The Harsh Sage
My name is Geki Hatsume, a middle-something-year-old Genin of the Hidden Leaf. Yeah, laugh if you want. I've heard it all before. "The Eternal Genin," "The Old Rookie," "The Man Who Never Grew Up." Whatever. I don't care.
Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of being a shinobi praised by the village. I remember the day clearly—the victorious return of Leaf shinobi after the Second Great Ninja War. Civilians lined the streets, cheering, crying, throwing flowers. The soldiers walked tall, bruised and bloodied but bathed in glory. Heroes. They weren't just men and women that day—they were gods.
That was the moment I decided. One day, I'd be among them.
I enrolled in the Academy, trained my heart out, and poured over books. I was good at academics—top of the class when it came to history, theory, and strategy. But when it came to practical skills? Average at best. Ninjutsu? Fine. Taijutsu? Meh. Genjutsu? Don't ask.
When I finally graduated, I thought, 'This is it! This is the start of my legacy!' I was assigned to a team—our sensei was one of those tough, silent types. We tackled D-rank missions—walking dogs, painting fences, picking weeds. I told myself it was only temporary. My time would come.
Then came the Chunin Exams.
I failed. My entire team passed, and I was left behind. 'Next time,' I thought.
I got put on another team of misfits—kids from other squads who didn't make the cut. I trained harder. Focused. Dreamed. We entered the next exams. I failed again. My teammates didn't, and they moved on without me.
It went like this for years. By the time the Third Great Ninja War broke out, I was a 20-something still wearing a Genin headband. My skills had improved by then, but I wasn't anyone's first choice for a team. Eventually, I was assigned to a squad with two fresh-faced Genin and a veteran Jounin.
The war was... something I can't put into words. It was ugly. Bloody. Chaotic.
On a mission deep in enemy territory, we lost our only female teammate. She was ambushed, and we couldn't save her. One of the rookies froze up; the other tried to run. I dragged them both back to the village, alive but broken.
After the war, my teammates quit. Sensei retired. I was alone.
When the celebrations began, the village cheered for the great names—The Sannin. Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash. Fugaku Uchiha. Shibi Aburame. The Hyuuga brothers. Heroes. Their names echoed in the streets, immortalized in glory.
And me? I was 29 years old. A nobody. A background character in someone else's story.
But I didn't give up. I kept going. 'One day,' I told myself, 'I'll be a Jounin. I'll be remembered. I'll earn their respect.'
The years rolled on. People mocked me openly now. I was a punchline in bars, a cautionary tale for Academy kids.
I was still a Genin at 37 when the Kyuubi attacked. I'll never forget that night. The screams. The blood. The monster tearing through the village. We fought to protect the civilians, but when dawn broke, we realized we had failed.
The Yondaime was dead.
And then the Fifth Hokage was announced—Naruto Uzumaki.
Him.
A child who became Genin before he could read full sentences. Chunin at 3. Jounin at 5. Hokage at 8. The so-called "Crystal Sage." A natural genius. A born prodigy. Everything I wasn't.
Tch. Probably some genetic lottery, right? Just another gifted brat who had everything handed to him. No struggles. No failures. No real hard work.
I told myself that. Over and over.
Then came the mission—the one that changed everything.
It was a simple C-rank. I was assigned to a group of younger but much higher-ranked shinobi. Great. Another chance to be babysat. Our task? Retrieve a potion from the Land of Wind.
Routine.
Before we left, the Hokage himself handed us this strange yellow crystal. "If the situation escalates," he said, "use this. It'll summon me."
Summon him? The Hokage? I almost scoffed. Overkill much? It was just a standard fetch-and-return mission.
But we took it, and we left.
It should've been easy.
It wasn't.
Everything went wrong.
We were ambushed halfway to our destination. Bandits? No—shinobi. Hidden Sand, rogue mercenaries. It wasn't a skirmish; it was an all-out assault. We were outnumbered and outclassed. The Jounin on our squad tried to lead us out of the trap, but they were cut down first. I watched blood spray across the sand, staining it red.
The younger shinobi fought like hell, but they were faltering. My heart pounded in my chest, my hands trembling as I held a kunai that felt too heavy. I could hear their screams. I could see them fall. I was frozen.
A boy—he couldn't have been more than 15—cried out for help, his legs pinned under a fallen rock. An enemy approached, a blade raised high.
I moved.
For the first time in decades, I moved without hesitation. I killed the rogue. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't clean. But it was enough.
We retrieved the potion easily and were making our way back to the Fire Country through the sands. It was supposed to be straightforward—walk through the blistering dunes, keep the cargo safe, and head home. Simple. Nothing difficult.
And then it wasn't.
