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Twin Demons. Chapter 44
🕑 Added 2025-10-10 21:40:41 +0000 UTCBy dinner, Tsunami had set the table for seven. The dishes were plain, but there was meat on the plates. A clear hint: there was money in the house, and not a small amount.
“To coming home,” Yamato raised his glass of juice.
“Yeah,” Tazuna grumbled, clearly suffering from his failed attempt to cut corners.
The table buzzed with lively talk. The twins and Karin took turns retelling the mission’s events, embellishing and adding extra details. Tsunami listened with genuine interest, gasping now and then and shaking her head.
Only one plate sat in gloomy silence. A sullen boy pushed his food around as if it were somehow to blame.
“Inari, come here, hug your grandpa,” Tazuna said cheerfully, spreading his arms. “And thank our heroes. This is Menma and Naruko, the ones who took down four of Gato’s thugs on the road.”
“Four, huh?” Inari looked up and fixed his gaze on the twins like they weren’t heroes at all, but fools about to learn how the world really worked.
His lips quivered, and then it burst out of him.
“So what?! Gato has hundreds of men! That means nothing! In this world, the one with the most power rules! Tomorrow he’ll send more, and you two smiling idiots will be killed just the same!”
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
The twins exchanged glances—and the same thought flickered in their eyes: how to slit this brat’s throat without ruining relations with the hosts.
“Kid, you really are stupid,” Karin shot up from her seat. Her eyes flashed so sharply that Inari instinctively recoiled. “We’ve been telling you for an hour what a real shinobi battle looks like, how blood runs in rivers and people die without even realizing it. And you—a whiny little brat with snot on your face—try to scare us with the name of some village bandit.”
Her fists clenched, her voice turned to ice.
“To you, Gato is the worst nightmare. But to us…” She fixed her gaze on Inari’s lost expression. “To us, he’s just a petty crook. And yes, you’re right about one thing: in this world, power rules. So maybe I should prove it right now and cut out your nasty tongue?”
Inari whimpered, his eyes wide with terror. A moment later he tumbled off his chair and bolted from the room, the door slamming so hard the dishes on the shelf rattled.
“Inari!” Tsunami cried and rushed after her son.
Silence fell, broken only by Karin’s heavy breathing.
Menma leaned toward her calmly, resting a gentle hand on her back.
“Did you need to let it out?” His voice was soft, without its usual sarcasm.
“I… don’t know.” Karin took a sip of water, her voice still trembling. “Probably. I was just so angry. You two risked your lives, and that little idiot dared to insult you. I won’t let anyone talk to you like that.”
“Karin-chan, you’re amazing,” Naruko beamed so wide her cheeks nearly burst.
“Agreed,” Menma added, the corners of his mouth lifting.
///
Morning.
Menma woke in his room inside the new wooden house Yamato had built beside Tazuna’s hut. The boards smelled of fresh pine, and the light of the rising sun streamed through the windows. Next to him lay neatly stacked scrolls with Zabuza and Haku’s sealed bodies. The clones had done their job well, finished the task, and then silently dispersed, leaving the results to the original.
“Hard workers,” Menma muttered, stretching.
Stepping into the hall, he almost bumped into Yamato. The jonin wore pajamas patterned with bamboo and looked like he was about to wake everyone up.
“You felt it too?” Menma asked quietly.
Yamato nodded, his face turning serious.
“Even an academy rookie would notice,” he said grimly, turning at the sound of footsteps.
Naruko and Karin emerged from their rooms, both still drowsy, their hair sticking out in every direction.
“Five minutes to get ready,” Yamato ordered.
The morning air was crisp, the grass shining with dew. The sun had just begun gilding the treetops. The twins stepped outside almost in sync, ready to face whatever circus life threw at them next. Karin ran toward Tazuna’s house—to wake them, cover them, make sure they were safe.
Yamato climbed onto the roof and, stretching lazily, lay back as if to nap. His whole body radiated ease, but his eyes stayed sharp, watching the procession approaching.
They could be heard long before they appeared: drunken laughter, stomping boots, rowdy shouts. The noise grew closer until, at last, a gaudy mob rounded the corner.
Menma’s gaze swept over the crowd, quickly counting: eighteen men. And a short little runt in front.
[Yeah, yeah, Inari—hundreds of men, sure. Fear makes big eyes.]
The longer he looked them over, the more his eye twitched. One was dragging around family-sized underwear big enough for an elephant, another had squeezed himself into a jacket stitched out of what looked like a parachute. The third strutted about bare-chested, a greasy shine glistening across his skin, while a ridiculous fur hat perched on his head.
