leaping effortlessly into Menma's arms, where she curled up like a goddess returning to her throne.

With that, they turned to their new teammates.

Menma extended his hand forward with a smile that belonged more to a diplomat than a boy.

"Hello. I'm Menma Uzumaki, Jinchūriki of Konoha. I believe we'll have three wonderful years together."

A shook it firmly. "Codename: A. I'll be watching over your training. And your limits."

Menma felt the strange chakra again—like quiet power wrapped in grief.

Then came the next.

"Codename: Phantom," said the softer one. "I'll help with your books. I think we'll get along well."

There was warmth there—beneath the sadness. Kurama stirred in the seal.

"Another wounded Uchiha, huh... Let's hope this one doesn't snap."

The last approached.

"Codename: Raven," he said shortly. "Ninja tools and note-taking. Don't slow me down."

He was young—too young for full ANBU—but clearly strong. There was still suspicion in his glance, but Menma smiled even brighter.

"Then we're overdue for a feast. Let me take you to a hidden treasure of this village!"

He meant, of course, Ichiraku Ramen.

And so the four—one future legend, three shadows in training, and one celestial feline—disappeared into the steam and scent of ramen.

Behind them, the Hokage closed his pipe and stared out the window.

He wasn't just watching a child. He was watching the beginning of a generation.

---

Konoha – Underground, Root Base

The cavernous hideout beneath Konoha was cloaked in silence, lit only by dim lanterns that flickered along stone walls like dying fireflies. Deep in the central chamber, Danzo Shimura, covered in fresh bandages, sat rigidly on his high-backed chair, posture tense, aura suffocating.

The air around him was heavy with smoke from the incense he used to focus his mind—though today, it did nothing to ease the storm brewing beneath the surface. His face, still partially hidden beneath cloth wraps, was carved in stone. His right eye, the lone exposed one, shimmered coldly in the gloom.

He had returned to Konoha only a few days ago, and still, his pride was bleeding.

Two months. Two long, grueling months outside the village. And what had he achieved?

Nothing.

Worse than nothing—loss. Failure. Nearly 80% of his Root operatives—hand-picked, conditioned, and brainwashed—were dead, scattered across Rain and Grass like discarded weapons.

The cause? A single miscalculated ambition.

Three months prior, a Root agent had delivered him a classified whisper from the edge of war-torn Amegakure: a newly formed group—Akatsuki—was gaining power at an alarming rate. But it wasn't just the group that caught Danzo's interest.

The rumor was absurd. And yet...

It claimed that one of the Akatsuki's leaders—an enigmatic figure hidden behind shadows and whispers—possessed the legendary eyes of the Sage of Six Paths.

The Rinnegan.

Danzo, whose plans to control the Uchiha clan—and their Sharingan—had recently been derailed by political pressure and increasing civilian support, was hungry. Desperate, even. He needed a trump card to keep himself relevant. If he could possess the Rinnegan, his strength would surpass the current Hokage and perhaps even the Five Kage combined.

He did what he always did best: manipulate, plan, and deploy.

Using misinformation and psychological operations, he infiltrated the Land of Rain. His scheme was simple: portray Akatsuki as a rogue faction planning a military coup, using his intelligence operatives to stir discontent within local leadership. Through fear and "goodwill," he posed as a savior from Konoha, there to clean up the mess Jiraiya had left behind.

It worked—for a time.

But when the trap was sprung, things turned sideways fast.

Danzo had anticipated resistance—but not that. Not a colossal wooden golem, summoned by a man whose chakra eclipsed even the most powerful of jōnin. That was no ordinary shinobi. That was something else entirely. Danzo's seasoned killers—trained to feel no fear—were annihilated.

Wounded and stripped of nearly all his guards, Danzo was forced to flee like a criminal—racing across the Land of Rain, crawling through the forests of Grass, dodging bounty hunters and mercenaries tipped off by a leak to the black market.

A leak. Someone had sold his location.

And he had no idea who.

Now, back in his underground compound, Danzo's mood was blacker than the mask of death itself.

His first priority had been to prepare for recovery. He immediately issued orders for loyal scouts to begin sweeping orphaned zones and shinobi record archives. Any child with potential—any spark of chakra or shinobi aptitude—was to be flagged and discreetly collected for reconditioning and Root recruitment.

Root needed to be rebuilt. And quickly.

He shifted forward, leafing through a report left by his remaining Root subordinates—those he'd tasked with guarding the camp during his absence.

The first twenty days? Routine. At first, they were standard: mission assignments, patrol changes, and routine gossip.

Then—chaos.

One report made him pause, eyes widening. He read it again, slower. A thick file, stamped CODE RED in bright ink. The Jinchūriki incident.

"Kyuubi Host incident: Detected an unstable red chakra signal—classified as code red. Subject Menma Uzumaki fought Might Guy. The subject won the match, even after Guy opened the fourth gate."

The boy—Menma Uzumaki—had supposedly erupted in red chakra and fought Might Guy. Not only that, but he won, even after Guy released the Fourth Gate.

His hand trembled. That's impossible.

He flipped the page.

"Subject displayed signs of tailed beast chakra forming into cloaked extensions. Despite signs of incomplete transformation, control was stable. Witnesses describe the chakra as 'burning but not corrupting.'"

So it was true.

Another file:

"Rumors spreading in and out of village: Konoha is training the Jinchūriki for war. Potential strategy: unleash tailed beast on invading nations."

