Menma Uzumaki

Menma's stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of the bland meal waiting for him in his room. He sighed. Rice, vegetables, and water, it was serviceable, but the taste left much to be desired.

His hunger was growing, but he couldn't stomach the thought of choking down another tasteless plate of rice and vegetables.

The food wasn't bad, just bland, repetitive, and utterly uninspiring. After another minute of contemplating the meal, Menma abruptly stood. "Screw this," he declared. "I need some real food."

Adjusting the fox mask on his face, Menma opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit corridors of Otogakure. His sandals clicked against the stone floor as he wandered aimlessly, trying to remember which path led outside. The lair's labyrinthine layout wasn't doing him any favors.

As he turned a corner, he almost collided with a small girl carrying a tray of food. Her braid swung as she stopped abruptly, she froze, clutching the tray tightly, her wide eyes darting to his masked face before quickly looking away.

"Hey, kid," Menma said, gesturing to the tray. "You can keep it. I'm not eating that today."I'll find something a bit more… flavorful."

Akari blinked in surprise, her grip tightening on the tray. "Y-You're going… outside?"

"Yeah," he replied, brushing past her. "Not much of a village if I can't grab a decent meal, right?"

She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it, simply watching as Menma disappeared down the corridor, his steps echoing softly.

"

Menma wandered through the labyrinthine halls of Otogakure, his steps echoing against the cold stone. His sense of direction was nonexistent, and the maze-like layout of the lair wasn't helping.

'Why don't they put up signs or something?' he grumbled, taking another random turn.

After what felt like an eternity of aimless wandering, he began to hear faint sounds: the clash of steel, the sharp crack of fists meeting flesh, and occasional grunts of effort. His curiosity piqued, Menma followed the noise until he found himself back at the training grounds. The space was just as he remembered, cratered floors, scorched walls.

"

The large chamber was alive with action and an air thick with tension. Kimimaro stood at the center, his posture calm and composed as the Sound Four circled him like predators. Each of them looked battered and bruised, their breathing ragged.

Sakon lunged first, a kunai flashing in his hand as he aimed for Kimimaro's chest. The white-haired shinobi sidestepped effortlessly, catching Sakon's wrist mid-strike and twisting sharply. With a flick of his other hand, a sharp bone blade extended from his forearm, slamming into Sakon's ribs and sending him tumbling back, gasping for air.

"Pathetic," Kimimaro said, his tone cold yet eerily calm. "You rely too much on instinct. Your moves are predictable."

Growling in frustration, Tayuya raised her flute. A sharp, discordant melody filled the air as spectral Doki warriors emerged, their grotesque forms rushing Kimimaro with heavy weapons in hand.

Kimimaro didn't flinch. His hands moved fluidly, producing long, razor-sharp bones from his arms. Each strike was precise, cutting through the Doki warriors, their forms dissolving into smoke.

"Your illusions are weak," Kimimaro said, his gaze shifting to Tayuya. "And you've left yourself wide open."

Tayuya's fingers faltered, but before she could respond, Kidōmaru unleashed a volley of kunai coated in chakra-infused webbing. The projectiles sailed through the air, aimed at Kimimaro's blind spot.

At the same time, Jirōbō roared, his massive frame barreling forward like a juggernaut. He slammed his fists into the ground, sending a shockwave toward Kimimaro as the kunai closed in.

Kimimaro's spine rippled unnaturally, jagged bone spikes erupting from his back. The spikes deflected the kunai mid-air, the webs snapping like threads under the force. He leaped into the air, dodging the shockwave and twisting mid-flight.

Jirōbō barely had time to react before Kimimaro descended, slamming a bone blade into his shoulder. Blood sprayed as Jirōbō stumbled back, clutching the wound.

"Too slow," Kimimaro said, stepping back smoothly as Kidōmaru launched another attack.

This time, Kidōmaru formed a bow from his webs, a massive chakra arrow glowing at the string. He released it with a loud twang, the arrow streaking toward Kimimaro at blinding speed.

Kimimaro raised an arm, the bone armor on his forearm thickening just in time to block the arrow. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, but Kimimaro didn't budge, his expression as calm as ever.

Sakon and Ukon seized the moment, attacking from opposite sides with kunai and taijutsu. Their movements were synchronized, their strikes aiming for Kimimaro's vital points.

Kimimaro's movements were almost otherworldly. He twisted and turned, his bones extending and retracting like blades as he parried their attacks. A jagged spike erupted from his elbow, slamming into Sakon's thigh with a sickening crunch.

Ukon barely had time to react before Kimimaro spun, driving a bone blade into his side. Blood gushed as Ukon staggered back, his breathing ragged.

The chamber grew silent except for the labored breaths of the Sound Four. Their coordinated attacks had devolved into desperate attempts to survive.

Kimimaro, meanwhile, stood untouched, his expression calm.

Kimimaro turned, his piercing green eyes locking onto Menma.

"You've been watching," he said calmly, his voice carrying across the training grounds. "Care to join me for a friendly match?"

Menma hesitated. His rational side screamed at him to decline, to avoid the fight. But there was another voice,,,,a darker, more insistent voice, that urged him to accept.

Prove yourself. Show him what you can do.

A slow smile spread across Menma's face, hidden behind his mask. He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped into the training grounds, his movements deliberate.

Kimimaro readied his bone blade, his expression serene but focused.

Menma chuckled softly, his hand brushing the fox mask on his belt. "I guess dinner can wait," he muttered, his voice low.