Chapter Text
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(—)
"The day you came, you wept, the world smiled bright,
Live a life so pure, so full of light.
When you depart, with a smile serene,
Let the world shed tears for the life they've seen."
(—)
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Naruto was dying.
It wasn't some blaze of glory, not the grand, heroic finale he might've imagined. No, it was messy, quiet, and far too soon. Blood loss had taken him in the Valley of the End, right after he and Sasuke, battered and broken, managed to cancel the Infinite Tsukuyomi. The world was saved, but the price had been steep.
He'd known it was coming. The way Sasuke sapped away his chakra and the chidori that took away more than just his arm were clear signs. Even as he tried to lighten the mood with his usual goofy grin, his jokes landing flat against the tension in the air, he felt the life slipping away from him. Kakashi had been the first to show up, his mask stained with dirt and exhaustion. His Sharingan was gone, leaving him looking strangely ordinary and painfully human. Behind him came Sakura, her face pale with panic as she ran to Naruto's side, her hands glowing with the desperate light of medical ninjutsu.
Naruto had waved them off.
"Don't bother, Sakura-chan," he'd said, his voice hoarse but steady. "Save your chakra. You'll need it for rebuilding... you know, doctor stuff." He'd laughed, weak and breathless, but his blue eyes still sparkled with a hint of mischief.
Kakashi had knelt beside him, his hands shaking as he tried to apply pressure to the wound. "Don't talk like that, Naruto," he'd said, his tone sharp, but his voice cracked at the edges. "You're going to be fine."
Naruto had just smiled, that same damn smile he always wore when things were at their worst. "You're gonna be Hokage now, Kakashi-sensei. Make sure you don't slack off, okay?"
Sakura had sobbed, her hands trembling as she worked frantically, ignoring his protests. "You can't die, Naruto! You're supposed to become Hokage! You promised!"
"I know, Sakura-chan." His voice had softened, his gaze flickering between them. "But... it's okay. Really. I'm happy. You guys are safe. The world's safe. That's enough for me."
And just like that, he was gone. No grand speeches, no final declarations. Just a boy, smiling until his very last breath.
The funeral was unlike anything the Shinobi World had ever seen.
People from every village gathered in Konoha, their differences set aside, at least for one day. The streets were packed, filled with those who had come to pay their respects to the boy who had saved them all. Naruto Uzumaki, the Eternal Hero.
The ceremony was held under the clear blue sky, the kind of day Naruto would've loved. His body rested on a platform draped in the colors of Konoha, surrounded by flowers and mementos left by those who had come to say goodbye— history book would later testify how twenty-nine tins of flowers were placed over his grave.
His headband, scratched and worn, was placed on his chest, a symbol of everything he had fought for.
The Hokage Mountain bore a new face by the end of the week. Kakashi Hatake, now the Sixth Hokage, had made sure of it. Naruto's smiling visage was carved into the stone, standing tall beside the Hokages he had always admired. It was the least they could do for the boy who had given everything. Kakashi even wrote a book on him: The Tale Of Naruto Uzumaki.
People spoke of him as if he were still alive, his name whispered in reverence across the villages. Stories of his bravery, his stubbornness, and his unshakable belief in his friends spread like wildfire. Children looked up to him as a symbol of hope, shinobi aspired to his courage, and those who had known him mourned the loss of someone who had never stopped believing in a better tomorrow.
Naruto Uzumaki. The boy who never gave up. The boy who saved the world.
He was hailed as the Eternal Hero.
And how true it was. Because nobody ever forgot him.
(—)
Naruto blinked twice. His eyes, heavy and unfocused, struggled to adjust to the overwhelming brightness around him. Everything was light—soft, blinding, and completely unfamiliar. He tried to make sense of it, but his thoughts felt slow, almost sluggish, like they were wading through water.
Where… was he?
The last thing he remembered was the Valley of the End. The blood. The pain. Kakashi-sensei's face above his, panicked and desperate. Sakura's sobs. Then, nothing.
Now, here he was. Somewhere too bright, too warm, and entirely too strange. His body felt foreign, as if it wasn't his own. He tried to lift an arm, to sit up, but… nothing. His muscles didn't respond. Panic began to creep in.
Then, a shadow moved through the light. A giant figure—a silhouette of a woman—came into view.
Her presence was calming, almost divine. She leaned over him, her face obscured by the light. He felt her hand—soft and impossibly gentle—caress his head. There was an odd familiarity to her touch, like he'd known her forever, though he couldn't quite place it.
Was this Sakura-chan? Did she save him after all?
His eyes strained, desperate for clarity. No, this wasn't Sakura. The hair was wrong—too white, almost silver. The figure was taller, too, more elegant.
He tried to speak, to ask who she was, to demand answers, but no words came.
Instead, a pitiful gurgle escaped his lips.
What?
Another gurgle followed, this one wetter and more embarrassing. Naruto's eyes widened in horror. He tried again, forcing himself to form words, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. Only nonsensical sounds came out.
And that's when it hit him.
He couldn't move. Not properly, anyway. His arms were weak and floppy, his legs unresponsive. Everything about his body felt wrong—tiny, delicate, and helpless.
