Menma's body was tense, ready to explode into action at any moment, but he didn't move right away. Instead, he reached out with his senses, trying to gauge the person behind him.
What kind of presence was holding the blade?
The results changed everything.
The figure was small, with a weak vitality. Their chakra flow was fragile, and the emotions pouring off were all over the place; confused, anxious, sad, even scared. All signs pointed to one thing: this person wasn't a threat.
He could talk his way out of this.
Slowly, Menma raised both hands, showing his palms were empty.
At the same time, he nudged Snow's head gently back into his shirt. The last thing he wanted was for someone to see her.
On a ship like this, anything with fur or feathers was seen as emergency rations—even mice, parrots, and the occasional unlucky seagull.
And there was no way Menma would let this ship go down in flames just because some sailor had a craving for fresh meat with their rum.
"I'll ask you again," the voice came, softer this time. "Why are you here? Inside?"
Menma noted the change in tone. Less edge, more doubt. His submissive posture and careful movements were working.
The voice belonged to someone young, definitely feminine, but with a roughness in the throat that made him hesitate.
He scrambled for a good excuse.
"I… uh… I snuck in!" he stammered. "I just… I wanted somewhere warm. I was too cold. And… and… the water kept falling on my head!"
He leaned hard into the role: a scared kid running from the rain. The acting? Spot on. Academy Award-worthy, if they gave those out to ninja stowaways.
But apparently, she wasn't buying the whole performance.
"Cold?" she repeated. "As if no one else is? You were clearly already soaked when you came up from the deck below!"
Ouch. Called out. But the blade had already left his neck. Somewhat successful.
Menma didn't lower his hands yet as he wasn't quite sure if the danger had passed. He kept still, watching as the figure stepped into view.
And that's when his confusion tripled.
She was a girl. Maybe thirteen, fourteen at most. Dressed in ragged clothes, just like him. She held a thin kitchen knife, not a real weapon, more like something you'd defend yourself with if cornered, and her face, though small and round and honestly a bit cute, was bruised.
A big red slap mark stood out on one side, swelling just under her eye. That probably explained the odd rasp in her voice.
White hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. An albino, maybe? Rare, but not impossible.
The more he looked at her, the more a question floated up in his mind: Was she a stowaway too?
The idea wasn't that far-fetched. One infiltrated from the inside, one from the outside, and both were in trouble.
She looked at him, and in her expression, he saw the same realization dawning. A shared thought. We're in the same boat... literally.
Menma slowly dropped his hands but the moment he did, he felt like he was going to collapse.
He staggered a few steps forward. His vision darkened at the edges. He was already past his limits.
He knew he didn't have much time. He wanted to talk to ease into a conversation and maybe get her to lead him to a safer place where he could rest.
But just as he opened his mouth, another blade pressed against his neck.
…And now he was confused all over again.
Menma raised his head slowly, eyes squeezed shut from fatigue and water, staggering a little before he could fully make out what was happening in front of him and why did the girl put the blade against his neck again...
The girl, Sarah, apparently, was standing frozen, eyes wide, trembling as she stared at someone behind him.
Well, someone else had snuck up on him... again.
Only this time, there was no sudden burst of adrenaline. His tank was dry. His body wasn't going anywhere.
"Oh, Sarah... it's you." A calm, menacing voice spoke from behind. "Tell me, what did we talk about before? About running off again, and what would happen if you tried it a second time? Hm? Maybe you've forgotten. Should I remind you?"
His tone remained flat, but the anger underneath it was sharp enough to cut steel.
"And you even dragged someone else into it? Someone younger and weaker than you?" the man added with disgust.
Murakami.
He didn't have the time to waste, not with a dangerous presence still possibly lurking on his ship.
Still, when he walked into the hallway earlier, he'd followed the trail of water stains quietly and caught the exact moment two kids were staring each other down, one with a knife, the other swaying on his feet.
He'd hidden and watched, letting it play out for a moment before stepping in. Sarah had been nothing but trouble for the past two weeks.
Ever since she'd boarded the ship, she'd defied every law he had set, resisting every punishment. And now this situation again?
Fury rising, Murakami sheathed his blade and raised a hand, ready to slap her across the other side of her face, to match the first.
Menma, sensing the danger, tried to gather his strength. He didn't want to let something bad happen.
He also wasn't sure why, but the situation between these two calmed him somewhat. Maybe because it meant he wasn't recognized as an intruder just yet. Maybe they thought he was someone from the ship.
Still, when the blade left his neck for the second time, he prepared himself for the dramatic collapse he'd been on the verge of all along.
He was ready to fall and fake unconsciousness from pure exhaustion and nerves. But then, just as he was half step into the role, he sensed something.
Hostility.
Attack.
His body surged forward, trying to shield the girl while stepping away from the man. But his limbs were too slow, too heavy. All he could do was push her away..
Slap!
Murakami's hand cracked across Menma's face instead. The force slammed him into the wall, and he collapsed onto the floor, unmoving.
The captain blinked, surprised for a moment by the boy's unexpected movement, but he didn't dwell on it.
Sarah, meanwhile, had fallen too. She sat trembling on the floor, tears running down her cheeks. She looked stunned.
