Chapter Text
Chapter 02
It didn't take long for the Gojo clan to realise something was... different about Riki. Babies were supposed to be simple creatures, weren't they? They cried, they ate, they slept. Repeat the cycle. But Riki? He wasn't like that.
First off, he was too perceptive for a baby his age. The Six-Eyes didn't just make him look otherworldly; they seemed to gift him an unnatural awareness of his surroundings. If someone tried to sneak up on him, Riki would turn his head sharply, fixing them with a glare that felt far too grown-up for an infant. And that glare—oh, that glare—was terrifying.
"It's like he can see right through me," one maid whispered, clutching her tray of food nervously.
"Don't be dramatic," another scoffed, but even she avoided meeting Riki's piercing gaze.
The boy didn't make things easy for them, either. He was impossibly choosy when it came to food, a trait that baffled everyone. Most babies would cry for milk or mashed-up peas, but Riki? He seemed to have the palate of a food critic.
"Here you go, little master," a maid said one day, placing a bowl of baby-friendly rice porridge in front of him.
Riki stared at it. Then at her.
He didn't cry. He didn't fuss. He just stared, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly.
"What's wrong with him?" another maid asked, peeking over the first one's shoulder.
"I... I don't know," she stammered. "It's just porridge!"
Riki's gaze shifted back to the bowl. He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his options, and then gave the bowl a deliberate shove, sending it tumbling to the floor.
"Great," the first maid muttered, crouching to clean up the mess. "Guess he's not a fan of porridge."
Things got even trickier when they tried giving him something with a little more flavour—just a pinch of spice, they thought. Surely he couldn't be that picky, right?
Wrong.
The moment the spoonful of spiced soup touched his lips, Riki's tiny face scrunched up in pure disgust. His cheeks puffed out, his nose wrinkled, and he spat it out with such force that it landed on the maid's apron.
"Oh, come on!" she cried, dabbing at the stain.
Riki, for his part, glared at her like she'd personally offended him.
It was becoming a pattern. Ignore his preferences, and he'd unleash the full weight of his Six-Eyes glare. Some of the younger maids even started avoiding his feeding times, too spooked to deal with his silent judgments.
There was, however, one exception to this chaos: Niko.
No matter what she brought him, Riki would eat it without complaint. Whether it was a bottle of milk, soft slices of fruit, or even plain rice, if it came from Niko, he'd accept it with a quiet hum of approval. And of course, her own milk was a must.
"He's such a mama's boy," one of the elders sneered, watching from the corner as Niko fed Riki with practiced ease.
Niko didn't respond. She focused on her son, her fingers brushing his snowy white hair as he happily munched on a piece of melon.
But deep down, she knew the truth. Riki didn't trust anyone else. And given the way the clan treated her, she couldn't blame him.
(—)
Riki had reached that stage where crawling became his new superpower, and with that came a newfound sense of independence. For Naruto, in his past life, crawling meant sneaking away from the orphanage matron's yelling. Here? Crawling meant exploring a world filled with attentive maids and soft, plush carpets.
In his past life, he'd barely had anyone who cared. The orphanage had been indifferent at best, and neglectful on most days. But here? Oh, here he had a dozen maids who fussed over every sneeze, every whimper, and every crooked curl of his snowy hair. They followed him like an army, ready to catch him if he so much as tilted slightly to the side.
At first, Riki wasn't too fond of them. After all, they were part of that clan—the same clan that treated his new mom, Niko, like an unwanted guest in her own house. But over time, their genuine care began to wear down his resistance. Sure, they worked for the elders, but some of them clearly didn't buy into the whole "Niko's unworthy" nonsense.
The maids grew on him, bit by bit. The way they smiled, how they'd talk softly to him as if he could understand, how one of them always smuggled in a scone or two just to keep him happy—it all added up.
The elders, though? Still annoying as hell.
