It's been two uneventful but fully eventful months since Menma left the hospital with Lady Biwako.
In those two months, he had been continuously taken back and forth between the hospital, the park, a small empty house, and finally, back to Lady Biwako's place—right next to that smoke-scented uncle.
He really didn't like him. Especially since he always reeked of pipe smoke. Menma even suspected that if it weren't for Lady Biwako, that house would be filled with smoke like a chimney. But credit where credit is due—he had a well-shaped body. One time they had to take a bath together, and that hateful uncle poked his belly again. This time, Menma cried his eyes out. Hiruzen was caught red-handed and properly punished by the mighty Lady Biwako. Long live powerful ladies.
Still, Menma mourned for his former abs. These days, he had turned into a chubby baby dumpling. His once finely sculpted gym body—built to withstand long shifts in surgery—was now but a soft memory.
(Side note: he absolutely refuses to admit that the reason he remembers his abs but not his face is because he was way too proud of those six-packs and showed them off every time he changed in the locker room.)
Just a brief glimpse of Menma's colorful new life.
Physically, he'd grown a lot. Now he could sit on his own, though crawling was still a little ways off. That alone put him three months ahead of an average baby. His body was resilient—he could recover with just a little rest and was now fully adapted to this new form. In fact, he had better control than in his past life. He could move his ears, play with his fingers, even write and draw with his feet. (Yes, he tried when no one was around. For science.)
Thanks to daily conversations with Granny Biwako (he forgave her after some time, especially after she requested to be called Granny), his language skills had developed well. Determined not to carry over an accent from his old world, he completely avoided speaking that language and paid careful attention to how she pronounced each word. And his progress was outstanding. He was very satisfied.
He also figured out how the energy in his belly worked. Whenever he got hurt, hungry, or emotionally unstable, the energy would seep into his body, healing and warming it—and strengthening it in the process. Half his abnormal growth came from this alone.
His sensory abilities had expanded too. He could now sense around twenty meters if there were no large obstructions, subtracting two meters for each big object. As for what counted as "big": walls, tree trunks, deep water.
He also began receiving mixed emotional input—especially strong ones like pure anger, hatred, anxiety, or sadness. It wasn't stable; he suspected it only worked when the emotion was intense and focused. On the other hand, he could sense warm feelings like kindness, love, and hope too—but their range was much shorter, only about a tenth of the distance.
He tried training it, but with poor results, he gave up. For now.
With his understanding of conversations steadily increasing, he picked up some key facts.
First, his name: Menma.
Second, his location: a place called the "Village Hidden in the Leaves."
It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. When he first heard it, he almost choked.
Village?! One time while walking with Granny Biwako, he saw the size of the city—it was at least two miles in radius, not counting the surrounding forests. That's a city! But no, apparently, this was a "village."
Okay, fine. Not important.
This country was named the "Land of Fire," because people once prayed to a fire god.
Also, that uncle was their leader—a shadow.
What kind of system names their leader Shadow? And instead of elections, people become leaders by sheer power?! Once on the throne, you're there until you die. Great. So that smoky uncle would be his boss? Unbelievable.
Oh, and they carved their leaders' faces into a cliff. Just, out in the open. Menma had never seen such high-level self-flattery in his life. The last face was the youngest—called the "Fourth Shadow"—and apparently had died recently. Rest in peace. Amen.
All that aside, Menma's diet also changed. He could now eat small portions of boiled vegetables, rice soup, yogurt, and other soft foods. Technically, babies weren't supposed to eat these until they were at least a year old, but he had no issues. Honestly, he suspected if someone gave him a plate of barbeque, he'd be just fine.
He also kept a close eye on what that uncle ate, to study the stable food supply of this world. Luckily, it seemed like a fusion of East Asian and Middle Eastern cuisines—completely livable for him.
Menma thought this was it. His life would continue peacefully.
He was wrong.
---
"I'm sorry, Menma," Granny Biwako said gently.
"From now on, you'll live in this house on your own. Grandma won't be able to stay with you. But don't worry—there will be uncles and aunts to take care of you, so you won't be hungry or dirty. I'm sorry, my dear... but this is goodbye."
Menma sat on the bed of the same small house they had visited before. He'd assumed Granny was scouting the place for her younger son, that unpleasant guy who smoked too much and came home late. They rarely crossed paths outside of the dinner table.
He never imagined—never—that the house was meant for him.
His tiny body sat in silence, stunned.
Before he could cry, Granny stood up and left.
She didn't even look back.
Menma extended a trembling hand toward the door, hoping she'd turn around. She didn't.
Her presence faded.
The warmth vanished.
His heart clenched.
Tears began to fall—big and heavy, soaking the collar of his baby shirt. His breathing grew ragged. The world blurred. Sounds dulled. His senses withdrew inward, cutting off the outside.
He'd been abandoned.
Again.
Just like at the funeral.
Just like in his past life, when his mother was far away.
Just like his brother, whom he loved but never reached him.
Just like those surface-level friends who never asked how he was unless they needed something.
Just like the day he died, alone on a rainy street.
And now... he realized it again.
He was alone.
Always alone.
Truly alone.
And that broke him—once more.
---