We didn't see them at first—Kumo-nin, dozens of them. They melted out of the dunes like shadows, their headbands gleaming under the unforgiving sun. I'd heard of their stealth tactics, but experiencing it firsthand was something else. There were four of us—one jounin, two chunin, and me, the middle-aged failure—and yet we were completely overwhelmed.
The air buzzed with the sound of kunai slicing through the wind. I barely had time to react as one of my chunin teammates let out a strangled gasp and crumpled to the ground, his chest rising shallowly, barely breathing. The other chunin was trying to hold his ground, but his side was drenched in blood, his face as pale as parchment.
And the jounin? He was supposed to be the strongest among us, the one we could rely on. But he was on his knees, panting, blood streaming down the side of his head and staining the sand. His hands trembled, his chakra flickering weakly.
Useless. That's how I felt. Useless and out of place. I was a Genin, for crying out loud—what was I supposed to do against this many enemies?
"Run," the jounin coughed out. His voice was raspy, weak. "Geki, take the potion and run. Go!"
The injured chunin next to me echoed his plea. "Geki, you're no fighter. Run. Escape while you can—"
My legs twitched, my instincts screaming at me to do just that: run. Leave them behind. Save myself. But I couldn't. My legs shook like leaves, knees ready to buckle at any second, but I planted my feet firmly in the sand. I couldn't abandon them.
"Look at this guy," one of the Kumo-nin sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. He and his comrades closed in, their smirks wide and cruel. "Four shinobi, overwhelmed by forty. Hah! Your Hokage isn't here to save you this time, old man."
Their laughter echoed in the dunes.
I swallowed hard. My chest felt tight, my breathing shallow. I wanted to reach for the crystal the Hokage had given us. It was in the backpack strapped to one of the injured chunin, but there was no way I could get to it now.
And so, I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed my spear and stepped in front of my fallen teammates, shielding them with my trembling body. The Kumo-nin raised their brows, amused, as if I were a child standing in the way of a tidal wave.
"Run, Geki!" the jounin growled again, though his voice was weaker now.
"Get out of here, idiot!" the bloodied chunin coughed.
"I can't!" I snapped back, gripping my spear so tightly I thought my hands would cramp. "I can't just leave you here!"
"Suit yourself," one of the Kumo-nin jeered. "Makes no difference. We'll kill you first, then finish the others."
My hands shook, but I raised the spear, pointing it at them. It wasn't much. I wasn't much. But I wasn't going to let them pass.
The Kumo-nin smirked. "You've got guts, old man. Let's see how far that gets you."
They threw kunai. I saw the glint of metal in the sunlight a second too late. I felt the sharp, hot sting as the blades cut into my arms and legs. Blood soaked into my clothes, dripping onto the sand.
But I didn't stop.
"RAAHHHH!" I yelled like an idiot, charging forward, my spear raised high. The Kumo-nin didn't look impressed. Their sneers widened, as if they found the whole thing laughable.
I was nothing to them. A weak, middle-aged Genin playing hero.
I was about to throw my spear when I noticed it.
The change.
The laughter died. Their smirks faltered, their faces twisting into something I hadn't expected.
Fear. Unadulterated, bone-deep fear.
I stopped mid-charge, my confusion overriding my anger. Why were they looking past me? Why were their eyes wide, their faces pale?
Slowly, I turned around.
And there he was.
A white haori fluttered in the wind atop the sand dune, its red flames stark against the golden desert. His crimson hair moved gently with the breeze, framing his pale face. His deep violet eyes were fixed on the Kumo-nin below, calm and unyielding, like a predator who had already decided the fate of his prey.
The Hokage.
Naruto Uzumaki.
My breath caught in my throat. How? How was he here?
The Kumo-nin stumbled back a step, then another. I could hear them muttering under their breaths, panicked, uncertain.
The Hokage didn't say a word at first. He moved down the dune with the grace of a shadow, his footsteps silent. Within moments, he was at my side, kneeling beside the injured chunin. His hands moved swiftly, glowing green as he cast medical ninjutsu to stabilize their wounds.
Then he turned to me. His gaze dropped to my arm—my right arm, the one I hadn't even noticed was... gone. The kunai must have severed it at the root during my charge.
"We need to fix that," he said calmly, his voice as steady as if we were discussing the weather.
Fix it? I couldn't even process the words. My arm was gone. My shinobi career—what little I had of it—was over. I stared at him, unable to speak.
But then he looked up, his gaze settling on the Kumo-nin once more. "Should I kill them for your satisfaction?"
My heart skipped a beat. "...What?"
"Avenge, of course," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
The Kumo-nin froze. The color drained from their faces.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry. "...No," I muttered, my voice hoarse. I looked at the Kumo-nin, trembling, terrified. "They... I don't particularly like... killing."
Naruto tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then he looked at the Kumo-nin and said one word.
