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Twin Demons. Chapter 37
🕑 Added 2025-10-03 21:59:39 +0000 UTCKarin was practically glowing—she grabbed the twins by the hands and dragged them toward the tallest tree on their private training ground near the Shinigami shrine.
“Look!” Her voice rang with so much pride, it sounded like she was about to unveil nothing less than “the annihilation of gods.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Menma noticed that Karin’s arms had tanned quite a bit over the past month. She used to hide them under the long sleeves of a yukata, ashamed of the ugly bite scars. Now she was wearing a plain green tank top, and instead of hiding them—she was flaunting them.
[Heh. Every day she gets more stubborn. Looks like the Uzumaki genes finally broke through her hang-ups.]
Karin stopped by the trunk and carefully placed her foot on the bark. Her movements were cautious but confident: a step, another step—and soon she was climbing higher and higher until she reached the very top. But the show wasn’t over. She formed hand seals, and in the next instant, a substitution flared beside the twins. On the branch remained only a wooden log, which dropped with a pitiful crack and shattered into splinters.
Karin reappeared next to them, adjusted her glasses, and beamed like a student who had just aced an exam.
“Well? Am I getting better?”
“Karin-chan, you’re amazing!” Naruko squealed, instantly bouncing around her cousin. “You’ll see—together we’ll become the most ass-kicking team in the whole world!”
Menma crossed his arms and shook his head. “You’re at about fourth-year academy level,” he said flatly. “Chakra control—average. Of the three basic techniques you’ve mastered only substitution. You’ve only just started building muscle. And you can’t fight.”
“Hey!” Naruko scowled and grabbed Karin’s hands, as if shielding her from her brother’s cruelty. “Don’t listen to this bore! Other people need years for that, and you got this far in just a month!”
“Thanks to our chakra,” Menma muttered. “Hard not to progress when thirty shadow clones are auto-training you every day.”
With sudden resolve, Karin stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. Then she spun around and planted the same quick kiss on Naruko before the girl could react. Something warm flickered in Menma’s chest. He glanced at his sister—and the faint blush on her face told him she felt the same.
“You’re not worried anymore that no one will marry you after that?” he drawled, brushing his fingers over the spot where she had kissed him.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Karin smirked, adjusting her hair. “And as for stealing my first kiss… I forgave you both a long time ago.”
“If saliva exchange counts as a kiss…” Naruko began counting on her fingers with mock seriousness, “…then by now my brother and I must’ve kissed Karin-chan about thirty times. Hm. That’s a bit much.” She turned to Menma, dead serious. “To protect our cousin’s honor, we’re both going to have to marry her.”
Karin’s smug smile vanished instantly. Her cheeks flared crimson. She coughed, nearly knocking her glasses askew, and launched into a fiery defense—insisting it wasn’t a “kiss,” saliva didn’t count, and she was pure and virtuous, exactly as befitting the future wife of a respectable shinobi.
[Heh. That’s why I love my sister. Only Naruko can drive anyone to hysterics with a single line.]
The Uzumaki trio returned to the foot of the Shinigami shrine just in time. Hiruzen was already waiting—as always, for the daily ritual of creating scrolls with A-rank techniques. After years of this “routine,” the old man had to have stockpiled enough firepower to wipe several villages off the map.
“Gramps!” Naruko was the first to dash forward. “You should’ve seen what Karin-chan just did! She was amazing!”
Karin blushed furiously and started polishing her glasses.
“Not surprised,” Hiruzen replied with a warm smile. “With two teachers like these, she never had a chance to stay weak. I’m glad to see you both taking care of your cousin.” His eyes glinted slyly. “Now then—let’s get to work.”
By habit, Hiruzen tossed two scrolls—one to Menma, one to Naruko. The formulas were already inscribed; all that remained was to pour in chakra and seal the technique.
The Hokage formed hand seals. A burst of A-rank power flared in the air—the kind of force that could crush, burn, or drown an entire squad of shinobi. Menma and Naruko didn’t even blink; years of exposure had numbed them to such displays. Karin had only recently stopped flinching whenever Hiruzen showed off like that.
“All done!” Naruko shouted, rolling up a scroll where a fiery whirlwind swirled inside. “Two hundred ninety-nine! Just one left! Gramps, get the promised technique ready!”
“Hmm, why wait until tomorrow?” Hiruzen’s eyes narrowed mischievously. He pulled out a third scroll and handed it to Karin with feigned innocence. “Would you like to help your relatives?”
“M-me?” The girl faltered and even stepped back. “But I don’t know anything about fūinjutsu.”