That slap hadn't even landed on her, but the impact had shaken her to her core.
Murakami didn't care.
He reached down and grabbed Menma by the ankle, then caught Sarah roughly by the hair and began dragging both of them toward the deck.
"Ahh! Let go of me, you bastard! Let go! Stop! You're hurting him!" Sarah screamed, her voice cracking with both pain and rage.
Murakami didn't answer. He ignored her cries completely.
Rumble!
The moment they stepped onto the deck, a fresh wave of cold rain and seawater hit them. The icy slap of it brought Menma back to his senses.
For a second, he thought he was being dragged to the edge, to be thrown into the sea.
Panic hit.
No, at this point, that would be a death sentence. He struggled hard, twisting and kicking, but the grip on his ankle was iron.
Around them, a few sailors had taken notice.
"It's her again! Captain, let me handle her this time!" one of them shouted with a leering grin. "I promise she'll turn into the sweetest little pig, best heaven any man could ask for! Hahaha!"
Menma's senses picked up on the man's disgusting intentions, and his stomach churned. His first instinct was to hurl that man into the sea... but his current condition made even moving a challenge.
Through the slanting rain, he turned his head just enough to see Sarah. She was frozen, visibly trembling, absolutely terrified of what might come next.
"Shut up, Jinzu!" Murakami snapped, voice rising. "Each of these kids is worth ten of you! If you've got time to joke, you've got time to work! Now, who was on the cargo watch?"
A meek voice answered from behind a crate.
"It… it was me, sir."
"Danroy! That's the second time she slipped away during your shift. One more mistake, and I'll toss your trash overboard myself, got it?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Still dragging them, Murakami reached the middle of the ship and finally dropped Menma's ankle.
The boy gasped, pulling himself up slightly, only to feel a hand grab the back of his collar.
Before he could try to properly resist the pull,
Yank!
He was thrown backwards into the open trap door. His body hit the wooden stairs hard, tumbling down as he curled up protectively around Snow.
He slid down for several seconds, finally crashing to the bottom with a painful grunt, Menma's mind had completely turned black after this. He couldn't even think anymore as the impact had shaken his brain. Now he just wanted to sleep...
Inside the seal, Kurama and Minato, specially kurama, watched everything unfold with pain in their chest. Minato couldn't do anything but kurama; He wanted, desperately, to share his chakra with the boy, to help repair his damaged body.
But the moment he did that, Menma's identity would become obvious and would leave a clue to be tracked with. And that... would put the boy in an even worse situation than he was already in.
All he could do was watch. Endure with him. Swallow the rage boiling in his chest.
Murakami descended the stairs, still dragging the screaming girl behind him. Menma's head was spinning too much to fully grasp what was happening or where he was being taken.
Again, Murakami seized his ankle and dragged him further down into the lower parts of the ship, until they finally reached a small, square, empty cage tucked into the back of the storage hold.
He unlocked it, then shoved Menma inside without ceremony. Next, he reached behind Sarah, snatched the hidden knife from her waistband, and threw her inside after him.
The heavy door slammed shut behind them. With a click, the lock snapped back into place.
Murakami stared at the pathetic, soaked pair for a moment, especially Menma.
He didn't remember buying a boy like this. And he would know. He had hand-picked every piece of cargo on this ship.
Clearly, the boy must have been snuck in by the seller to get rid of a troublesome case. That sort of trick was all too common in slavery and black market trade.
He frowned at the boy's weak breathing and pale, cold body. Then, after a moment of silent calculation, he pulled a bottle of water from his belt and threw it inside the cage. It hit Sarah on the head.
"Take care of him. If he dies, I'll give you to that bastard out there." His voice was harsh and cold.
"Keep him alive. Even if you have to warm him with your own body, do it. Or I swear you'll regret it."
Sarah winced, clutching her head, but quickly nodded, tearfully submissive.
Murakami, satisfied, made a mental note to use the boy as leverage to keep her obedient from now on.
Then he turned and left the cargo hold. With a metallic clang, the trapdoor slammed shut above them, cutting off the last bit of light. Darkness swallowed them whole.
Only the creaking of the ship amid the storm, the hammering of rain against the trapdoor, the heavy thudding of boots above, and the shouting of sailors could be heard.
Time passed.
Eventually, soft murmurs began to fill the air. Other prisoners started whispering quietly to one another from their cages, passing the time or sharing worries.
But Sarah had been silent. She had cried quietly the entire time, knees hugged to her chest.
Now, finally calming herself, she turned toward the boy lying beside her.
She reached out and gave him a gentle push.
No response.
She pushed again, harder.
Still nothing.
Panic hit.
She scrambled to his side and started shaking him urgently.
"Hey! Hey! Wake up! Hey, don't scare me! Please! Wake up! WAKE UP!"
Her voice was hushed at first, anxious but restrained. As he didn't respond, her panic grew. Her voice climbed, louder and more desperate. She shook him harder, tears returning to her eyes.
Still, no answer. Menma had already passed out after laying down on the hay.
