Menma woke up in a place he was quite familiar with—a hospital ward. He could smell the disinfectant, drugs, and that sterile mix of scents he knew all too well. Even with his mixed-up newborn senses, he recognized it immediately.
He was a little uncomfortable in his lower body—probably needed a diaper change. He was trying to gather his mind together, letting out little noises.
A person approached—probably a nurse. She checked him, then picked him up. A few gentle movements followed. Finally, the discomfort faded, and he was laid down again. Now fully awake, he began to assess the situation.
(Well, I'm in a hospital. So this isn't pre-modern times. Then what was happening last night? Was all that just to give me that chunk of food? Oh wait! Is it still there?!)
Menma quickly focused inward to check on the gift that kind pediatrician had shoved into his belly. To his utmost happiness—it was still there! But… he couldn't get any more. He was dissatisfied. That food was like his favorite snack, sitting right in front of him, yet out of reach. It reminded him of those nights in his old life, when his mom wouldn't let him eat cake because "it's late." The injustice!
Angry at this cruel fate, he began to cry in protest. Just like before, he couldn't control the tears or the emotion. Maybe it was the immature body. It was like trying to stop a runaway adrenaline rush.
As he threw a tantrum, the nurse came back. She picked him up and put something soft into his mouth. He instinctively began sucking hard.
A warm liquid filled his mouth—down his throat. He tasted it and quickly recognized it: milk.
He didn't question it further and just kept drinking until satisfied. Then, letting go of the bottle nipple, he was gently patted on the back until he burped. Ah, the pleasure of it.
Back on the bed again, calmer now, he began to think in a more ordered and rational way.
---
(Hm. I'm reborn. I don't remember anyone or anything specific from my last life, but I remember lots of systematic knowledge and everyday stuff. There are some chaotic memories too—but they're foggy.)
(I remember the womb vaguely—foggy as well. I have a sibling and a mother. I'm not sure about my father. My mother and sibling were fine before I slept last night. So, a family of three… I hope. But right now, they aren't close by. I can't sense them anywhere. I think I'm alone here with the nurse.)
(I don't understand the language either. So I'll have to start from zero. Not hard—I already learned six languages in my last life. Shouldn't be too bad… I hope.)
(As for my body… I can feel four limbs. Not sure about the fifth one yet. I can move and feel temperature and touch. I won't move too much now—it's risky. Ears work. Breathing is fine. I can make sounds, though I don't control the pitch well. Mouth and tongue are okay—I confirmed that while drinking milk.)
(Eyes… still uncertain. I know newborns can't see clearly for weeks. Right now, I can see light, dark, and vague shapes in black and white. That's pretty fast progress, though.)
(So far, I'm a healthy boy/girl—which is a miracle. Thank goodness.)
(The motor system's a mess. My senses are fine, but I can't coordinate movements properly. Intentions often go wrong. Probably because motor nerves vary between people. I'll need to adapt.)
(Another weird thing… I can sense people's presence, their conditions, even their "aura"? That's not normal. No regular human can do that… Is this my cheat skill as a reincarnated person? Maybe. Needs more testing.)
(Huh… short yawn. Already tired again. Baby body = sleepy soul.)
---
(Ugh… uncomfortable again.)
He was once again cleaned, then fed. Back to bed. He continued thinking, flexing his limbs in the air, testing movements, trying to regain some control. This cycle repeated again and again.
New nurses rotated in. Several doctors came by. He was bathed once in warm water—awkward, but refreshing. And yes… they finally gave him an injection.
Which hurt.
A lot.
(Heh. I'll remember this, Nurse-san. After I grow up, we're going to have a little talk.)
The shot gave him a mild fever. He was cranky, but it passed quickly. The strange spicy energy inside his belly had started circulating again—an oddly pleasant sensation. Unfortunately, it stopped before long. Another grudge added to the list.
His eyesight had improved. He could now see the room—though still no color. He started to sense the presence of people outside the room—figures coming and going. Many stopped to look in through the glass window. But none of them stayed long. Only the nurse remained inside, and someone else sat just beyond the door.
He began to worry.
Neither his mother nor his sibling had come to see him. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his tiny bones. He suspected he might have been taken hostage—though there was no solid proof.
He was deep in these thoughts when the ward door opened. Two figures entered—a man in a dark robe and a woman with bandages wrapped around her body.
The man's aura was strong, yet sorrowful. The woman… she was wounded and deeply, deeply sad.
They approached the bed, speaking to the nurse. The man reached out and—without warning—opened Menma's clothes and poked his belly.
Menma blinked in speechless disbelief.
(Seriously?! Belly poke? Do I look like a melon you're testing for ripeness?! I swear, I'm gonna write this down. Revenge is coming.)
The man retracted his fingers and said something to the woman, who now reached out as well.
Menma inhaled hard.
(Don't. You. Dare.)
He braced himself to scream—but instead of poking his belly, the woman gently pulled his clothes closed and slowly hugged him.
She held him close to her chest. He looked up—and saw tears trailing down the wrinkles of her pale face.
He hesitated.
Then he raised a tiny hand and touched her cheek, letting out a soft, almost melodic sound—his way of saying, "It's okay."
She wiped her tears with her free hand.
After a moment, she wrapped him in a towel with surprising skill.
(Hmm… this swaddling technique… Wait a second—midwife-san, is that you?)
He stared at her suspiciously.
Swaddled like a sushi roll, he was lifted again and carried out of the ward—for the first time since he arrived.
His face was quickly covered with cloth to keep him warm. Fair enough. He didn't resist. Still, he wanted to observe the world beyond.
He heightened his other senses—hearing, aura detection. People outside paused to greet the couple. Many bowed. Some followed behind. It felt ceremonial.
Then, up ahead, he sensed a large crowd… and something else—something familiar.
His sibling.
His aura was nearby—held by a boy surrounded by many others. Their energy was strong and proud.
Menma was relieved to feel Naruto again—but something felt off.
A cold dread crept in. He couldn't explain it.
He trembled.
The woman holding him sensed this and patted his back gently.
The crowd moved into a large, open area—too large. There were too many people. He couldn't separate their auras anymore. Just noise, pressure, tension.
Fear.
He wanted his mother.
He tried to sense her.
Nothing.
Not even a trace.
The couple carrying him reached the front of the crowd. A high platform stood before them. One by one, people climbed it, then came down. Some sobbed quietly.
Menma couldn't see clearly, but…
He could feel everything.
Grief. Real grief. Pain, loss, sorrow—woven tightly with hatred.
His tiny body couldn't handle it.
A memory, long buried, surfaced.
A six-year-old girl. Mauled by a leashless dog. He had operated on her for 12 straight hours. Her heart couldn't take the trauma. He never forgot the look on her parents' faces.
The pain in that moment…
This was the same.
Only bigger.
More people. More grief. It broke something inside him.
And then… the couple carrying him and Naruto climbed the platform.
The wind shifted.
The cloth over Menma's face fluttered.
He saw it.
Two coffins.
One had a photo. The other… a familiar circular mark.
He didn't need to see clearly.
He knew.
One coffin was his father's.
The other… was his mother's.
Or so the world believed.
The man handed Naruto to one side, and Menma to the other.
And in that moment…
He cried.
No sound. Just tears.
Because now… he knew.
She wasn't coming back.
He was an orphan.
Alone in the world.
With only a mark to remember the warmth that once cradled him.
It was quiet. Painfully quiet. The only sound was the wind rustling the flowers, and the soft sobbing of strangers.
He was an orphan.
Alone in this world.
Without a shade to stand under.
Not even the spicy red ball of chakra could comfort him now.
Just silence... and memory.
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