"Run."
They didn't hesitate. They turned and bolted, disappearing over the dunes like their lives depended on it—because they did.
I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body finally easing. I sank to my knees, clutching my bleeding stump of an arm. The pain was unbearable, but I didn't care. We were alive. My teammates were alive.
I sat there, the weight of everything—my failure, my pain, my sheer uselessness—crushing me. My chest rose and fell heavily, the sting of my severed arm only half-registered in my mind. The Hokage knelt beside me, his violet eyes assessing my state like a medic examining an injured bird.
"Why...?" My voice came out strained, barely above a whisper. "How did you get here? How did you know...?"
Naruto glanced at me briefly before shifting his focus to the injured chunin, his hands still glowing faintly green as he stabilized their wounds. "The crystal."
I blinked, confused. "The crystal?"
He nodded, his expression calm, matter-of-fact. "It was more than just a tool for emergencies. I could feel all of you through it—your chakra signatures flickering, weakening. That's how I knew I had to come."
"You... felt us?" I repeated dumbly.
"I can feel the strength of my people," Naruto replied simply, as though it were obvious. His tone wasn't arrogant, though—it was a quiet truth. "A leader should never be so distant that he cannot sense his comrades' struggles."
Before I could process his words further, Naruto reached out and gently touched the raw, burning stump of my severed arm. I flinched instinctively, the pain spiking briefly, but then I noticed something strange. His hand glowed faintly, a strange energy spreading from his fingertips, coursing through me.
Then, it began.
From where my arm had ended, something grew. It was unlike anything I had ever seen—shimmering, crystalline structures began to form, layer upon layer of translucent beauty. At first, it looked like ice, delicate and fragile, glinting faintly in the desert sun. Then the glow deepened, and the structure solidified, taking on a flawless, diamond-like brilliance.
I watched in wide-eyed disbelief as the crystal shaped itself into fingers, a palm, a wrist—an entire arm. It was breathtaking. Each facet gleamed, refracting the light into tiny rainbows, but it wasn't just beautiful; it felt... strong. Unbreakable.
I flexed my new fingers, expecting them to shatter like glass, but they moved naturally, perfectly. The hand caught the sunlight, casting specks of light across the sand. I stared at it, stunned.
"How...?" I choked out, my voice trembling. "How did you do this?"
Naruto stood up, dusting his haori off, as if growing a crystalline arm on a loser Genin like me was just another part of his day. "A shinobi needs to have all his limbs, of course," he said simply.
"But..." My voice wavered. "But I'm a loser. I'm weak. No talent. I—I didn't even prioritize the mission. I thought you'd suspend me for breaking protocol."
Naruto paused, his violet eyes studying me for a moment. Then he turned away, grabbing our bags and helping one of the chunin to stand. I watched as he slung the unconscious boy over his shoulder with an effortless ease that made my struggles feel insignificant.
He started walking forward, his back to me.
"Because you have a golden heart."
I froze. My breath caught in my throat. "Huh?"
Naruto stopped and turned his head just slightly, enough for me to see the faintest of smiles tug at the corners of his mouth. "In the Shinobi world, those who follow the rules are noble. But those who break those rules for the sake of their comrades... are saints."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightened, not with pain but with something else—something warm. Something unfamiliar.
Naruto blinked once, the smile fading as he gestured with his chin. "Now hurry up and grab these people. I expect more from an old Jounin."
I blinked, staring at him. "What? I—I'm a Genin."
"You are a Jounin now."
My mouth fell open, but before I could argue, something came flying through the air toward me. I barely caught it, my new crystal hand snapping up instinctively to grab it. It was a staff—a beautiful, sturdy crystalline staff, shining like my new arm.
I stared at it, feeling its weight in my palm. It was light but strong, perfectly balanced.
Naruto didn't wait for my response. He turned forward again, his red hair catching the wind, his white haori fluttering like a banner of peace. For the first time, I truly understood why he was Hokage—not because of his strength or his genius, but because of the weight he carried and the way he lifted others.
I looked down at my hand—the hand that shouldn't have existed—and then at the crystalline staff. My heart was pounding in my chest, the sound of it loud in my ears.
Nobody had ever praised me before.
Nobody had ever seen anything in me before.
But that day...
That day, the Hokage—Naruto Uzumaki—saw me.
And he didn't see a weak, middle-aged Genin.
He saw something more.
I gripped the staff tightly, tears stinging my eyes. "Yes, Hokage-sama," I whispered, my voice almost breaking.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I was more than nothing.
For the first time, I was seen.
Ô~Ô
Eight long years had passed since that day in the desert, and everything had changed.