“Nonsense,” the old man waved her off and practically shoved the scroll into her hands. “I’ve already prepared all the formulas. All you need to do is pour in chakra on my command. Nothing complicated.”
[Tch. I knew the old monkey would rope Karin in sooner or later. No wonder he dragged her to Konoha. But I hoped it’d be later. Sealing an A-rank technique eats up a mountain of chakra. If she starts doing this regularly, she won’t have any strength left for training.]
Karin’s fingers grew treacherously sweaty around the scroll, and it nearly slipped from her grip. Her knees trembled, but she straightened anyway and raised the scroll like a shield. The next moment, a wall of water crashed down on her—ten tons of icy weight that could have swept away an entire squad of shinobi.
“Sealing!” she shouted, her voice breaking.
The scroll flared with the script of fūinjutsu, and instead of crushing her, the torrent was sucked inside, the lock forged from her own chakra. Karin sagged, her knees buckling, her breath ragged. For her body, it was far too much—she was on the verge of chakra exhaustion.
“Got you!” the twins said in unison, stepping in to give her their shoulders for support. She nodded gratefully, doing her best not to show how drained she was.
“Overexerted yourself a little, but that’s just practice,” Hiruzen remarked casually. He picked up the fallen scroll from the grass and slipped it neatly into his sleeve. His voice carried no sympathy or concern—only calm interest. “And here’s your reward.”
The old man tossed Menma a new scroll bearing the Uzumaki crest. Menma caught it with one hand but didn’t open it.
[Yeah. Another cheap scrap. The old monkey’s grown impossibly stingy this past year.]
Hiruzen pulled out his pipe, lit it unhurriedly, and said, “I know this conversation may be unpleasant, but you’re old enough now. Time to understand something. Our agreement is annulled. I won’t be bringing you techniques anymore.”
“What?!” Naruko nearly dropped Karin and stared wide-eyed. “Gramps, you don’t need us anymore?!”
“I do,” Hiruzen nodded, calmly blowing a smoke ring. “But from now on, each of you will give me one scroll per day. That will be your tax obligation.”
“Huh?” Naruko frowned, but her tone carried not just anger—there was confusion too.
Menma stood silent, staring at Hiruzen as if trying to burn through him. He understood perfectly—and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Naruko-chan,” Hiruzen began gently, “before, you were in the academy and could afford to live carefree. But now you’re a genin, and that comes with duties. Every shinobi of Konoha pays taxes for life. Those funds cover salaries for the police, medics, teachers—even the workers who repair the water pipes. The water you use in the shower? Paid for with taxes.”
“Oh, come on!” Naruko groaned, rolling her eyes. “I knew they wouldn’t spare us from D-rank missions! Now we’ll have to weed a thousand gardens just to pay taxes!”
Hiruzen chuckled. “Naruko-chan, you don’t need to calculate taxes yourself. They’re deducted automatically from missions. That’s why every shinobi has a minimum number of assignments per year. For C-rank—it’s at least five.”
[Now that’s interesting. Why didn’t Yamato tell us these details? Forgot? Didn’t have time? Or… was he ordered to keep quiet until now?]
“So… does that mean it’s time for us to take a mission?” Karin went pale, her voice trembling.
“Missions are only one way of paying for life in Konoha,” Hiruzen said, taking another drag and exhaling a cloud of smoke. “In your case, for the Uzumaki fūinjutsushop, I offer an alternative. Three scrolls per day.”
Menma frowned but said nothing.
[There it is. Orochimaru warned me. What started as mutually beneficial cooperation is slowly turning into bondage. And the old monkey will demand more and more as time goes on.]
“Gramps!” Naruko exploded. Her eyes blazed, fists clenched—and if Karin hadn’t been in her arms, she would’ve leapt at the Hokage. “You’re planning to lock us up in Konoha?!”
“I’m thinking of your safety,” Hiruzen replied evenly. “The shinobi world is deadly. Every month I sign several death notices.”
“You just wanna turn me into a chump!” Naruko stomped her foot. “Yesterday Ino-chan bragged about going on her first C-rank mission! All my classmates will be swapping adventure stories, and I’m supposed to sit here and envy them?!”
Hiruzen paused, tapping his pipe against his teeth. “All right, all right, no need to yell. I understand how important it is for you not to fall behind your peers. I think I can find an assignment for your team. Come to my office tomorrow.”
Menma narrowed his eyes.
[Oh, I don’t like this ‘gift.’ Not one bit.]
///
The next day, Team Eleven stood in the Hokage’s office in full formation. The atmosphere was oppressively official: the massive desk, stacks of papers, the portraits of former Hokage staring down solemnly. The smell of old tobacco and parchment hung in the air, giving the place an austere weight.
