The pursuit continued much as before.
Yet subtle deviations had already begun to ripple through the course of events.
One by one, members of the Sound Four had separated to delay Naruto's retrieval squad. Each engagement unfolded with slightly altered personnel arrangements compared to the original trajectory of fate. Whether these adjustments would ultimately change the outcome remained uncertain.
For Menma, however, the result was never the central concern.
Just as he had shown no interest when Orochimaru invited him to accompany him in seeking out Tsunade, he likewise held little emotional investment in whether the Sound Four succeeded or failed.
Menma understood clearly what he required at this stage and what he must avoid.
Approaching Tsunade alongside Orochimaru would have yielded no advantage. On the contrary, it would have exposed him prematurely to Konoha's scrutiny. In the original course of events, Jiraiya would inevitably locate Tsunade and return her to the village. If Menma inserted himself into that narrative recklessly, he would only invite containment.
After the night in the Land of Waves, the turbulence within his heart had subsided.
He was no longer driven by impulse.
Now he was a realist.
Every action required measurable benefit.
Nothing more.
This time, his agreement with Orochimaru had been purely transactional. He would assist where appropriate and withdraw when necessary. No sentiment attached.
And so
Upon reaching the border region between the Land of Fire and the Land of Sound, at the place known throughout the shinobi world as the Valley of the End
Menma stopped.
Two colossal statues rose across the river gorge: Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama, forever frozen in confrontation.
This was a symbolic boundary.
A historical scar.
It also marked the outer defensive limit of Konohagakure's direct territorial control.
Going further inward would invite unnecessary risk.
That had never been part of his agreement with Orochimaru.
However, the one traveling beside him clearly found this unacceptable.
"Menma-kun. Why do you stop here?"
The voice was calm.
Cold.
Menma turned.
White hair.
Pale green eyes.
Two red dots aligned vertically on his forehead
the unmistakable trait of the Kaguya Clan.
Kimimaro.
The last surviving heir of that bloodline.
A prodigy dying long before his time.
"The agreement between Orochimaru-san and myself," Menma replied evenly, "was to rendezvous here and ensure a secure passage if necessary. The territory beyond this point lies too close to Konoha's internal patrol range. It exceeds the terms."
Kimimaro's gaze sharpened.
Within his body flowed the Kekkei Genkai known as Shikotsumyaku the ability to freely manipulate and weaponize his skeletal structure.
Its origin traced distantly back to the progenitor of chakra herself, Kaguya Ōtsutsuki. Though vastly diluted compared to the divine technique known as All-Killing Ash Bones, the clan's ability remained one of the most lethal close-combat bloodlines in shinobi history.
The Kaguya Clan had once launched a reckless assault against Kirigakure, seeking battle for its own sake. The result was annihilation.
Only Kimimaro survived.
In the original timeline, even while terminally ill, he overwhelmed both Gaara and Rock Lee in succession. In a healthy state, his combat power would undoubtedly have reached high jōnin tier perhaps beyond.
He had once been Orochimaru's preferred vessel.
But his fatal illness rendered him unsuitable.
That was the cruel irony.
This mission, too, had been his own request. He refused to die bedridden. If his life were ending, it would end in service to Orochimaru.
And thus
Menma's indifference felt like disrespect.
"You would abandon Orochimaru-sama's will?" Kimimaro asked softly.
A faint sound followed.
"Shhk."
A blade of bone extended from Kimimaro's palm, smooth and white as polished jade.
The killing intent in the air intensified.
Menma did not move.
He merely looked at Kimimaro.
For an instant, a subtle but suffocating chakra presence rippled outward, dense, controlled, unmistakably vast.
The faint shadow of fox-like eyes flickered within his pupils.
Kimimaro's breathing halted.
He knew.
This was the Nine-Tails' jinchūriki.
And not a weak one.
Kimimaro did not fear death. But pointless conflict served no purpose.
After a long moment, the bone blade retracted.
Without another word, Kimimaro turned and leapt forward alone toward the forest path leading to the Valley's center.
Menma watched him go.
A faint smile touched his lips though his eyes carried something more complex.
Regret.
And something close to envy.
Orochimaru commanded loyalty that transcended fear alone.
Menma could not deny it.
Subordinates like Kimimaro did not serve merely because they were controlled. They believed.
Even understanding Orochimaru's cruelty, they devoted themselves willingly.
That was a form of charisma few possessed.
"You are enviable, Orochimaru-san," Menma murmured inwardly.
In another life, Orochimaru might have become a Hokage of extraordinary influence. His intellect rivaled the greatest minds in Konoha's history.
Even Senju Tobirama, the Second Hokage, had pioneered forbidden techniques such as the Impure World Reincarnation. The history of shinobi development was hardly free of moral compromise.
But Orochimaru had chosen a different path.
Perhaps Konoha was, to him, a cage.
Different convictions could not coexist forever.
Menma raised his eyes toward the towering statue of Madara.
Without hesitation, he leapt upward.
He landed atop the stone head of Uchiha Madara, robes stirring in the wind above the roaring river below.
Then he sat cross-legged.
Closed his eyes.
And waited.
For the reunion fate had promised.
At the Valley of the End
Where history once fractured
It would fracture again.