The summons came like a blade through the quiet. I was in the courtyard, sweat still clinging to my skin from sparring with Shisui, when the ANBU materialized—a ghost in black, his mask a void of expression. "Menma Uchiha," he said, voice flat as a stone. "The Hokage requests your presence."
My heart kicked against my ribs, a sharp, sudden thud. Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Third. The man who'd let the village's gears grind on, even as they crushed the innocent beneath them. I'd been waiting for this, plotting it, but the timing—*now*—caught me off guard. "Understood," I said, keeping my tone even, my face a mask of calm. At six, I was small, unassuming, but inside, I was a storm held in check.
The walk to the Hokage Tower was a blur of senses: the tang of smoke from a nearby forge, the chatter of merchants, the dull thump of my sandals on stone. The ANBU didn't speak, his silence a weight beside me. My mind raced. An ANBU had seen me stop those bullies harassing Hinata yesterday—swift, precise, too skilled for a child. That had to be it. Hiruzen had noticed. Good. Let him.
The tower rose before us, a monolith of power and secrets. We climbed the steps, the air thickening with the scent of old wood and ink. The ANBU pushed open the office doors, then vanished, leaving me alone with the weight of what lay ahead. I stepped inside.
The room was a shrine to knowledge—scrolls stacked high, maps pinned to the walls, the faint creak of the floor underfoot. Behind a desk cluttered with papers sat Hiruzen Sarutobi, his robes pristine, his pipe smoldering faintly. His eyes, lined with age and regret, locked onto me as I crossed the threshold.
"Menma," he said, his voice a low rumble, warm but laced with curiosity. "Sit."
I did, perching on a chair too large for my six-year-old frame, my feet dangling. The space dwarfed me, but I wasn't small—not where it mattered. I folded my hands, met his gaze, and waited.
He leaned back, studying me. "I nearly forgot about you, you know," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Living with the Uchiha, training with Itachi and Shisui… you've been a quiet one. But yesterday, you caught someone's eye. An ANBU saw you stop a group of boys from bullying young Hinata Hyuga. He was impressed."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "They were older, picking on her because she's shy. I didn't think it was right."
Hiruzen's smile grew, though his eyes stayed sharp. "No, it wasn't. But the way you handled it—quick, controlled, like a seasoned shinobi—that's what stood out. Tell me, did Itachi or Shisui teach you to move like that?"
"They've taught me a lot," I said, shrugging lightly. "I train with them every day. They don't go easy on me."
He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "I'd imagine not. But even so, your skill… it's remarkable. Too remarkable for a boy your age." He paused, his gaze lingering on my face—my hair, blonde with streaks of red, a echo of someone he'd once known. "You remind me of someone, Menma. A shinobi I trained long ago. Fast, clever, full of potential."
My breath hitched, just for a moment. Minato. My father. The Fourth Hokage, dead before I could know him, sealed away with the Nine-Tails. Hiruzen saw it, the resemblance, but he wouldn't say it—not yet. I tilted my head, playing the innocent. "Who, Hokage-sama?"
He waved a hand, dismissing the question. "An old memory. But you've got that same fire in you, Menma. That same spark. Do you know what we call it here in Konoha?"
I braced myself, knowing what was coming. "Is it about the Will of Fire?" I ventured, my voice soft, eager—just the right amount of awe.
Hiruzen's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, his tone taking on a preacher's fervor. "Exactly. The Will of Fire. It's the heart of this village, Menma. The belief that every one of us is part of something greater—a family bound by love, by sacrifice. It's what drives us to protect each other, to give everything for the sake of those who come after."
I nodded, slow and deliberate, my lips curving into a faint, agreeable smile. *Sacrifice,* I thought. *Like letting Danzo order the Uchiha to be slaughtered. Like sitting by while Itachi drowned in blood and Obito pulled the strings.* The words burned in my mind, bitter and sharp, but I kept them locked away. Outwardly, I was the perfect pupil, drinking in his wisdom.
"I want to protect the village," I said, my voice steady. "My family, my friends. That's why I train so hard."
Hiruzen's expression softened, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "That's it, Menma. That's the Will of Fire. It's not just strength—it's purpose. Duty. You're young, but you already understand that. I can see it."
*Duty,* I echoed silently. *Duty didn't save my mother's clan. Duty didn't stop you from turning a blind eye.* My stomach twisted, but I kept my face smooth, my nod enthusiastic. "Yes, Hokage-sama. I want to be someone the village can rely on."
He smiled fully now, the lines on his face deepening. "You will be. I've no doubt of that. But it's more than just skill, Menma. It's loyalty—to Konoha, to its people. The Will of Fire asks us to put the village first, always. Can you do that?"
I met his gaze, unflinching. "I can, Hokage-sama. I will."
Inside, I was calculating. Hiruzen's dogs—his loyal shinobi—were forged in moments like this, fed platitudes until they bent to his will. Naruto might've fallen for it, wide-eyed and desperate for approval. But me? I saw the cracks. The Uchiha massacre wasn't some distant nightmare—it was a wound still festering, a betrayal Hiruzen had allowed. Itachi, brainwashed into compliance, Obito lurking in the shadows—it was a mess of cowardice and compromise. I couldn't let it happen again. Mikoto, my mother, didn't deserve to die. Sasuke didn't deserve to lose everything. Fugaku… maybe he was too entrenched, too proud, but I'd save who I could.
And yet, I wouldn't push back—not now. Hiruzen's trust was a tool, a key to doors I couldn't open otherwise. I was the Fourth Hokage's son, a secret I carried like a blade, though he'd never say it aloud. I didn't need him to. I knew. And if I played this right, I could get my hands on restricted scrolls—jutsu, histories, power. Knowledge was my currency, and Hiruzen was my vault.
"You're a rare one, Menma," he said, his voice pulling me back. "Talent like yours doesn't come along often. I'll be keeping an eye on you. And if you ever need guidance, my door is open."
I bowed my head, the picture of respect. "Thank you, Hokage-sama. That means a lot."
He waved me off, already turning back to his papers. "Go on, now. I'm sure you've got training to get to. But don't forget what we talked about."
"I won't," I promised, standing. My legs felt unsteady, but I crossed the room with purpose, the doors closing behind me with a soft thud.
---
Outside, the village hummed with life, oblivious to the game I'd just begun. Hiruzen thought he'd planted a seed, but I was the one sowing—cultivating his favor, his blind spots. The Will of Fire was a leash he dangled, but I wouldn't wear it. I'd nod, I'd smile, I'd let him think me tame, but my eyes were open.
The Uchiha massacre loomed ahead, a shadow I couldn't outrun. I'd stop it—somehow. Mikoto's gentle hands, Sasuke's quiet laughter—they were worth more than Hiruzen's ideals. And if I had to use the old man to do it, so be it.