The twins and Karin lined up straight and stiff. Yamato stood slightly behind—calm as always, wearing that expression best described as: “I had nothing to do with this, but I’ll probably get blamed anyway.”
Hiruzen slowly lifted his gaze from the papers. Behind the narrow wrinkles, his eyes gleamed coldly.
“Team Eleven,” he began in a solemn voice, “I assign you a C-rank mission.”
He unrolled a scroll and skimmed the lines, as if he already knew them by heart but was observing the ritual.
“Guard duty and escort of a bridge builder to the Land of Waves.”
[Knew it. A setup. Why else this mission, and why else us?]
“Tazuna-san, come in,” Hiruzen ordered, raising his voice slightly toward the door.
The door creaked open, and an elderly, heavyset man practically stumbled inside. Gray hair, a beard, face flushed slightly red from alcohol. In his hand—a sake bottle he clearly had no intention of parting with, even in the Hokage’s office.
He looked the children over with bleary eyes and grunted, “Kindergarten.”
“Gramps, is he really a bridge builder?” Naruko asked innocently, tilting her head. “Looks more like one of those local drunks who pass out on park benches. Exactly the same vibe.”
Tazuna choked on his sake and coughed. “Brat!” he snapped, his face turning crimson. “I’m a world-renowned architect! The greatest bridge specialist in the entire Land of Waves!”
“Then I’m a world-renowned ramen devourer and a professional at wrecking people’s nerves,” Naruko grinned from ear to ear. “Nice to meet you! I promise you an unforgettable travel experience with us.”
Karin stifled a laugh into her fist. Menma only smirked faintly, watching Tazuna redden even more. Yamato let out a heavy sigh, clearly bidding farewell to his sanity. Hiruzen shot Naruko a stern look but didn’t say anything aloud.
“Prepare for a long journey,” Yamato said calmly, shifting attention to his students. “The Land of Waves is far. If there’s no urgency, we’ll depart tomorrow morning.”
“Good schedule, Yamato,” Hiruzen nodded. “But before you leave, I need a private word with you. The rest—dismissed.”
Tazuna headed off to an inn. The twins and Karin filed out of the office. Menma was last to leave, a knot of unease tightening inside him.
///
Once the door closed behind the children, Hiruzen leisurely lit his pipe. The room quickly filled with bluish smoke, the old man seeming to dissolve into it, becoming part of the shadows.
Yamato stood upright, but his gaze sharpened, more alert.
“I take it this mission isn’t a simple one, Hokage-sama,” he said cautiously. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have handed it over personally.”
“You understand correctly.” Hiruzen exhaled a smoke ring and watched it dissolve. “The mission turned out to have… complications. Tazuna crossed a man with considerable resources. That man spared no expense and hired nukenin to ‘solve’ the problem.”
“Hostile shinobi automatically raise the mission rank,” Yamato frowned. “It should’ve been given to experienced specialists.”
“Team Eleven will complete this mission,” Hiruzen said firmly. His voice had the weight of a verdict.
Yamato met the Hokage’s eyes and knew arguing was pointless.
“Permission to ask… why them?”
“The children crave adventure too much,” Hiruzen spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather. “They dream of the road, of grand exploits. But the shinobi world is nothing but client lies, greedy merchants, nukenin ready to slit your throat for money. They need to see that. To feel it firsthand. To understand the comfort of life in Konoha.”
Yamato nodded, though the grim line on his face deepened.
“It’s a risky walk. You never know which nukenin you’ll run into.”
“That’s if you don’t know,” Hiruzen countered evenly, pulling a thick folder from his desk drawer. “But we do.”
Yamato opened the folder and skimmed the pages.
“So we’re up against Gato,” he muttered. “He hired Zabuza Momochi… former Mist Swordsman.”
“Is that a problem for you?” Hiruzen asked, releasing another cloud of smoke.
“No,” Yamato shook his head. “Wood holds water just fine. But… the intel is impressive. It even marks out the ambush points.”
“Our mutual acquaintance Danzo hasn’t lost his touch,” Hiruzen smirked, biting down on the pipe stem.
Yamato closed the folder, his face turning to stone.
“This mission will be stressful. The jinchūriki may lose control.”
“And you’ll restrain them,” Hiruzen said calmly. “That’s why you were appointed commander. You have techniques for suppressing bijū.”
After giving Yamato a few minutes to study the folder, Hiruzen concluded:
“So. For the Uzumaki, this will look like a ‘normal mission’—that turns into a nightmare. None of the children must die, but their desire to leave Konoha must vanish. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Yamato replied, bowing his head.
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