After the Fifth Hokage was gone—how, no one truly knew—I found myself demoted back to Genin. Not that it surprised me. My promotion to Jounin had been unconventional, almost a whim of Naruto Uzumaki himself. Without him, the council likely saw me as nothing more than an anomaly to be corrected.
Still, I didn't quit. I couldn't.
Even if all they gave me were menial D-rank chores or the occasional C-rank mission, I kept showing up. Because no matter what anyone said, I was a shinobi. And I would die as one.
Today, though, was different.
I stood before the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, in his office. The room smelled faintly of ink and tobacco, and the faint sound of a bird chirping came through the open window. Hiruzen handed me a mission scroll, his wise old eyes fixed on me with a peculiar intensity.
Beside him stood the infamous Copy Ninja Kakashi Hatake and his team of Genin—Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, and Menma Uzumaki.
I froze, stunned.
A B-rank mission?
For me?
I hadn't received anything higher than a C-rank since Naruto's disappearance.
But I wasn't going alone. Team Kakashi would accompany me, their energy palpable.
Menma Uzumaki was practically bouncing on his feet, his bright blue eyes gleaming with excitement. His cocky grin spread wide across his face as he looked me over.
"Hey, old man," he blurted out, "why's someone your age still a Genin?"
I felt a few snickers, though Kakashi didn't react. I smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of my neck. "Well, I guess... I'm just a little unskilled."
Menma raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. His gaze dropped to my left hand, which was tightly wrapped in white bandages. "What's with the hand? Why's it all covered up? Looks weird."
I glanced down at it reflexively. Beneath the bandages lay the crystalline hand Naruto Uzumaki had crafted for me years ago. It gleamed with an unnatural brilliance, even now, but I always kept it hidden. It didn't feel right to flaunt something gifted to me by the Fifth Hokage, especially after his disapperance.
"It's... special," I replied quietly. "The Fifth Hokage—"
"I don't wanna hear about that bastard!" Menma snapped, his voice sharp.
I blinked, startled.
"Show some respect, Menma!" Sakura shouted, smacking the back of his head with enough force to make him wince. "He was the Fifth Hokage, for crying out loud!"
Menma glared at her, rubbing his head but didn't say another word.
I remained silent, though my mind lingered on the memory of Naruto Uzumaki. There was no shinobi alive—then or now—who could have taken him down. His absence was still a mystery to the entire village, and I doubted anyone would ever have an answer.
With the mission scroll tucked under my arm, we left the office and began our journey.
The mission was straightforward, at least on paper. A village leader from the Wind Country's Village of Dam had been kidnapped by a gang of thugs. Our job was to retrieve him and ensure his safety.
The Village of Dam was a curious place, surrounded by expansive wetlands and waterways. The journey would be long, and as we walked, I couldn't help but notice how lively the young Genin were.
Sakura was diligently taking notes, scribbling something in a small journal. Sasuke walked a few paces behind, his expression distant, his sharp eyes scanning the path ahead. And Menma? He practically skipped, occasionally tossing stones into the distance just to see how far they'd go.
"So, old man," Menma said after a while, falling into step beside me. "What's it like being on a mission with someone as awesome as me?"
I chuckled softly. "I suppose it's an honour."
"Damn right!" he replied, puffing out his chest. "You're lucky I'm here. I'll make sure you don't screw this up!"
"Menma!" Sakura scolded, glaring at him. "Stop being so full of yourself!"
Kakashi, walking ahead with his nose buried in one of his novels, chuckled lightly but didn't intervene.
I couldn't help but smile. Their energy was infectious, and though I was an outsider in their team dynamic, I appreciated their camaraderie.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues across the landscape, I tightened my grip on the crystalline staff Naruto had given me. It was a constant reminder of his faith in me, even if I didn't fully understand it myself.
For now, I focused on the mission ahead.
We reached the Village of Dam by mid-afternoon, the sun casting long shadows over the aged stone walls. The village itself was modest, with narrow streets and small homes perched precariously near the riverbanks. The air was thick with tension, and the murmurs of the villagers hinted at their fear and frustration.
Kakashi took the lead, speaking to a group of men gathered near the main square. They explained the situation in hushed tones, their voices trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.
The gang of thugs wanted to break open the dam, claiming the gold hidden beneath the riverbeds. The villagers had resisted, knowing that destroying the dam would flood their homes and ruin their lives. In retaliation, the gang had kidnapped the village leader.
The thugs weren't shinobi—just ordinary men—but their numbers and hostages made the situation precarious. That's why it was a B-rank mission, Kakashi said. Ordinary didn't always mean easy.
Kakashi decided we'd wait for nightfall before making a move. He thought it best to observe the dam from a distance, to understand the enemy's movements before acting.
We made camp on a hillside overlooking the ancient dam. It loomed in the distance, its massive stone walls reflecting the fading light of the setting sun. The rivers that surrounded the village shimmered like liquid gold, a cruel irony given the cause of all this chaos.