And crowning this disaster was a smug little midget in a perfectly pressed business suit, as if he were heading to a board meeting.
“Yamato-sensei, I think they’re shinobi,” Menma said in a grave tone. “All S-rank.”
“What?!” Yamato nearly fell off the roof. He squinted, trying to sense chakra. “But I can’t feel anything from them. Why would you think they’re shinobi?”
“Just look at their outfits!” Menma spread his hands in despair. “Only shinobi — and only the strongest — would dare to dress this ridiculously. Remember Maito Gai.”
“I think they’re just idiots with terrible fashion sense,” Yamato rubbed his temple.
“Or they’re so strong they can completely suppress their chakra,” Naruko added, backing up her brother with a serious expression.
Yamato didn’t reply, but his posture lost much of its earlier ease.
[Heh. Serves you right, sensei. No relaxing while we’re the ones doing the work.]
And at last, Gato stepped onto the clearing himself — small, smug, surrounded by his ragtag mob. Faces peeked cautiously from Tazuna’s windows; his whole family held their breath, watching the standoff.
Against Gato’s “army,” only two remained standing on the field: the Uzumaki twins.
“So these are the infamous killers from Konoha?” Gato leaned on his cane and looked the twins up and down with disdain. “What I see are just a couple of brats.”
The crowd of men roared with laughter, picking up their master’s mockery.
“And these children killed Zabuza, the Demon of the Mist?” Gato raised his hands theatrically. “And yet he turned out to be nothing more than a pathetic little imp. I’ve always said: shinobi power is overrated.”
“Then why did you hire missing-nin to take out Tazuna?” Menma asked lazily, as though in passing.
[Let’s see if he takes the bait like a typical villain and spills his whole plan.]
“Because all shinobi are idiots!” Gato smirked, swallowing the bait. “Only idiots agree to drag themselves across the world for some mission. And once they’ve done the job, you can just…” He drew his finger across his throat in a pointed gesture.
“So you only promised Zabuza money you don’t actually have.” Menma nodded calmly. “No wonder a nukenin of his level ended up working for a ‘magnate’ from Nowheresville. One less mystery.”
Gato’s smile twisted.
“Enough talk!” he screeched, almost choking on his own rage. “Kill them!”
The mob surged forward. Swords swung chaotically, drunken men collided, stumbled, nearly tripped over each other. To the twins’ sharpened senses, it all looked more like a clown show in slow motion.
“Wanna bet?” Menma said lazily, not even sparing them a glance. “Whoever kills the midget last has to pay for our next Ichiraku run.”
“You’re on!” Naruko’s eyes lit up with excitement.
In the next instant, chains of adamantite snapped free from their palms. Metal gleamed in the sunlight, lashing across the field in one sweeping arc. Blades cut through air — and flesh. The mob froze in grotesque poses before heads and limbs scattered across the grass.
The sharp curve of the chains also swept across Gato’s neck. His cane slipped from his hands as his body crumpled to the ground headless.
One second passed. Silence.
Menma snorted. “Looks like a draw.”
“Damn…” Naruko grimaced in frustration, then snorted. “Fine, let’s call it a draw.”
“You…” Tazuna’s trembling voice came from the open window. He stared at the field littered with bodies, hardly believing his eyes. “You killed Gato… and all his men! The Land of Waves is finally free!”
Menma looked up at Yamato. The jonin still sat on the roof, wearing the same expression he might have while watching dreary rain.
“Yamato-sensei,” Menma said. “Influencing the political landscape of an entire country has to count as at least A-rank.”
“Agreed,” Yamato nodded. “We’ll upgrade the mission rank. Just don’t forget to demand extra pay from the client.”
Tazuna’s joy immediately wilted.
///
For two days, the Land of Waves celebrated Gato’s death. On the third, Tazuna snapped back to life: time to build the bridge. Without fear of bandits, every villager joined in. Men carried beams, women hammered nails alongside them, children brought tools and water. The work moved fast, as if the whole country breathed in rhythm.
Team Eleven kept busy with their own tasks. The twins continued feeding Karin chakra so she could train with shadow clones. Yamato drilled the twins in taijutsu daily, getting only snarky commentary in return.
And then came the day of parting. The new bridge stood — wide, solid, shining with hope. The villagers gathered at its foot, seeing the team off as heroes and liberators.
“We’ve decided to name the bridge after you,” Tazuna announced solemnly. “It will be the ‘Uzumaki Bridge.’”
“Our greatness grows,” Naruko smirked in satisfaction.
The twins slapped their palms together in sync and, without looking back, strode across the bridge that now bore their name.
It was time to return home.
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