His skin was cold. Ice cold. But he was breathing. Barely. Each breath was weaker than the last, and she could feel the warmth steadily fading from his body.
Fear hit her hard.
Without hesitation, she began stripping him of his wet clothes. She tugged off his soaked, ragged, oversized robe, exposing his small, lean frame beneath.
Her hands moved quickly. There was no shame or hesitation in her desperation. She needed to get the wet clothes off before hypothermia set in.
She reached for his shirt, trying to lift it up.
Suddenly;
Something moved inside the shirt.
She froze.
Completely paralyzed.
Whatever it was... it had moved on its own.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Slowly, a small head poked out from beneath the boy's shirt, two shining eyes met hers. Sarah froze.
The creature didn't make a sound, but the message was clear.
Snow, who had been hiding the whole time inside Menma's shirt, slowly crept out.
She gave her soaked fur a quick shake, sending droplets to the hay-strewn floor.
Then she padded forward, locking eyes with the startled girl.
Snow walked over to Menma, licked his face a few times, and sat quietly beside him.
It seemed that whatever didn't work earlier, Sarah's shaking, the shouting, was suddenly reversed with just one gentle lick from the white kitten.
Menma stirred weakly. His lips parted, and with a barely audible whisper, he spoke:
"Snow... hide... don't... let anyone... find... you... I'll... be... fine..."
Then, just like that, he passed out completely, slipping into unconsciousness as he had done a few days ago.
Hearing his words, Snow looked at him silently. She wanted to meow in protest, to nudge him awake again, but... he had told her to hide. If she called out, others might know she was here.
She hesitated only a moment, then obediently turned and padded to the darkest corner of the cage. Curling up beneath a pile of hay, she kept her eyes fixed on Sarah, watching. Ready to pounce the moment the girl did anything wrong.
Sarah had understood what just happened.
The boy was talking to the cat.
And judging from the look in that creature's eyes, it was still watching her, even hidden in the shadows. A silent guardian.
She lowered her guard, if only slightly.
Looking down at Menma, Sarah slowly reached toward him, carefully now. She began unbuttoning his soaked shirt, half-expecting something else to leap out of it.
But nothing did. Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued, removing his sandals and soaked robe and placing them in the corner, letting the water drip from them.
When her eyes reached his torn pants, she hesitated.
She was only a girl, but she'd seen enough to know survival mattered more than modesty. Besides, the boy needed help.
Gently, she began to undo the ties at his waist. When she saw that he was wearing a long under-short, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. At least that wasn't something she'd need to worry about.
She reached to remove it, only to find it caught on something behind his back.
Confused, she leaned Menma forward with effort, trying to lift him enough to see what it was.
And what she saw made her gasp.
"Ahh!"
"Hahaha! Surprised by his little Jonny, you stupid girl?! Hahaha!"
A mocking laugh came from one of the cages nearby.
"Shut up!" Sarah snapped, flushing red, but recovering quickly.
She turned back to Menma. Her hands trembled slightly as she looked again.
Beneath him, tied to his waist, was a short sword, and fastened to his back, was a pouch. A ninja's pouch.
Her eyes widened.
He's... a ninja?!
Panic hit first. But then... something else. Hope. A spark, fragile but blazing in her chest. If this boy recovered, if he was strong, maybe, just maybe... he could save them.
Her heart pounded.
She immediately understood the need for secrecy. If anyone found out he was a shinobi in his current state, he'd be killed before he had the chance to lift a finger.
Carefully, she untied the pouch and sword and tucked them deep into the hay, pushing them toward the same dark corner Snow had vanished into.
Moments later, a small white paw reached out and pulled the items into the darkness, hiding them completely.
Sarah exhaled slowly, relief washing over her.
Menma's breathing had stabilized somewhat, but his skin was still ice-cold. Throwing hay over him didn't help much. She had no blanket, no dry clothes...
Only herself.
Her cheeks flushed. That disgusting man's words echoed in her head.
But Menma... this boy... might be her only chance at surviving. Their only chance. And right now, he needed her.
With a deep breath, she pulled off her own damp shirt and used it to dry him as best she could. Then she drank a few gulps of the water Murakami had thrown at her and carefully fed the rest to Menma, drop by drop.
When she had done everything she could, she gently pulled him toward a drier patch of hay and laid him down.
She looked around, then pulled herself close beside him, wrapping her arms around his small frame.
His face was pale, cold against her body. But slowly, gradually, his body began to warm. Her own shivering started to subside as well.
Two children, one barely clothed, curled together in a dark cage beneath a storm-ridden ship.
Sarah looked at him in the dimness, her fingers gently brushing the odd markings on his face. Her body heat now shared freely with the one person who might bring light into her dark world.
Slowly, her breathing calmed.
And when silence fell, only the sound of waves outside remained.
Then, from the shadows, a small white figure padded across the hay and curled up beside them.
Menma, became a boy many envied, the boy between two beauties, both with white hairs and pall skin. One cat. One girl. Both watching over him from each side.
Calm and steady.
Slow and warm.
Dark and peaceful.
----
Somewhere beneath the surface, Minato and kurama watched speechlessly as the boy who had already kidnapped someone while he was barely more than two years old...