The sun was barely up, its light a faint smear across the Uchiha compound's stone courtyard. I stood there, alone, my breath fogging in the cool morning air. My hands flexed at my sides, restless. Shisui was coming back today. I'd heard it from Itachi last night—some mission, some shadow-work for the village, the kind of thing Shisui thrived on. He'd left me with a challenge before he went: learn the Body Flicker Technique. His parting grin had been a dare, a spark thrown at dry tinder.
I'd done more than learn it.
The gate creaked, a sharp sound that cut through the stillness. I turned, and there he was—Shisui, striding in like he owned the dawn itself. His dark hair was mussed, his cloak dusted with the road, but his eyes were bright, alive. He moved like water, fluid and fast, a flicker in the wind. That's what made him special—not just his skill, but the way he wore it, light and effortless.
"Menma!" His voice rang out, warm and familiar, as he closed the distance. "You've had weeks. Did you do it? Did you learn the Body Flicker?"
I tilted my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. "What do you think?"
He laughed, loud and free, the sound bouncing off the courtyard walls. "Oh, I think you've been slacking, kid. Prove me wrong."
Itachi stepped out from the shadows behind me, silent as ever. His presence was a weight, a quiet storm that grounded me. He'd been up with me all morning, watching, guiding. "Show him, Menma," he said, his voice even, but there was a flicker of pride in his dark eyes.
I nodded, stepping back. The Body Flicker was basic, at its core—just a surge of chakra, a burst of speed. But I wasn't basic. I'd taken it apart, rebuilt it, made it mine. I closed my eyes, feeling the heat of my chakra coil in my legs, eager, alive. It thrummed through me, a pulse of power that begged to be let loose.
Then I moved.
The world smeared into streaks of color—gray stone, orange sunrise, Shisui's black cloak. I was behind him in a heartbeat, my hand brushing his shoulder. He spun, startled, but I was already gone, flickering to the far side of the courtyard, then back, then left, a dance of motion too fast to track. The air hummed with my passing, sharp and electric.
I stopped, planting my feet, the dust settling around me. My breath was steady, my pulse calm. "So," I said, meeting Shisui's gaze. "Good enough?"
His jaw hung slack, his usual grin replaced by raw shock. "What the—how did you—Menma, that's not just Body Flicker. That's… that's insane!"
Itachi crossed his arms, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "He's been relentless. Every day, every spare moment. You should've seen him yesterday—he flickered through a sparring drill and disarmed me before I could blink."
Shisui shook his head, still staring at me like I'd grown a second head. "This is beyond academy level. Beyond Genin, even. Menma, why are you still there? You should be taking the Chunin exams—hell, you should be a Chunin already! Itachi, have you even told Hiruzen about him?"
Itachi sighed, a soft, resigned sound. "My brother prefers to stay low-key. He hates the spotlight."
I shrugged, shoving my hands into my pockets. "It's not a big deal. The academy's fine. Keeps me out of trouble."
Shisui blinked, then threw his head back and laughed, a wild, incredulous sound. "Low-key? With skills like that? You're wasting your talent, kid. You're a freak—a good freak, but still a freak."
He wasn't wrong. I knew it, deep down. My body was a weapon—early Jonin-level strength, maybe more. I could punch through boulders, feel the stone crack under my fists like brittle glass. My healing factor was monstrous, cuts sealing shut in minutes, bruises fading before they could settle. Uzumaki blood ran thick in me, but it was more than that. The Nine-Tails—its chakra had seeped into me before I was even born, a gift or a curse, I still wasn't sure. My reserves were bottomless, a sea of power I could barely control.
But jutsu? That was my limit. I didn't know enough. The academy taught basics—clones, substitutions, kunai drills. I'd mastered those years ago, in my head, in that other life. What I needed was more—seals, ninjutsu, the kind of knowledge locked away in Jonin scrolls or forbidden libraries. For now, I was raw potential, unshaped, waiting.
Still, I didn't mind. Not yet.
---
The academy was a different beast. I walked through the gates later that day, the sun high and harsh, the air thick with the chatter of kids. Naruto was somewhere, probably yelling about ramen or pranks. Sasuke was in class, his focus a blade cutting through the noise. And me? I was just Menma—long hair, sharp eyes, the quiet one who didn't fit.
I didn't expect trouble. Not today.
Voices hit me first, sharp and mean, like nails on glass. "Monster! Look at those creepy eyes!"
I froze, my head turning. Three boys—older, maybe ten or eleven—stood in a loose circle near the training yard. In the center was Hinata, her small frame hunched, her lavender eyes wide and wet. Her hands clutched her bag, knuckles white, as one of the boys shoved her shoulder.
"Hey, weirdo," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Why don't you just disappear? No one wants you here."
Something twisted in my chest, hot and tight. I didn't think—I moved. The distance vanished in a flicker, my body a blur of intent. I grabbed the leader's wrist, twisting it just enough to make him yelp, not enough to break anything. He was a kid, after all.
"Leave her alone," I said, my voice low, a growl I didn't bother to soften.
He yanked his arm back, stumbling as his buddies turned, eyes wide. "Who the hell are you?" one snapped, puffing out his chest.
"Someone you don't want to mess with," I said, stepping forward. "Walk away. Now. Or you'll deal with me."
They froze, caught in my stare. I was smaller than them, younger by a year or two, but they faltered. Something in my voice, my posture, told them I wasn't bluffing. The leader scoffed, rubbing his wrist, but he backed off. "Whatever. She's not worth it."
They slunk away, casting glances over their shoulders, their bravado crumbling. I watched them go, then turned to Hinata. She was trembling, her face pale, her bag still clutched like a shield.
"You okay?" I asked, softening my tone.
She nodded, quick and shaky. "Th-thank you."
I smiled, small and real. "No problem. They're just idiots. Don't let them get to you."
She looked up, her pale eyes meeting mine, hesitant but curious. "I… I saw you in class. You're Menma, right?"
"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "And you're Hinata. We've never really talked, huh?"
She shook her head, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "N-no. But… you're really strong. How did you do that? We entered the academy at the same time."
I laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Those guys? They're not strong. They're just bullies picking on someone smaller. Kids like that don't scare me."
Hinata tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "But… we're children too."
Her words hit me like a stone, sinking deep. I froze, my laugh dying in my throat. She was right. They were kids. She was a kid. Even I was, in body if not in mind. I forgot that, sometimes—forgot how young we all were, how fragile this world still was to them. My soul was older, weathered by a life I barely remembered, but they didn't know that. To them, I was just Menma, the weird kid with too much strength.
"Yeah," I said, quieter, my voice softening. "I guess we are."
She blinked, then smiled—a small, shy thing that lit up her face. "Still… thank you. For helping me."
"Anytime," I said, meaning it. "If they bother you again, tell me. I'll handle it."
Her blush deepened, and she nodded. "Okay."
We stood there for a moment, awkward but not uncomfortable, two kids—or one kid and whatever I was—caught in a shared silence. The bell rang, sharp and loud, snapping us back to reality. She gave me a quick bow, then hurried off, her steps light but unsteady.
I watched her go, my hands back in my pockets. It wasn't much, what I'd done—just a flicker of effort, a moment of standing up. But it felt right. She was different, like me, and I'd be damned if I let some snot-nosed brats make her feel less for it.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur—lectures, drills, the same old grind. I sat through it, half-listening, my mind drifting back to Shisui, to Hinata, to the weight of what I could be. The academy was a cage, in a way, but it was my cage. A place to hide, to grow, to figure out what came next.
I wasn't a kid, not really. But I could play one, for now. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.