We spread out under the open sky. The air was cool, and the stars began to appear one by one, like tiny lanterns guiding us into the night.
Sakura sat beside me, curious as ever. She'd brought up the wars, asking about the things I'd seen, the battles I'd fought—or avoided.
"What was it like during the Third Great War, Geki-san?" she asked softly, her notebook open on her lap.
I sighed, looking up at the stars. "Chaos. Blood. Loss. It's hard to describe. Everyone was a pawn, moved by forces far greater than us. Even when we won, it never felt like a victory."
She nodded thoughtfully, scribbling notes. "Did you ever meet anyone famous? Like the Sannin or Lord Fourth?"
I hesitated. "Not really. I wasn't... significant enough to be near them. But I saw them from a distance. They were like gods walking among men."
Sasuke sat silently, his gaze fixed on the dam. Kakashi was his usual self, sitting a little apart with his book, occasionally giggling at whatever ridiculous thing he was reading.
Menma, however, was full of energy, firing question after question at me. He seemed fascinated by the old legends I recounted, the tales of shinobi whose names were etched into history.
"Except for the Fifth Hokage," he added, his tone suddenly sour.
I glanced at him, frowning slightly. "Why do you hate him so much?"
Menma scowled, his hands clenched into fists. "That man mocked me. Called me useless, said I had no potential, that I was weak! I think he gave me the Uzumaki name just to insult me. That's his surname, right? Pretty sure he did it to humiliate me."
I didn't respond immediately. I studied him carefully, noting the fire in his eyes. Menma wasn't weak—not by a long shot. His energy, his drive, his raw potential—it was all there.
Something didn't add up.
If Naruto Uzumaki could see value in me, of all people—a man who had truly been useless for most of his life—why would he dismiss Menma, a boy brimming with untapped talent?
Still, I kept my thoughts to myself.
"I'm sure he had his reasons," I said eventually. "After all, all these legends I've talked about? None of them come close to him."
Menma scoffed, his expression darkening. "Tch, big talks. His dad was the Hokage, right? Pretty sure he just used connections or some sob story to get the job."
The bitterness in his voice was palpable, and I felt a pang of something—sadness? Frustration?
It wasn't my place to defend Naruto Uzumaki. The man's deeds spoke for themselves. But hearing Menma's disdain felt wrong, like a blade slicing through something sacred.
I looked down at my bandaged hand, flexing the crystalline fingers beneath the cloth. They gleamed faintly under the moonlight, a reminder of a man who had seen worth in me when no one else did.
Menma didn't know. He couldn't know.
But maybe one day, he would.
Ô~Ô
The attack came out of nowhere. We'd been careful, staying low, observing from a distance, but it wasn't enough. The mercenaries moved swiftly, black cloaks fluttering in the night as they descended upon us.
Kakashi reacted instantly, his Sharingan spinning wildly. He used some strange jutsu—one that twisted reality itself—to make the attackers retreat. I'd never seen anything like it, but it came at a cost. He collapsed to one knee, utterly drained.
In the chaos, they managed to grab Menma. Despite his resistance, the boy was outmatched and taken. My heart sank as I saw them disappear into the darkness with him.
Without thinking, I pursued them. The leader of the mercenaries, a tall man with a scar running down his face, was injured but determined. He carried Menma over his shoulder, running through the dense underbrush.
I stayed on their trail, my breath heavy and my legs burning, but they were fast. They reached the thug camp before I could intervene—a sprawling mess of tents and makeshift barricades, illuminated by torchlight.
I tried to retreat, to find a way to rescue Menma later, but luck wasn't on my side. A patrol spotted me, and before I could even draw my weapon, they had me pinned and dragged into the camp.
Menma and I were shackled together, thick iron chains binding our legs. The cold metal bit into my skin as I sat against a splintered wooden post.
Menma glared at the men, defiance burning in his eyes. I admired his spirit, but I wished he'd keep his mouth shut.
A burly man, clearly the leader of the thugs, approached us. His face was rough, scarred, and his eyes gleamed with malice. He crouched in front of me, his breath reeking of alcohol and stale tobacco.
"How many of you were there?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.
I opened my mouth, intending to bluff. "Fifty," I started, but before I could finish, Menma blurted out, "Five."
My heart sank.
The thugs burst into laughter, their mocking voices echoing through the camp.
"Five?!" one of them roared, clutching his sides. "You mean to tell me the great Konoha sent five people to stop us? Pathetic!"
The leader smirked, leaning closer. "And here I thought we'd have a real fight on our hands." He glanced at Menma, his smirk widening. "Guess we'll have to make use of you two some other way."
I frowned, trying to ignore the growing unease in my chest. "What do you mean?"
