I was three years old when the world split in two.
Not the physical world, no. That had shattered the night I was born, under the Nine-Tails' wrath, my parents' sacrifice a scar that bled into every moment since. This was a quieter fracture, a severing of something softer, something I hadn't realized I'd clung to so fiercely until it was gone.
Naruto.
My brother. My twin. My anchor in this strange, borrowed life.
We'd been together since the beginning, two halves of a broken whole, sharing the same cradle, the same whispered fears. But now, I was Menma Uchiha, and Naruto was left behind, a Jinchuriki bound by the village's chains. I felt the weight of that separation like a kunai to the chest, sharp and relentless, even as my toddler's body betrayed me with its silence.
---
The years before that moment were a blur of faces, each one fading as quickly as it appeared. Nursemaids. A different one every month, their hands gentle but distant, their smiles fleeting. It was the Third Hokage's design, I knew—Hiruzen Sarutobi, with his tired eyes and heavy choices. He didn't want us to bond, didn't want anyone to grow too close. We were too dangerous, too precious. Naruto, with the Nine-Tails sealed inside him, was a ticking bomb in their eyes. And me? I was an enigma, a child with the face of a hero and the eyes of a beast.
I hated it. Hated the way they'd come, stay just long enough for Naruto to giggle at their songs, then leave without a word. Hated how I'd watch them go, my small hands clutching the edge of my blanket, my mind screaming what my mouth couldn't: *Stay. Don't leave us alone.*
But they always left.
Naruto didn't understand. He'd laugh, his whisker-marked cheeks dimpling, his blue eyes bright with a joy I envied. He'd chase after them, tiny legs wobbling, shouting, "Bye-bye!" as if it were a game. He didn't see the pattern, didn't feel the cold calculation behind it. He was Kushina's son through and through—wild, vibrant, unyielding in his optimism. His hair was a messy crown of blonde, his features soft and rounded, carrying her warmth in every curve.
I was different. I took after Minato, or so the whispers said. My face was sharper, even at three, my cheekbones high, my jaw a promise of strength to come. My hair was blonde too, but streaked with red, a splash of Uzumaki heritage that refused to be ignored. It started at my bangs, a fiery cascade that bled into the golden strands, a mark of my mother's bloodline. And my eyes—yellow, slit-pupiled, a gift from the Nine-Tails' chakra that had seeped into me in the womb—they glowed with an intensity that unnerved the nursemaids.
"He's handsome," one would murmur, brushing my hair back, her fingers lingering on the red streaks. "Like a little prince."
"Those eyes, though," another would whisper, her voice tight. "Like a fox cub. Strange."
They didn't fear me, not like they feared Naruto. His whisker marks branded him, a visible curse that made their hands tremble when they touched him. Me? I was spared that stigma. My chakra was monstrous, a roaring ocean inside me, fed by Uzumaki blood and the Nine-Tails' touch, but I wasn't a Jinchuriki. I was just… Menma. A mystery, but not a monster.
The villagers saw it too. When a nursemaid took us outside, their gazes would slide over Naruto—cold, wary—then settle on me, softening. "He looks like the Fourth," they'd say, voices thick with nostalgia. "That face, that hair… it's Minato reborn." Another would nod, eyes tracing the red in my bangs. "Uzumaki blood, no doubt. A fine boy."
It was a dangerous thing, that resemblance. Hiruzen had buried our parentage, hidden the truth to protect us from Minato's enemies. But my face was a mirror, reflecting a hero the village couldn't forget. If they guessed, if they *knew*—Naruto and I would be targets, our lives a currency for vengeance. I had to be careful, even at three, my mind racing with thoughts no child should carry.
---
Naruto didn't notice the whispers. He was too busy running, laughing, his small hands chasing butterflies in the orphanage courtyard. I'd watch him, perched on a bench, my yellow eyes tracking his every move. He was a storm of joy, a burst of light in a world that wanted to dim him. I'd shuffle closer when the nursemaids weren't looking, my arms wrapping around him, my presence a shield against the coldness I knew he'd face.
"Menma!" he'd chirp, grinning, his blue eyes sparkling. "Play with me!"
I'd nod, my toddler's body clumsy but willing, my heart aching with a love I couldn't voice. He didn't know what was coming. Didn't know the village would shun him, that the Nine-Tails inside him would make him a pariah. But I did. I knew the story, knew the pain that waited for him. And I swore, in the quiet of my mind, that I'd protect him, that I'd change his fate.
My chakra hummed beneath my skin, a restless beast of its own. It was vast, even then, a wellspring that dwarfed anything a child should possess. Uzumaki blood, yes, but more—amplified by the Nine-Tails' chakra that had touched me before birth. I felt it when I focused, a pressure that made my tiny hands tremble, a power I didn't yet know how to wield. Naruto had it too, but his was tangled with Kurama's, a burden I'd escaped.
I hated that escape. Hated that I was spared the curse, spared the hatred, while Naruto bore it alone. It wasn't fair. We were twins, born minutes apart, yet our paths were already diverging, carved by forces we couldn't control.
---
The day everything changed came without warning.
We were in the courtyard, Naruto chasing a beetle, his laughter a bright thread in the gray afternoon. I sat on the grass, my small fingers tracing patterns in the dirt, my mind drifting to futures I couldn't yet touch. The air was heavy, a stillness that whispered of change.
Then she arrived.
Mikoto Uchiha stepped into the courtyard, her presence a quiet storm. I knew her instantly—Sasuke's mother, matriarch of the Uchiha clan, her dark hair framing a face softened by kindness. Her eyes were warm, but sharp, searching as they swept over Naruto, then settled on me.
