The Hokage Tower stood like a monolith in my mind, its presence pressing against my chest as I climbed the steps. My sandals scraped the wood, each step a dull echo in the quiet afternoon, a rhythm that matched the pounding in my skull. Six years old, but I carried a lifetime—or maybe more—in my head, a storm of memories and futures I couldn't let slip through my fingers. The Uchiha massacre was a blade at my throat, its edge growing sharper every day. I needed power. I needed time. And Hiruzen—old, wise, burdened Hiruzen—was my way in.
The door to his office was cracked open, voices drifting out like smoke. I froze, my hand hovering over the frame, ears straining. Hiruzen's tone was low, steady, the kind of calm that hid a thousand worries. "He's been asking questions, Jiraiya. Digging deeper than most his age would dare."
Another voice answered, rougher, edged with a laugh that didn't quite stick. "Sounds like trouble. Or talent. You sure he's just a kid, sensei?" *Jiraiya.* The name hit me like a kunai to the gut, sharp and cold. The Toad Sage. The Legendary Sannin. Naruto's godfather—and mine, if fate had been kinder. But I was six. I wasn't supposed to know him, wasn't supposed to feel the weight of that connection. I swallowed it down, buried it deep, and pushed the door wide.
The room smelled of parchment and pipe smoke, thick and heavy, like history itself had settled here. Hiruzen sat behind his desk, scrolls strewn across it like a battlefield, his pipe resting in a tray, still curling faint wisps of gray. Jiraiya lounged beside him, one leg kicked up on the chair's arm, his white hair a wild mess, red streaks framing a face that grinned too easily. They turned as I stepped in, their words dying mid-sentence, and I felt their eyes—Hiruzen's soft, searching, Jiraiya's sharp, curious—pin me in place.
"Menma," Hiruzen said, his voice warm, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. "Good timing. We were just speaking of you."
I tilted my head, playing the part—wide-eyed, innocent, a kid who didn't know better. "Me, Hokage-sama?"
Jiraiya snorted, a rough, barking sound. "Yeah, you, brat. Heard you've been poking around where you shouldn't—ANBU whispering your name, nose in old scrolls. What's a runt like you doing cooped up in dusty libraries?"
I shrugged, keeping my face blank, my voice light. "Learning. Trying to be useful."
Hiruzen chuckled, leaning back, his fingers steepled. "Useful, he says. Most boys your age care more for tag than tactics."
I seized it—the opening I'd been waiting for. My heart thudded, but I kept my tone even, my hands steady at my sides. "That's why I'm here, Hokage-sama. I've been thinking… is there a way I can become a ninja earlier? Graduate now, maybe?"
The air in the room thickened, turned brittle. Hiruzen's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. Jiraiya's leg slipped off the chair, his grin freezing, then dropping altogether. "Graduate *now*?" Hiruzen repeated, his voice slow, deliberate. "That's no small request, Menma. You're six. Only a handful have walked that path—Kakashi at six, Itachi at seven. It's a heavy burden."
I nodded, my jaw tight. "I know. But I'm not like the others at the academy. I've been training—hard. With Itachi, with Shisui. I can do this."
Jiraiya's brows shot up, his gaze slicing through me. "You think you're in their league, kid? Kakashi and Itachi? That's a hell of a claim."
I met his stare, unflinching, my voice quiet but firm. "I don't know their league. But I've got something. Kakashi graduated at six. Itachi at seven. I'm six, and I can show you I'm ready."
Hiruzen's hand paused on his chin, his eyes glinting with something—curiosity, maybe, or doubt. "Show me? What have you learned, Menma, locked away in those old libraries?"
I took a breath, the moment stretching taut. This was it—the hinge everything turned on. I stepped back, hands moving through the seals—Ram, Snake, Tiger. Chakra hummed under my skin, a steady pulse, not the monstrous torrent I could've unleashed, but enough. Controlled. Precise. A puff of smoke, and a Shadow Clone stood beside me, identical, its eyes locked on them as mine were.
The silence was a living thing, heavy and stunned. Hiruzen's pipe slipped from his hand, clattering onto the desk with a dull thunk. Jiraiya's jaw went slack, his eyes bugging out like I'd just sprouted wings. "A *Shadow Clone*?" he barked, half-laughing, half-choking. "At *six*? That's Jonin-level, you little—!"