The leader stood, gesturing to the others. "Gladiators," he said simply.
"Gladiators?" I echoed, confusion lacing my voice.
"You'll fight," he explained, his tone dripping with amusement. "For our entertainment. If you survive, maybe we'll let you go. Maybe."
Menma snarled, pulling at his chains. "You bastards won't get away with this! My team will come for us!"
The thugs laughed again, clearly unconcerned.
I glanced at Menma, my mind racing. Kakashi and the others would come, but would they be in time? And even if they did, how would they deal with this many enemies?
For now, I had to focus on keeping Menma and myself alive.
The next morning, the sun rose over the camp, casting long shadows over the crude wooden arena built in its centre. Menma and I were dragged into the pit, our legs tied together with thick rope. The crowd of thugs jeered and laughed as they threw scraps of food and rocks at us from the stands.
In the centre of the arena, two massive iron cages stood ominously. Inside, the beasts snorted and pawed at the ground, their breath visible in the cool morning air.
"Survive the bulls!" the leader bellowed from his perch above. His men cheered wildly as he smirked at us. "Your weapons? Nothing. Your odds? Worse than that!"
I felt my stomach churn. My crystalline hand was useless for throwing punches without chakra to reinforce my body. Menma, however, was grinning, a spark of confidence in his eyes.
"I've got this," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Two bulls? Easy."
I stared at him, baffled. "Menma, these aren't your usual cattle—"
The cages slammed open with a loud clatter, and the bulls charged.
Menma leapt forward, pulling me along with him, his movements precise and controlled. He jumped to the side just in time, narrowly dodging the horns of the first bull. The beast skidded to a halt and turned, its dark eyes fixed on us with a predatory glare.
The second bull charged, and Menma kicked at its snout, his boot landing with a sharp thud. The bull stumbled back but didn't fall.
"C'mon, you dumb cows!" Menma shouted, sweat dripping down his brow. "You think you can take me?!"
The crowd roared with laughter, cheering for the bulls.
For the next thirty minutes, Menma moved like a force of nature, dodging horns, evading trampling hooves, and delivering quick strikes to keep the beasts at bay. His stamina was incredible, his energy seemingly boundless. Even with the rope binding our legs, he manoeuvred us both with an agility that defied reason.
But it couldn't last. His breathing grew heavier, his strikes slower.
I could see the fatigue in his eyes as he stood between me and the bulls, his fists clenched tightly. The beasts circled us, their movements predatory and deliberate.
The thugs jeered from above.
"Just give up already!" one of them shouted. "Die like the worthless trash you are!"
Their laughter grated on my nerves. Something about this scene felt... familiar.
And then I remembered. Eight years ago, standing against impossible odds, I'd felt the same hopelessness. But I'd also felt something else—a spark of determination, of purpose.
One of the bulls snorted and charged, its horns gleaming in the sunlight. It came straight for me, its hooves thundering against the ground.
Instinctively, I raised my crystalline hand and swung.
The moment of impact was like nothing I'd ever felt before. The bull crumpled to the ground, its momentum halted by the sheer force of my strike.
I stared at my hand in disbelief. That much power... How?
Another bull charged, its eyes wild with fury. I stepped forward, my crystalline fist meeting its head with a resounding crack. The beast staggered, then collapsed beside its fallen companion.
The arena fell silent, the thugs watching in stunned disbelief.
Menma turned to me, his chest heaving. His eyes widened as he saw the crystalline hand, the bandages torn away to reveal its gleaming surface.
"This..." I said, my voice hoarse, "is a gift from the very person you hate, boy."
Menma stared at the hand, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. But there was no time for explanations.
The bulls had fallen, but I was utterly spent. My limbs felt like lead, and my vision blurred at the edges.
The leader of the thugs scowled, his face twisted in anger. "Enough of this!" he shouted, grabbing a spear from one of his men. With a vicious sneer, he hurled it at me.
I saw the weapon coming, the sharp tip glinting as it spun through the air. I tried to move, to dodge, but my body refused to listen.
The spear struck, and my world turned white.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Ô~Ô
When the old man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him, something inside me snapped. The sight of his still body, the faint rise and fall of his chest, and the thugs' triumphant laughter lit a fire in my veins. It was then that I felt it.
The Kyuubi's chakra surged within me, breaking through the suppression tags like they were paper. A violent wave of raw, malevolent energy erupted from my body, shattering the arena walls and sending the thugs sprawling. Dust and debris filled the air as my rage poured out unchecked.
"You bastards!" I roared, my voice distorted, almost unrecognisable. My nails elongated, my teeth sharpened, and my vision turned red.
The thugs scrambled to their feet, drawing their weapons. "He's a monster!" one of them screamed.