I froze. My toddler's body betrayed me, but my mind raced. *She knows.* The resemblance to Minato, the red in my hair, the whispers that trailed us—she saw it all.
"Hello, little ones," she said, her voice a melody against the silence. She knelt before us, her gaze piercing. Naruto bounded over, fearless, thrusting out a dirt-streaked hand.
"Hi!" he chirped. "I'm Naruto! That's Menma!"
Her smile widened as she took his hand, but her eyes flicked back to me, a puzzle she couldn't solve. "Menma," she said, testing the name, her voice soft. "You're a quiet one."
I nodded, mute, my yellow eyes meeting hers. I wanted to speak, to ask why she was here, but my tongue stayed heavy, my body a traitor to my mind.
She stayed for a while, playing with Naruto, asking him questions—his favorite color (orange), his favorite game (tag). I watched, my heart a drumbeat of unease. Something was coming. Something I couldn't stop.
That evening, Hiruzen arrived, his robes whispering against the floor as he spoke to the caretakers. I crept closer, my small frame hidden behind a wall, straining to hear.
"…Mikoto Uchiha wishes to adopt them both," one said, voice low.
Hiruzen's sigh was heavy. "Naruto cannot leave the village's care. The Nine-Tails… it's too great a risk, especially with the Uchiha."
"But Menma—"
"Menma is another matter," Hiruzen cut in, firm. "If she wishes to take him, it could be arranged."
My breath caught, a cold fist closing around my chest. Adoption. Separation. Naruto, left behind. I glanced at him, sprawled on a mat with a toy soldier, oblivious to the fracture looming over us. How could I leave him? He was my brother, my only family in this world.
But I had no choice. I was three, a child in body if not in mind, powerless against the currents pulling us apart.
---
Days later, Mikoto returned, a scroll tucked under her arm, her expression a mix of resolve and sorrow. The adoption was finalized. I was to be Menma Uchiha, a son of her clan. She lifted me into her arms, her touch gentle, and I looked back at Naruto, his blue eyes wide with confusion.
"Menma?" he called, his voice small, trembling.
I wanted to scream, to tell him I'd return, that I'd never abandon him. But my throat locked, and all I could do was reach out, my tiny hand waving, a smile that felt like a lie. Mikoto tightened her hold, whispering, "You're safe now, Menma. You'll have a home."
A home. The word burned. My home was with Naruto, in the chaos of nursemaids and whispered fears. Now, that was gone, severed by a choice I hadn't made.
As we left, the orphanage fading behind us, I made a silent oath. *I'll come back for you, Naruto. I'll make this right.*
---
The Uchiha compound was a world apart, a fortress of dark wood and unspoken rules. Mikoto welcomed me with open arms, her kindness a balm I didn't deserve. She dressed me in fine clothes, fed me meals rich with flavor, taught me letters with a patience that softened my guilt. "You're one of us now," she'd say, her hand warm on my shoulder.
But I wasn't. The Uchiha were a clan of shadows, their black hair and eyes a uniform I couldn't wear. My blonde-and-red locks, my yellow gaze—they marked me as other, a curiosity or a threat. Whispers trailed me through the compound, sharp and relentless.
"He doesn't belong," one clansman muttered, voice low. "Those eyes—fox-like, unnatural."
"Lady Mikoto's choice," another replied. "A survivor of the Nine-Tails, they say. Perhaps she sees something in him."
I kept my head down, my toddler's hands clutching scrolls or toys, my mind mapping this new terrain. Fugaku, the clan head, was a towering figure, his presence cold. He studied me once, his gaze a blade.
"Menma," he said, voice deep. "Mikoto believes in you. Do not fail her."
I nodded, mute, sensing the weight of expectation. Itachi, five years my senior, was another enigma—quiet, brilliant, his dark eyes dissecting me with calm. "Welcome," he said, flat. Sasuke, a baby, was the only brightness, his chubby hands grasping at my hair, his laughter a fleeting reprieve.
My chakra pulsed stronger here, a secret I guarded. Mikoto noticed, her brow furrowing as I shaped it in simple exercises, my control uncanny for my age. "You're gifted, Menma," she'd say, pride lacing her words. "Just like—" She'd stop, her smile faltering, and I'd know she meant Minato.
The truth hung unspoken between us. She knew—of my father, my mother, the legacy I carried. But we didn't speak it. To name it was to invite danger, to unravel Hiruzen's fragile web.
---
Outside the compound, the village saw me differently. When Mikoto took me to the market, heads turned, voices rose. "Like the Fourth Hokage reborn," they'd whisper, awe in their tones. "The hair, the face—Kushina's fire in him too." My resemblance was a beacon, a threat to the secrecy Hiruzen clung to. If they connected me to Naruto, if they realized—
I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present. Naruto haunted me, a ghost in every quiet moment. Was he alone now, shunned, his laughter dimmed? I asked Mikoto once, my voice small. "Where's Naruto?"
Her pause was a wound. "He's safe, Menma. The village cares for him."
A lie, gentle but sharp. I knew his fate—ostracized, unwanted. I vowed to find him, to bridge the gap, but for now, I was trapped, a child in a clan of strangers.
---
My struggles were just beginning. The Uchiha were a maze of ambition and distrust, their tensions with the village a storm on the horizon. I was Menma Uchiha now, a name that felt foreign, a role I had to play. But beneath it, I was still Menma, Naruto's brother, a soul out of time, determined to rewrite a story I knew too well.
The path ahead was treacherous, lined with secrets and shadows. But I would walk it—for Naruto, for myself, for a world that didn't yet know its own heart.
---