Their constant muttering about "duty" and "strength" grated on his nerves. They'd barge in during his feeding time or interrupt a peaceful moment with his mom just to spout some nonsense about his future as the Six-Eyes heir. He ignored them, of course, but the way they treated Niko still made his blood boil.
At least now, Niko was spending more time with him. After the "accident" involving that elder a while back, the others seemed to have backed off slightly, letting her be with Riki more often.
That elder? Riki didn't regret it.
As Naruto, he'd been a firm believer in second chances and avoiding violence unless absolutely necessary. But here? Desperation had forced his hand—or rather, his eyes. That old man had been planning to take away the one person who mattered most to him in this new life. He deserved what happened to him, plain and simple.
Still, Riki didn't dwell on it too much. He had a new life now, a new purpose. And honestly? He was enjoying some of the perks.
One day, during a routine bath, something caught his eye—literally. A maid was gently scrubbing his tiny arms, humming a soft tune, when Riki caught sight of his reflection in the polished silver basin.
He froze.
That face.
It wasn't the whiskered, messy-haired kid he'd been used to seeing in mirrors for most of his past life. This was someone else entirely. His sapphire eyes glowed faintly, catching the light in a way that made them look like miniature galaxies. They were... beautiful. Was this some kind of dojutsu?
And the hair—white as freshly fallen snow, soft and sleek.
The maid noticed his sudden silence and paused her humming, tilting her head. "Something wrong, little master?"
Riki blinked, staring at his reflection, then let out a small sound—half a gurgle, half a chuckle.
The maid giggled, her cheeks pinking slightly. "You're a handsome one, aren't you?"
Another maid, folding towels nearby, glanced over and smiled. "He's been staring at himself for five minutes. Guess he knows it too."
Riki gave a tiny smirk. It wasn't vanity, not really. He was just... awed. This new body of his was something else entirely. The Six-Eyes, the snowy hair—it all felt unreal.
The maids exchanged amused glances as they continued bathing him, one of them playfully ruffling his damp hair. "Careful, little master. Don't let it go to your head!"
Riki rolled his eyes—or, well, as much as a baby could roll his eyes—and splashed some water in their direction. His newfound appearance was cool and all, but he wasn't about to let anyone tease him about it.
As they finished up and wrapped him in a soft towel, Riki leaned back against the maid's shoulder, his mind buzzing.
This life was still a mystery to him, but one thing was clear: whoever this new "Riki Gojo" was supposed to be, he had the tools to be someone extraordinary.
(—)
Riki hit his first birthday like a pro, and with it came the monumental milestone: walking. At just one year old, Riki Gojo wasn't just taking baby steps—he was strutting around like he owned the place. Which, to be fair, he kind of did.
The maids, naturally, lost their minds over it.
"Did you see that? He took three steps!" one of them squealed, clutching a hand to her chest like she'd just witnessed a miracle.
"Three? I counted five!" another chimed in, practically bouncing on her feet.
"Little master is a genius!"
Riki, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the room, his tiny legs wobbling slightly as he tried to figure out his next move. Walking wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly easy either. His center of gravity was way different now, and these stubby little legs of his weren't exactly built for marathon running. Still, he managed to take a few more steps, earning another round of gasps and cheers from his ever-doting audience.
"Careful, little master!" one maid said, rushing forward as he tilted dangerously to the side. She caught him just before he toppled over, lifting him up with a bright smile. "You're going to give us all a heart attack!"
Riki gave her a look—a classic Naruto "I'm fine, leave me alone" look—but it didn't have quite the same effect coming from a chubby-cheeked toddler with glowing sapphire eyes.
Niko, sitting nearby with a basket of folded clothes, couldn't help but smile. "He's growing so fast," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Riki turned to her at the sound of her voice, his little face lighting up. He reached out a hand, wobbling forward again until he made it to her side, plopping down onto her lap with a satisfied huff.
"See? He knows who he loves the most," Niko said with a teasing glance at the maids, who all pretended to pout in mock jealousy.
