Naruto grinned. "Exactly. Just like how muscles grow stronger by breaking and healing, your magic will learn to circulate more efficiently. The longer you endure, the more you'll refine your control. But don't get reckless—this isn't a shortcut, it's a slow grind." Carla scoffed, though sweat already glistened on her brow. "Of course it is. You would give us something ridiculous like this." Naruto chuckled. "Hey, if it was easy, it wouldn't be worth it." The two girls exchanged determined looks. Hard? Absolutely. But rewarding? That much was clear. With renewed focus, they straightened their backs, already preparing themselves for the long road ahead. As soon as the two deactivated their wristbands, the invisible weight lifted, leaving them gasping for breath. Their muscles still burned from the strain, but a sense of accomplishment filled their chests. Before they could say anything, Naruto reached into a small pouch and pulled out an ice cream bar. With a nostalgic smile, he snapped it in half effortlessly, handing one piece to Wendy and the other to Carla. The two girls instinctively took their halves, exchanging a knowing glance before taking a bite. It had become a quiet tradition between them—a small, simple reward after training, a moment of peace shared between mentor and students. Carla, ever the composed one, tried to act indifferent, but the slight twitch at the corners of her lips betrayed her. Wendy, on the other hand, beamed up at Naruto, savoring the cold sweetness that contrasted with the lingering exhaustion in her body. Naruto leaned back on the rock, watching them eat. The sight brought back old memories—of a white-haired man with an easy-going grin, snapping an ice cream bar in half and handing the bigger piece to a scrawny, wide-eyed kid. Pervy Sage… He exhaled through his nose, shaking off the bittersweet feeling. "Alright, enjoy it while you can," Naruto said with a smirk. "Because tomorrow, we're pushing it even further." Wendy groaned dramatically, while Carla just narrowed her eyes. "Of course we are," she muttered. Naruto just laughed, the warmth of the rising sun settling over them as their little routine continued— He was born beneath a sky unburdened by war, cradled in the hands of two of the greatest shinobi the Hidden Leaf had ever known. Menma Uzumaki—the prodigal son of Minato Namikaze and Kushina Uzumaki—was a child of privilege, a genius among geniuses. Where others clawed their way toward greatness, he walked a path paved with destiny. By the time he was sixteen, he had eclipsed even his father, standing at the peak of Konoha's golden age. Yet, for all his power, for all his brilliance, he was still just a boy who wanted to protect the people he loved. He grew up with everything, however he too came to understand its weight from his friends' eyes. What it means to lose something important to them. The hole it brings. He was born with everything and because of that he fears losing them more than his life. The world, however, was never kind to such wishes. The Akatsuki moved in the shadows, their eyes set on the final remaining Jinchūriki. He would not let them come for his mother. He would not let the burden of the Kyūbi torment her. So he asked Minato to do what no father should ever have to—transfer the beast into his own son. And Minato, torn between duty and love, agreed. With the Kyūbi's power raging within him, Menma did not falter. He led Konoha into an era of dominance, forcing the Akatsuki's hand. The war that followed—the Fourth Great Shinobi War—was unlike any before it. An alliance was forged among the five nations, and under Menma's command, they waged battle against the Akatsuki's ambitions. Victory was swift. The world stood united. Peace was finally in their grasp. But peace is fleeting. At the war's end, an omen took shape before him. A being beyond human comprehension—Kaguya Ōtsutsuki—descended upon the battlefield. It should have been impossible. He should have fallen that day, just as so many had before him. But Menma was a once-in-a-millennium anomaly. A prodigy even the gods could not anticipate. So he did the unthinkable. He sealed her within himself. It was his first mistake. It would not be his last. Years passed under Minato's reign as Hokage, but the peace Menma had secured was constantly shattered by shadows that stretched beyond the stars. More came—Toneri, Momoshiki, Kinshiki, Urashiki, Isshiki—each one fell before him. All housed within his unique seal that defies logic, woven to protect everything but himself. With every victory, his power grew. With every conquest, his body changed. His palm bore the weight of six Karma seals, layered atop one another in a spiral of cosmic rot. The more he devoured, the less of himself remained. The human within him—Menma Uzumaki, the son, the shinobi, the boy who once dreamed of peace—was fading, drowning beneath the divine. And then, the worst of it. His body had reached its limit. No matter how strong he was, no matter how brilliant, he was still bound by flesh, by mortality. His cells rebelled against him, unable to contain the unfathomable chakra he had absorbed. He could feel it—the slow erosion of his existence, the unraveling of his very being. He could not allow it. Not here. Not in his home. Not before his father's eyes. Not where his mother would have to watch him become the monster he had fought so hard to destroy. And so, Menma Uzumaki ceased to be. He left without a word, exiling himself to the abyss, a place where neither gods nor men could follow. He cast himself into the unknown, surrendering to the void, hoping—praying—that space itself would erase him. Using Shinjutsu. But fate was cruel. He did not die. He awoke somewhere else—changed. The man who opened his eyes was no longer Menma. He was Kushiki. Kushiki Ōtsutsuki—the harbinger of his own destruction. A being cursed to wander beyond the stars, seeking the one thing the gods could never grant him: an end.
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