No, it couldn't be.
His breathing quickened, his mind racing as the pieces started to fall into place. The woman above him scooped him up effortlessly, cradling him in her arms. He couldn't see much of her face, but her touch was kind, her movements careful as if he were the most fragile thing in the world.
Her voice broke through the silence, soft and melodic. "There, there," she cooed, rocking him gently. "Such a strong little one. You're already trying to speak, hm?"
Naruto froze. That voice… it wasn't Sakura. It wasn't anyone he recognized.
No. No way.
He tried to scream, but it came out as a wail. His tiny fists clenched, though the effort left him exhausted. He was so small, so weak.
The woman chuckled, a warm, soothing sound. "Oh, you're going to be a feisty one, aren't you?" she said, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "That's okay. Mama likes a little fight in her boy."
Mama?
Naruto's panic grew. His breaths came faster, his tiny chest heaving as the truth sank in.
He was a baby.
The woman—no, his mother—held him closer, her voice a steady stream of reassurances. "Riki," she said softly, almost like she was testing the name. "Riki Gojo. A name meant for love, kindness, and strength. Doesn't that sound fitting? Ne?"
Naruto—no, Riki—let out another sound, this one a soft, resigned murmur. He wasn't sure if it was a protest or an agreement. It didn't matter.
The woman smiled, her silver hair falling around them like a curtain of light. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Her name, he learned in that moment, was Niko Gojo. His mother.
And in her arms, he was safe.
(—)
Niko Gojo stood in the shadows of the Gojo estate, her fingers trembling as she clutched the edge of her sleeve. Her heart raced in anticipation, though not entirely from joy. Seven years. Seven long years of being treated as little more than an accessory. A failed accessory, at that. Infertility in a family like hers was practically a death sentence—not physically, but socially.
She'd watched as her husband, Enji, the heir of the prestigious Gojo main family, treated her with indifference. Once, he might've held her hand, whispered sweet nothings, or promised her a future of grandeur. But that had all crumbled when the years passed and no child came. She became invisible.
Until the pregnancy.
The news had spread through the compound like wildfire. Niko, the branch family woman they'd all but dismissed, was carrying a child. Enji's child. The main family's heir was going to be a father.
Suddenly, she mattered. Not as Niko, but as a vessel.
Her status shifted overnight. She wasn't treated with kindness, but with a cold, begrudging respect. She wasn't "Niko" anymore; she was "the woman carrying the future." Every meal was carefully monitored, every move scrutinised. But she bore it all with quiet strength, clinging to the hope that her child might bring her a sliver of happiness in this hollow life.
And then, after nine long months, he came.
The birth was painful, exhausting, and longer than anyone expected. But when it was over, and the midwife placed the squirming bundle in her arms, Niko felt an emotion she hadn't in years.
Pure, unfiltered love.
He was beautiful. Snow-white hair framed his tiny face, and when his eyes fluttered open, Niko gasped. They were unlike anything she'd ever seen. Sapphire, but not just any sapphire—these glowed, shimmering like the heavens themselves. They were the Six Eyes, the mark of the strongest, the pride of the Gojo family.
Before she could even hold him properly, the door to her room burst open.
"Hand him over."
It was Enji. He didn't even glance at her. His focus was entirely on the baby.
"Wait, can't I—"
"No." His voice was sharp, final. "The priest is waiting."
The priest. Of course. This wasn't just a child; this was an event, a prophecy waiting to be made. Niko's heart ached as the midwife reluctantly took the baby from her arms and followed Enji out of the room.
She wasn't invited to the prophecy. She wasn't surprised.
From her room, she could hear the murmurs of the gathered elders and the low, steady voice of the priest. She pressed her ear against the door, desperate to catch anything.
"Place the child on the floor," the priest said, his tone reverent. "The stars will guide his fate."
Niko could only imagine the scene: her tiny son lying on the cold floor, surrounded by old men calculating his worth through constellations.
"Yes," the priest finally said, his voice tinged with awe. "I can see it clearly. He will be the strongest, the epitome of power. The scales will break under his might. His name…" A pause, heavy with significance. "His name should be Satoru Gojo."
Niko flinched.
Satoru. Not Riki.
Her heart sank. Riki was the name she had chosen. It was her father's name, a symbol of the quiet strength she had always admired. But of course, her wishes didn't matter. Not as a branch member. Not as a woman.
She could hear Enji's voice next, filled with pride. "Satoru Gojo," he repeated, as if savouring the name. "The child to destroy the scales."
Destroy the scales. The family mantra. Power above all else.
Niko felt a lump form in her throat. She knew what this meant. Her son wasn't hers anymore. He would be raised by them, shaped by their arrogance and cruelty. He would grow up to be like Enji—cold, unkind, selfish. The thought made her chest tighten.
And then, a sound.
Smack.
It wasn't loud, just a small thud, but it sent a shiver down Niko's spine.
"What was that?" she whispered, pressing herself harder against the door.
Inside, Enji's voice was sharp, filled with barely contained fury. "This disrespect…"
Disrespect? What had happened?