"Of course he does," one of them said, folding her arms. "But we're the ones keeping him fed and clean, so we deserve at least some of his affection."
Riki ignored their banter, busying himself with the hem of Niko's sleeve. He tugged at it lightly, babbling something incoherent but clearly directed at her.
"What is it, Riki?" Niko asked softly, brushing a hand over his snowy hair.
He didn't answer, of course, but his tiny hand reached up to touch her cheek, his sapphire eyes staring at her with an intensity that was almost unsettling for a one-year-old. It was moments like this that reminded her just how special he was—not just to the clan, but to her.
The maids eventually dispersed, leaving mother and son alone for a bit. Riki took full advantage of the quiet, crawling up into Niko's arms and snuggling close. For all his new walking skills, he still loved being held by her more than anything else.
Niko sighed, resting her chin lightly on top of his head. "You're going to do amazing things someday, Riki," she whispered. "But for now, just stay my little boy a while longer, okay?"
Riki didn't respond—he was already fast asleep.
Walking, unfortunately, wasn't just a milestone—it was a signal. A signal to the Gojo clan that Riki, now able to toddle around on his tiny legs, was ready for training.
Naruto—or Riki, as he was called now—had other ideas.
He was sitting comfortably on a plush cushion in the living room, completely engrossed in a cooking show on the massive TV. The show was fascinating. The way the chef flipped the ingredients in the pan, the sizzling sounds of oil, the final plating of a dish that looked like pure art—it was all mesmerizing.
"Man, I wish I could eat that," Naruto thought, drooling a little as he imagined biting into the perfectly grilled fish on screen. He was even trying to mimic the chef's hand movements, much to the amusement of the maids, who were hovering nearby.
But peace never lasted long in the Gojo household.
Enji Gojo, his bastard of a father, stormed in like he owned the place. Which, technically, he did.
"There you are," Enji growled, his sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of Riki lounging like a miniature lord. "You've grown enough to walk. That means you're ready for discipline."
Naruto turned his head slowly, giving Enji one of his signature "what do you want?" glares. He didn't bother hiding his annoyance.
"Training?" Riki's sapphire eyes screamed. "Dude, I'm one. Chill."
Enji, of course, didn't pick up on the glare—or ignored it entirely. He strode forward, scooped Riki up like a sack of potatoes, and carried him off toward the dojo.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Riki wanted to shout, but all that came out was an indignant little squeal. His tiny fists pounded against Enji's chest, but it was like hitting a brick wall.
By the time they arrived at the dojo, Riki's mood had gone from mildly annoyed to full-on furious.
The dojo was massive, with polished wooden floors that gleamed under the sunlight streaming in from the high windows. Various weapons and training tools lined the walls, and the air smelled faintly of sweat and wood polish.
Enji plopped Riki down in the center of the room, his arms crossed as he looked down at his son.
"Stand," Enji commanded.
Riki blinked up at him. "Seriously?"
"Five minutes," Enji added, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Naruto—or Riki, rather—wanted to laugh. This guy expects me to stand here like some statue for five straight minutes? I'm a baby, you moron.
Still, he didn't want to give Enji the satisfaction of seeing him refuse. So he stood, wobbling slightly but managing to stay upright.
The first minute was fine. Riki's legs were stronger than they looked, and his balance was improving every day. But by the second minute, he started to feel it. His tiny legs began to shake, and he had to fight the urge to sit down.
He glanced up at Enji, who was watching him with an expression that could only be described as smug.
"Hold your posture," Enji said, his voice sharp.
Riki glared at him. If looks could kill, Enji would've been six feet under.
By the third minute, Riki's frustration was boiling over. He wasn't just angry at Enji for putting him through this—he was angry at the whole situation. The clan's obsession with strength, the way they treated his mom like she didn't matter, the fact that they saw him as nothing more than a tool... it all made his blood boil.
"You're going to pay for this someday," Riki thought, his glare intensifying.