Hiruzen recovered quicker, his gaze sharpening, pinning me where I stood. "Menma," he said, his voice low, "how did you learn this?"
I let the clone vanish, a faint smirk tugging at my lips—couldn't help it. "The archives. You gave me access, Hokage-sama. Found a scroll on advanced ninjutsu. Kept at it 'til I got it right."
Jiraiya whistled, long and low, his grin creeping back, sly now. "Kid's got stones. And skill. Reminds me of someone, doesn't he, sensei?"
Hiruzen's eyes flickered, a shadow passing over them. *Minato.* I saw it—the way his jaw tightened, the faint softening at the corners of his mouth. He didn't say it, didn't need to. I was my father's echo—same blond hair, same drive, same quiet fire. The Will of Fire, he'd call it. I felt it too, burning in my chest, but I couldn't let them see how deep it ran, how much I knew.
"I like your drive, Menma," Hiruzen said at last, his voice soft, almost proud. "It's rare. I wish all young shinobi were more like you—hungry to grow, to protect."
Jiraiya snorted, folding his arms. "Careful, sensei. You'll puff him up 'til he floats away."
I flicked my eyes to him, playing dumb, my tone flat. "Who are you, anyway? Some old guy with a wart on his nose?"
Jiraiya's face went blank, then red, his eyes bulging like I'd slapped him. "Old guy? *Wart on my nose*? Do you even know who I am, you snot-nosed little—!"
I blinked, slow and deliberate. "Should I?"
He shot up, chair scraping, his voice booming. "I'm Jiraiya, the Toad Sage of Mount Myoboku! One of the three Legendary Sannin! People would *kill* to be my disciple, you ungrateful runt!"
I tilted my head, unfazed. "I'm six years old. Why would I want to be a disciple to some loud old man?"
Hiruzen's laugh broke the tension, deep and rolling, his shoulders shaking. Jiraiya's mouth opened, closed, then twisted into a scowl, caught between fury and grudging amusement. "Loud old man," he muttered, slumping back down. "You've got a mouth on you, kid."
"Enough, Jiraiya," Hiruzen said, still chuckling, wiping a tear from his eye. "He's not wrong. You do shout."
Jiraiya huffed, glaring at me, but there was something else in it now—interest, maybe respect. I kept my face neutral, but my mind raced. He wasn't here by chance. I'd seen the edge of a manuscript poking from his bag—*Tale of Jiraiya the Gallant*, scribbled in his messy hand. "Research," he'd call it, but I knew better. He'd been watching me, probably since the day I was born. Minato's son. Naruto's brother. His godson, in a way he'd never admit out loud. And now, I'd hooked him.
"Menma," Jiraiya said, his tone shifting, serious now, cutting through the banter. "You're good. Damn good. That Shadow Clone? Most Jonin can't pull it off that clean. But talent's just the start. You need someone to sharpen it, push you past what you think you can do."
I raised an eyebrow, keeping it light. "And you think that's you?"
He grinned, sharp and feral. "I *know* it's me. So, what do you say, kid? Want to be my disciple?"
I let the question hang, my pulse steady despite the storm inside. This was a gamble—a Sannin's training, jutsu and secrets I couldn't reach alone. But Jiraiya was a wildcard, his loyalties a maze I'd have to navigate. Still, I needed him. Needed this.
"Alright," I said, nodding slow, like I'd just decided. "I'll do it."
Jiraiya's grin split wide, his eyes glinting. "Good choice, brat. You're gonna learn things that'll make that clone look like a parlor trick."
Hiruzen smiled, a quiet, knowing thing. "A fine decision, Menma. Jiraiya's a handful, but there's no better teacher for you."
I dipped my head, the weight of it sinking in. "Thank you, Hokage-sama. And… thanks, Jiraiya-sensei."
Jiraiya laughed, a big, booming sound, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to stagger me. "Sensei, huh? I could get used to that. We start tomorrow, kid. Don't be late."
I nodded, a spark flaring in my chest—anticipation, maybe hope. As I turned to leave, the door creaking shut behind me, I felt the world tilt just a little.