A monster? Maybe. But I was their reckoning.
I moved before they could react, my body faster and stronger than ever. The first thug swung a blade at me, but I caught it with my clawed hand, snapping it like a twig. With a single swipe, I sent him flying into the arena wall.
Another charged at me with a spear, yelling something incoherent. I ducked under his attack, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him into his comrades. Their bodies collided with a sickening thud, and they didn't get up again.
One by one, they fell. My claws tore through their ranks like they were nothing. Their screams echoed in my ears, drowned out by the roar of the Kyuubi's chakra.
By the time the dust settled, the arena was a ruin, the once-mocking thugs reduced to groaning heaps on the ground. My chest heaved as I stood amidst the wreckage, my gaze falling on Geki's prone form.
He was still alive—barely. Blood poured from the wound in his side, soaking the sand beneath him. His breathing was ragged, each gasp a struggle.
I dropped to my knees beside him, the malicious energy receding slightly as I shook him. "Hey! Old man! Stay with me!"
His eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
Before I could do anything else, a voice crackled through a microphone, sharp and filled with venom.
"You monster!" It was the thug leader, his voice echoing from a high perch above. He had escaped the carnage, his face twisted with fury. "You destroyed everything! Now, face the fucking consequences!"
I looked up just in time to see him pull a lever. A deafening rumble filled the air as the dam's floodgates creaked and groaned.
The water surged forth, a massive wall of liquid death rushing toward the village. My heart dropped. The people of Dam had no chance against that.
Gritting my teeth, I hoisted Geki onto my back, his limp body weighing heavily against me. His blood soaked into my clothes, but I didn't care.
I bolted toward the operating room, the place where the dam's controls were housed. The path was littered with debris, but I navigated it with ease, fuelled by desperation and the Kyuubi's chakra.
When I reached the room, I kicked the door open, only to find the control handle shattered into pieces. Panic clawed at my chest. Without the handle, there was no way to stop the flood.
"Damn it!" I growled, slamming my fist against the wall.
There was no time to think, no time to figure out another way. The water was coming, and it wouldn't stop.
I turned and ran, Geki's shallow breaths in my ear, heading straight for the village.
Ô~Ô
Menma stumbled into the village square, Geki still slumped over his back. The sound of rushing water grew louder, an unstoppable roar that sent chills down his spine. The villagers had gathered, their faces pale with fear as they gazed at the oncoming flood.
In the midst of the chaos, Kakashi sat slumped against a wall, sweat dripping from his face as he clutched his headband in his hand. He looked up weakly as Menma approached.
"I... I can't..." Kakashi muttered, his voice faint. "I've got nothing left."
Menma clenched his fists, his mind racing. There was no time to be angry or afraid. The dam had already been breached, and the water was tearing through the valley with terrifying speed.
"What do we do now?" one of the villagers cried, clutching a child to her chest.
"Pray," another murmured, dropping to their knees. "Pray for a miracle."
Menma grit his teeth, shaking his head. A miracle wasn't coming. If they didn't act, the village would be destroyed.
As he set Geki down gently, the old man stirred. His breaths were shallow, his skin pale, but his eyes opened just enough to meet Menma's. Slowly, with trembling hands, Geki reached into his pack.
"Old man, don't move—save your strength!" Menma protested, but Geki ignored him. From the bag, he pulled out what looked like a small flute.
No, it wasn't a flute. The object shimmered faintly, its surface smooth and translucent, as if it were carved from pure crystal.
"W-What is that?" Menma asked, his brow furrowing.
Geki's lips curled into a faint, weak smile. "I... don't know. But I think he always knew... This gift of his..." His voice broke as he coughed violently. "Take it... It's yours now."
Menma hesitated, his hand hovering over the object. "I don't understand," he muttered, confused by the weight of Geki's words.
"Neither do I..." Geki admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I feel like... I need to..."
With uncertainty etched into his face, Menma reached out and took the crystalline object from Geki's trembling hands. The moment it touched his palm, a strange warmth spread through him, as if the staff were alive, responding to his chakra.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Menma asked, staring at the staff in disbelief.
But Geki said no more, his head falling back as his breathing slowed. The villagers' cries grew louder, the roar of the flood deafening.
Menma tightened his grip on the staff, the crystalline surface gleaming as if waiting for something. For him.
Geki's breath came shallow and laboured as he lay on the ground, feeling the cold seep into his body despite the chaos around him. Blood still trickled from his wound, soaking into the dirt beneath him, but he couldn't focus on the pain. His attention was fixated on Menma Uzumaki, who stood defiantly at the edge of the rising floodwaters, crystalline staff in hand. The boy's golden hair caught the fading sunlight, his posture radiating determination.