When the five minutes were finally up, Riki let himself collapse onto the floor with a dramatic flop. He lay there, panting slightly, and shot Enji one last death glare for good measure.
Enji, of course, remained unimpressed.
"You'll thank me for this someday," he said, turning to leave.
Riki rolled his eyes. Yeah, right.
As soon as Enji was out of earshot, one of the maids poked her head into the dojo.
"Little master?" she called softly.
Riki turned his head to look at her, his expression immediately softening.
"Oh, you poor thing," the maid cooed, rushing over to scoop him up. "What was your father thinking? Making a baby stand like that…"
Riki snuggled into her arms, enjoying the warmth and comfort after that ridiculous ordeal.
"Let's get you back to the living room," the maid said, her tone gentle. "I think they're about to make dessert on that cooking show you like."
Riki perked up at that. Dessert? Now that was worth crawling back to the TV for.
As the maid carried him out of the dojo, Riki made a silent vow.
One day, I'm going to make Enji regret ever messing with me. But first, dessert.
(—)
By the time Riki hit the ripe old age of two, the Gojo household discovered something alarming—he could talk. Not just babbling random words or calling out "Mama" and "Dada," but full-on, coherent sentences. And his first words?
"I'll be the strongest."
It wasn't the usual "I'm hungry" or "I want milk" kind of stuff you'd expect from a toddler. No, Riki had to go for the dramatic declaration. Fortunately, his mother, Niko, was there to hear it, her face lighting up with pride.
Unfortunately, Enji was passing by the room and heard it too.
He froze in his tracks. His sharp ears caught every word, and his sharp brain immediately started scheming. "A child who can talk perfectly," he muttered to himself, "means a child who can read."
And thus began Riki's next ordeal.
The very next day, Riki found himself sitting in a spacious room filled with shelves of books and an intimidating woman staring down at him. She was tall, thin, and looked like she hadn't smiled in decades. Her sharp glasses and even sharper gaze screamed strict teacher vibes.
"This," she announced, holding up a book, "is your first lesson."
Riki, sitting cross-legged on a cushion, tilted his head and gave her his best toddler glare. 'Lady, do I look like someone who's excited to learn etiquette and basic letters?'
But he played along—for now. He didn't plan on staying under her tutelage for long. He'd been through worse in his past life, after all. This was just another hurdle.
The first few lessons were uneventful. She taught him how to hold a pen, trace basic shapes, and recognize letters. Riki pretended to struggle at first, just to keep his reincarnation secret intact. But by the third day, he got bored.
So, during one of their lessons, when she handed him a blank sheet of paper and asked him to practice writing his name, Riki decided to have some fun.
He took the pen in his tiny hand and started scribbling furiously. His tutor watched, expecting the usual clumsy lines and awkward letters. Instead, what she got was an entire essay.
Sure, it was filled with spelling errors, the handwriting was messy, and half the words were barely legible. But it was unmistakably an essay. And the topic?
Why the Gojo Clan is Terrible.
The tutor's jaw dropped. She grabbed the paper and began reading aloud, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"The Gogo Clan… um… sorry, the Gojo Clan… is full of meany heads who only care about powr and they treet people like tools and don't love anyone except themselfs."
She paused, blinking at the blatant lack of punctuation and the overuse of "and." But the content was scathing.
"Their rules are dumb and they don't let moms spend time with their kids. Also, their food is bad. Except for scones. Scones are okay."
By the time she finished reading, her hands were shaking. She looked down at Riki, who was sitting there with a smug little grin on his face.
"Where… did you learn to write this?" she demanded.
Riki shrugged, leaning back on his cushion like a tiny king. "I'm just smart."
"Hmph," he thought to himself, puffing out his chest. "Reincarnation has its perks!"
Word of Riki's essay spread like wildfire through the clan. Some of the elders laughed it off, calling it childish nonsense. Others were deeply offended, claiming it was a sign of disrespect.
