After the funeral, Menma had been a complete mess—both physically and emotionally. High fever, constant crying, and relentless nightmares. Even drinking milk had become difficult. If it weren't for that energy inside his belly—the one that circulated through his body now and then—he might've ended up in a dangerous state.
But time… time is the best medicine.
Just like in his previous life as a doctor, when grief almost consumed him, he once again forced himself to face reality and accept it. That's what every good doctor must do—face trauma without letting it break you, or the job will shatter you piece by piece.
Menma accepted that he was on his own now—and that he had to protect his younger sibling.
(Since I'm smarter, then the order of birth doesn't count.)
He hadn't seen his sibling since the funeral, but that didn't change his resolve. He had to gather himself and fight back against fate.
Once he pulled himself together, his body recovered fast—very fast. People watching him breathed a sigh of relief. Well… everyone except for one person, who had secret dreams of locking up the Nine Tails in his basement.
After two weeks, Menma received another injection. This time, he could clearly see the nurse's face and gave him a deadly glare. Not that it changed how much it hurt. But he would remember this nurse and pay back the pain when he grew up.
He had some visitors, too. Most only stayed for a moment—checked on him, then left. But one time, he woke up to see a man with a bizarre outfit and long, untied white hair standing beside him. The man's aura was heavy, and it scared the soul out of Menma. He cried instantly.
The man, surprisingly, hugged him.
Menma calmed down. That hug carried genuine affection—something raw and full of care. That settled his panic.
Then came a crying young woman with a body shape that clearly defied the laws of nature. While she held and even fed him, he stared at her… assets.
"Is this natural? Or did someone go overboard with a balloon-based plastic surgery? Whoever did it must have been mad. There's no way a human spine can support that load long-term."
Midwife-san came in and said something that turned the whole mood heavy. The woman holding him trembled.
Afraid she'd drop him, Menma instinctively called to be handed over to midwife-san.
(Even though I still have a grudge against her for violating me at birth, she's the most reliable one here.)
It wasn't long before he fell asleep again.
---
The next time he woke up, midwife-san came in and expertly wrapped him up. Seriously, her blanket-wrapping skills could qualify her for a job promotion. Then, she carried him out of the room.
They left the hospital.
It was warm and sunny outside. The afternoon breeze passed through the fabrics of his blanket, and he managed to peek out through a small gap.
(Finally. Air. Light. Freedom!)
His eyesight had now completely developed. In fact, it was better than it had ever been in his past life. The colors were vivid—almost magical. Like someone had given him a vision-enhancing potion. He loved it.
The city was strange. Some people wore traditional Japanese clothes, while others were dressed in… well, whatever modern fashion this was. The streets were made of stone or compacted dirt. No asphalt, no vehicles. No honking. No car smoke. Just birds, voices, and chatter.
(So refreshing. No traffic rage. No exhaust. This place might just be paradise.)
They passed several people. Many bowed slightly to madam Biwako and greeted her. Menma picked up on a few phrases and eventually figured out her name. Madam Biwako, apparently a big shot around here.
(No wonder she's so bossy. The respect she gets? Well earned.)
He enjoyed watching the scenery—buildings painted in soft pastels, shops of different shapes. Judging from the architecture and the lack of modern tech, he guessed the era was somewhere between the 1940s and 1970s.
Eventually, he fell asleep in her arms.
---
When he woke up, he was in a new room—wooden, beautifully made, with paper windows and a strong Chinese-Japanese fusion. He heard talking from outside the door, but he was hungry and wanted attention. He called out with a few baby noises.
Not long after, two figures entered: madam Biwako and… the belly-poking uncle.
Menma glared. He hadn't forgotten that indignity.
Hiruzen, who'd been arguing with his wife about whether Menma should grow up alone, felt an odd sense of hostility coming from the baby.
( ...Did he just glare at me?)
Biwako picked up Menma and checked his diaper. Yup, needed changing.
She had been watching his growth carefully. His chakra was immense—circulating nonstop—and Nine Tails' energy sometimes leaked out of his belly. He needed five times as much milk as a normal infant. If she were breastfeeding him herself, she was convinced even Tsunade would've tapped out.
His digestive system, to her shock, was also stronger than her husband's.
"Even that old man can't eat without getting diarrhea if it's not my cooking..." she once muttered.
Now four kilograms with strong grip strength, Menma could even hold his bottle briefly on his own.
Tsunade had already examined him and confirmed it was all natural.
Still, she worried. Menma also never cried unnecessarily. He never fussed unless needed. It was unnaturally calm for an infant. But he was smart. Very smart.
She finished changing him and walked to the kitchen to prep milk, with Hiruzen behind her.
"I still think letting him grow alone is better for the village," Hiruzen said while helping.
"So you can better control him?" Biwako shot back.
"You made a promise to Minato. Is this how you honor it?"
He looked away.
"It's for the village. The truth about his parents is hidden. He's a Jinchūriki. People will hate him. If he learns the truth too early and turns against us... it would be a disaster."
Biwako narrowed her eyes.
"So you made his older brother the village's golden boy—the 'Prince of Konoha.' You tied his identity to the village, while this one… this one you raise in isolation. Hoping guilt, loyalty, and sibling bonds will keep the Nine Tails under control."
Hiruzen said nothing.
(Sometimes I wonder how I ever managed to marry this woman.)
He sighed.
"I'm getting old. Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru… they were my confidence. Now? One's a traitor, one's broken, and one's chasing myths. I need stability. I need insurance. I can't afford a mistake."
Biwako watched his face. She could see how tired he was. He wasn't wrong—but she couldn't accept the cost.
She turned to look at the boy in her arms, thinking of Kushina's last moments.
Finally, she made a deal.
"Until he's enrolled in the academy, he won't live alone. He'll have food, warmth, and care. I'll visit regularly. If you don't agree, we're done talking."
Then, without waiting for a reply, she snatched Menma—and his milk—and stepped outside into the orange glow of sunset.
Hiruzen, who played emotional and rational cards, watched her go and sighed deeply.
(Finally… she agreed.)
Meanwhile, Menma—who had been passed around like a ceremonial scroll—grunted to himself:
(....I really hate that uncle...)
---