And worse_ The tale was that Konoha had begun training its Jinchūriki to prepare for preemptive warfare, potentially weaponizing the Nine Tails for dominance.

His jaw clenched. The narrative had spun far beyond his control. And yet... Hiruzen handled this part well, he admitted bitterly. Fear was a tool—let the other nations panic for now. He'd take advantage of it later.

But as he read deeper, the tone of the documents changed. What followed next almost made him drop the scroll:

Spies. Dozens of them—detected, uncovered, and either apprehended or silenced.

"Spies within the village began disappearing. Mass uncovering of embedded agents began two weeks after the Code Red incident. Current confirmed captures/executions: 58 operatives."

"Fifty-eight?!"

Danzo stood, furious. How? How did Hiruzen root out nearly sixty spies in one month?!

He read further, trying to identify the cause—and found a name repeated in vague whispers:

Menma Uzumaki.

Danzo stared hard at the lines of writing.

"...Child named Menma Uzumaki seemed to identify several operatives without being told... Detection method unclear... Possibly emotional sensory technique or instinctual chakra recognition..."

The boy hadn't just fought Guy and survived.

He had been identifying spies.

Somehow, through unexplained methods, Menma was "pointing out emotionally unstable or hostile individuals." His instincts were sharp. His awareness of chakra—abnormal. If someone harbored intense hatred or murderous resentment toward Konoha, Menma picked up on it like a hound. And he was never wrong.

Danzo's bandaged hand crushed the edge of the scroll.

He tossed the report aside and picked up a photograph—one taken discreetly of Menma Uzumaki walking through the market, dressed in black Uchiha-style garb, walking with a crutch, his red hair in neat braids, Snow curled in his arms, confidence in his stride like a seasoned shinobi. His eyes sharp, observant, glancing at something off-frame.

He's not even two years old.

Danzo studied the face—so eerily reminiscent of Kushina, but far too calm. Too calculating.

A monster.

A weapon.

And worst of all... a weapon Hiruzen was grooming correctly.

Danzo stared at the image, mind calculating. If that brat could really sense negative emotion... it would make him a living lie detector. A threat to every secret operation.

Danzo muttered, "This child… must be handled with care. Or he'll become a variable that destroys everything."

He scribbled an order and sent it with a loyal messenger.

A new report was to be drafted: every aspect of Menma's development, training, interactions, even dietary habits were to be catalogued. He wanted to know what books the boy read, what chakra techniques he favored, and who influenced him.

Most importantly—how to turn him. Or stop him.

Grumbling, he turned to another stack of files. Uchiha clan reports.

Danzo opened it—and immediately scowled. The Uchiha Bazar had flourished. Civilian integration had gone better than projected. Patrol complaints had decreased.

"...Filthy hypocrites," he muttered. "Wearing a mask for the crowd."

He read further—and his scowl deepened.

"Uchiha Bazar success rate now rivals major village districts. Civilian integration stabilized. Internal clan dispute rate: lowest in 12 years."

It was infuriating. The Uchiha were thriving. Public sentiment had shifted. The police were now seen as protectors, not enforcers. This wasn't supposed to happen.

But something else caught his eye. Two names. Both marked as recent Anbu trainees.

"Shisui Uchiha: ANBU candidate. Codename 'Phantom.' Known for extreme speed. Excellent chakra control. Personality: Calm, loyal to village."

"Itachi Uchiha: ANBU trainee. Codename 'Raven.' Prodigy. Mission record unmatched. Deep thinker. Tends toward moral analysis and internal guilt."

Danzo stared.

Shisui... Yes. He remembered that one. During the Third War, Danzo had ordered his assassination—yet the boy escaped, barely. Fast. Too fast. But naïve.

As for Itachi... Danzo smiled slowly.

A genius, yet still young and impressionable. Loyal—but perhaps not loyal enough to stay blind. Danzo believed he could steer him toward the "greater good."

With subtle manipulations and a whispered truth here and there, maybe he could be turned. Used to undermine the clan. Controlled. Perhaps they could even be turned against the boy.

He hadn't decided yet—but the seeds had been found.

But before his schemes could deepen, the door creaked open again. An ANBU entered, mask pristine, scrolls bundled in both arms.

"Sir. Lord Hokage extends his greetings—and says, if your health permits, your duties await."

Danzo's bandaged eye twitched. So. Hiruzen already knew he was back. He had only returned three days ago. And Hiruzen was already sending him paperwork?

He took the scrolls without a word. They were suspiciously heavy.

Once the agent left, Danzo dragged himself back to his desk, laid the first scroll flat, and performed the unsealing technique.

BOOM.

A small avalanche of papers erupted from the scrolls, toppling across his desk in unruly piles. Mountains of administrative work—each marked with urgency, protocol, policy review, or mission debriefs.

"Curse you, Hiruzen... You senile, tea-sipping menace who love to peek at people bathing."

Danzo knew this was punishment. A sly reminder of who still ruled the village.

One day, when he became Hokage, the first decree he'd issue would be to bury Hiruzen in paperwork ten times this size.

Fuming but trapped, he pulled one document closer and began reading, hands stiff from bandage, eyes burning with resentment.

"I swear, old man... one day, when I become Hokage, I'll chain you to a desk with ten times this paper."

Soon...

Soon, the village would belong to him.

.....