Enji, however, wasn't amused. He cornered Riki later that day, holding the crumpled essay in his hand.
"Did you write this?" he asked, his voice cold.
Riki looked up at him, his sapphire eyes gleaming with defiance. "Yeah. You don't like it?"
Enji's grip on the paper tightened. "Do you even understand what you've done?"
Riki crossed his arms, his tiny frame somehow radiating confidence. "Yeah. I told the truth."
For a moment, Enji didn't know how to respond. He wasn't used to being challenged, especially not by a two-year-old.
"I'll make sure you understand discipline," he growled, turning to leave.
Riki watched him go, rolling his eyes. This guy's the worst. He'll probably make me stand in the dojo again.
Despite the drama, Niko couldn't stop smiling when she heard about the essay. She hugged Riki tightly that night, whispering, "You're so brave, my little genius."
Riki snuggled into her arms, feeling a warmth he hadn't experienced in his past life. Sure, the Gojo clan was a nightmare, but at least he had his mom—and scones.
(—)
Riki was dragged to yet another Gojo clan gathering, this time to watch the adults practice hand-to-hand combat. The dojo was packed with members eager to flaunt their skills in front of the future bearer of the Six-Eyes. Riki, seated on a plush cushion with maids fanning him, yawned dramatically.
The adults sparred in pairs, their movements sharp but lacking finesse. Punches flew, kicks were thrown, but to Riki, it was all a clumsy dance. He tilted his head, unimpressed.
This is supposed to be amazing? he thought, resting his chin on his tiny fist. Bushy Brows and Bushier-Brows-sensei would've fainted if they saw this mockery of Taijutsu.
He tried to stifle a laugh, remembering the intense training sessions with Rock Lee and Might Guy back in his past life. Their speed, precision, and dedication were unparalleled. Compared to them, these people looked like toddlers playing ninja.
Still, one thing caught his attention.
His father, Enji, stepped into the ring, towering over his opponent. A younger clan member charged at him, fists flying. But before a single blow could land, something strange happened.
Every strike—punches, kicks, even elbow jabs—stopped a few inches away from Enji's body, as if hitting an invisible wall. The younger man grunted in frustration, pouring more effort into his attacks, but it was useless. Enji stood there, calm and unbothered.
"How's he doing that?" Riki mumbled, narrowing his eyes.
The elders around him began murmuring, their voices filled with reverence. "It's his cursed technique, Limitless."
"Even though it's incomplete without the Six-Eyes, it's still formidable."
Riki perked up at the mention of Limitless. He'd heard bits and pieces about this so-called technique, but seeing it in action was different. His sapphire eyes glowed faintly as he observed his father.
The elders continued their commentary. "If he had the Six-Eyes, his Limitless would've been perfect, allowing him to manipulate the very fabric of space. But without them, it's incomplete—he can only create basic barriers and stop objects from touching him."
Riki's interest was piqued. Wait, so I might have that too?
The thought sent a shiver of excitement down his tiny spine. He had already figured out some of his abilities. Like the time he stopped that old man's heart with just a glance—though he hadn't fully understood how he did it. But this? Manipulating space? That was on a whole new level.
The sparring session ended, and Enji walked over to Riki, his expression unreadable. He crouched down, leveling with his son's gaze.
"Did you pay attention?" Enji asked.
Riki nodded, keeping his face neutral.
"Good," Enji said, standing up again. "You'll start learning soon."
Riki didn't respond, but inside, he was buzzing with curiosity. If he truly had Limitless, combined with the Six-Eyes, he could do things that even his father couldn't dream of.
But as he sat there, watching the adults disperse, another thought crept into his mind. What's the catch?
Power always came with a cost. And knowing the Gojo clan, they wouldn't let him explore his abilities freely. They'd want control.
Still, Riki couldn't deny the thrill of it all.
Limitless, huh? he mused, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Guess it's time to find out just how limitless I really am.
TBC