"Menma! Stop!" Sakura's voice cracked as she screamed, desperation clear in her tone. She ran a few steps forward, her arms outstretched as if to pull him back. "You're going to get yourself killed! This isn't something you can handle!"
Sasuke's usual calm façade broke as well, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "Idiot! This isn't about looking cool—you can't stop that flood alone!" His Sharingan spun wildly, analysing every detail of the oncoming disaster and the boy's futile stance against it.
The villagers erupted into panicked cries, their voices merging into a cacophony of fear and despair. Children clung to their mothers, elders whispered prayers to long-forgotten gods, and men stared at the advancing water in silent terror. Even Kakashi, slumped against a wall and struggling to stay conscious, could only watch the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Menma didn't look back. His grip tightened on the staff as he raised it high above his head, the crystalline material catching the fading sunlight and casting prismatic rays over the terrified crowd. His voice rang out, clear and sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"I don't know why everyone thinks so highly of you, old man!" Menma shouted, his words directed not at Geki but at the memory of a man long gone. His voice trembled with both frustration and desperation. "You were supposed to be the greatest, right? So show me! Show me that you're not just some exaggerated story!"
Without hesitation, Menma brought the staff down with all his strength, slamming it into the ground.
The crystalline staff shattered instantly, breaking into millions of fragments that sparkled like shards of glass. The pieces scattered into the air, catching the dim light and creating a cascade of shimmering colours.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Menma stared at his empty hands in disbelief, his chest heaving. "Was... was that it?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.
The earth answered him.
A low rumble began to resonate beneath their feet, soft at first but quickly growing into a deafening roar that drowned out the villagers' cries. The ground trembled violently, as if some ancient force had been awakened.
"What's going on?" Sakura gasped, stumbling as the earth shook beneath her.
The villagers froze, their prayers silenced as they turned to look at the source of the noise. Even Sasuke and Kakashi, both seasoned shinobi, couldn't hide their astonishment.
From the depths of the earth, crystalline structures began to emerge.
The first spire shot out of the ground with a sharp crack, its jagged form gleaming like a colossal gemstone. It was followed by another, and another, until an entire wall of translucent crystal began to rise, encircling the village. The towering barriers were flawless, their surfaces shimmering with an ethereal light that seemed to pulse with life.
The advancing floodwaters struck the crystalline walls with a thunderous crash, sending waves splashing high into the air. The impact was immense, the force of the water shaking the very ground. Yet, the walls held firm, unyielding against the onslaught.
"Impossible..." Kakashi whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the water. His uncovered eye widened in shock as he took in the sight before him. "This chakra... it's... his."
Sakura clutched her chest, her heart pounding as she stared in awe. "What... what is this? How is this happening?"
Sasuke's Sharingan spun faster, desperately analysing the crystalline walls. "This isn't ordinary jutsu," he muttered, his voice tinged with both wonder and frustration. "This... this is something else entirely."
High above, Menma stood atop one of the crystalline walls, his figure silhouetted against the shimmering barriers. His golden hair fluttered in the wind, and his gaze was fixed on the raging water below. Despite the overwhelming force of the flood, the boy's stance was steady, his resolve unshaken.
Geki, lying weak and bloodied on the ground, watched the scene with a mix of pride and disbelief. His vision blurred, but he could still make out Menma's form standing tall against the chaos. And then, he saw something else.
Through his hazy vision, Geki spotted another figure beside Menma, almost like a mirage. A boy with wild red hair, his expression fierce yet calm, stood atop a dome of sand in the exact same defiant pose.
The Fifth Hokage.
Geki's breath hitched as realisation washed over him. Despite the pain and exhaustion, a faint smile crossed his lips. "Ah... that's why," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
The villagers erupted into cheers, their fear replaced by hope as they witnessed the miraculous walls that had saved their home. Children cried tears of joy, elders fell to their knees in gratitude, and men and women alike shouted Menma's name.
Sakura and Sasuke exchanged glances, their earlier frustration with the boy replaced by a newfound respect.
Kakashi, still slumped but smiling faintly, muttered fmto himself, "Looks like you've got more of your brother in you than you realise, Menma."
As Menma stood atop the wall, basking in the relief of the villagers, Geki's vision began to fade. The pain in his chest dulled, replaced by a warmth he hadn't felt in years.
"Good job... kid," Geki whispered, his words lost in the wind. With that, his eyes closed, a sense of peace washing over him as his world turned to darkness.
Ô~Ô
Author Note:
I mixed Geki's whole life story and Menma's POV here, regardless the timeline.
This chapter has 8K words written in 6 hours, so I put a lot of efforts in in it.
Oh, and now, this is my third story to cross 100K words. So, cheers!
Thanks for reading this chapter.
Drop your thoughts in the review section. Your words motivate me to write better, larger and with more depth.
Till next time