"Fine," Enji growled, his tone dripping with venom. "If that's how it is, I grant you your first punishment."
Niko's heart stopped. Punishment? For a newborn?
"You shall not be named Satoru," Enji continued, his voice icy. "The chosen name will be stripped from you. What was the other one again? Ah, Riki. You will be named Riki Gojo."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a soft giggle.
It was her son.
Riki Gojo, the boy who had already defied them, was giggling. Niko's lips parted in shock, and then, for the first time in years, she laughed. It was quiet, muffled by the walls, but it was real.
Her son might not have been born into freedom, but in that moment, she knew one thing for sure: Riki Gojo would never be like them.
(—)
The Gojo clan was a mess of whispers and quiet tension, like a hive buzzing with too much energy. Everyone had something to say about the birth of Riki Gojo. The Six-Eyes were back after generations, and nothing like that happened without shaking things up. Curses were popping up left and right, growing stronger and meaner, like the world itself had been jolted awake. The timing was no coincidence—Riki's birth and the upcoming vessel for Master Tengen had to be connected. At least, that's what the elders kept muttering under their breath.
Riki, just a few months old, was already treated like he was some holy relic. His life was micromanaged down to the smallest detail. A squadron of maids flitted around him, catering to his every whim before he could even think of it.
"Milk's ready. Hurry up, he's fussing again," one maid whispered, rushing in with a small bottle of warmed milk.
Another adjusted the soft blue blanket in the crib, smoothing out wrinkles like they might offend the baby. "Don't forget the scones. He likes the smell, even if he can't eat them yet."
A third maid, slightly older, clicked her tongue as she gently scooped Riki up, cradling him with the practiced ease of someone who'd been around too many Gojo babies. "There, there, young master. No crying, hmm?"
Riki blinked up at her, his wide, glowing sapphire eyes taking her in like he could see straight through her. His small hand flailed, landing awkwardly on the edge of her apron, and she chuckled nervously.
"He's gonna be trouble," she said under her breath. "That look? He knows too much already."
The others laughed quietly, but there was a tension behind it. They all knew this wasn't an ordinary baby.
Meanwhile, Niko wasn't laughing. She was pacing in her quarters, running her fingers over the soft silk of her robe, her thoughts tangled with worry and frustration. She barely got to see her son. Sure, they let her feed him and hold him at night, but that wasn't enough. She wanted more. She needed more.
So, she started sneaking in.
Late at night, when the halls were quiet and the maids had finally settled, Niko would slip out of her room. Barefoot, she'd move silently down the cold wooden floors, her breath held like she was a thief in her own home.
Riki's nursery was always dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows on the walls. She'd ease the door open, just enough to slip inside, and there he was—her baby boy.
His little chest rose and fell with each tiny breath, his white hair sticking out in soft tufts. Niko would sit beside his crib, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. Sometimes, his eyes would flutter open, and he'd stare at her like he'd been waiting all along.
"Hey, my little Riki," she'd whisper, her voice thick with love and something heavier—fear, maybe. "Mommy's here. Don't worry."
Riki's small hand would reach for her, his fingers curling around her thumb, and she'd feel her heart twist.
"You're everything to me," she'd murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
These stolen moments were all she had, but they were enough to keep her going.
The clan elders didn't see any of this, though. To them, Riki was a tool—a future weapon to maintain their legacy. They didn't care about his tiny hands reaching for his mother or the way his cries softened the moment she held him.
But Riki wasn't just some passive baby. When the maids or elders kept him away from Niko for too long, he made it known. His cries weren't the typical wails of a fussy infant. They were loud, desperate, and relentless.
One afternoon, when the elders had taken him for some "observation," Riki's protests echoed through the compound. His tiny body shook with effort, tears streaming down his cheeks as he let out piercing screams.
"Do something!" one elder snapped, his face a mixture of annoyance and discomfort.
"We've fed him, changed him—what else does he want?" another grumbled.
"He wants his mother," one maid said quietly, earning herself a sharp glare from the elders.
But the truth was undeniable. The moment Niko was allowed in, Riki's cries stopped like a switch had been flipped. He nestled into her arms, his sobs fading into soft hiccups, and the elders couldn't ignore it.
"This isn't good," one of them muttered later during a meeting. "He's too attached to her."
"It's her fault," another said coldly. "She coddles him too much. It's making him weak."
Niko sat in the adjacent room, holding Riki close as he dozed off, unaware of the conversation happening just a wall away. She stroked his soft hair, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to block out their words.
"She's the problem," an elder declared finally, his tone icy and resolute. "We'll remove her from the equation."
Niko didn't hear that part. She had already slipped out of the room, heading back to her quarters with Riki in her arms. But if she had heard it, she might have held him a little tighter, her resolve growing stronger.
Because no matter what the clan thought or did, Riki wasn't just the clan's heir or the next wielder of the Six-Eyes. He was her son, and she wasn't going to let them take him away from her—not without a fight.
But Riki heard it all. Every whispered word, every biting remark, thanks to his advanced senses. Those glowing sapphire eyes of his weren't just for show. They saw too much, caught too much. And when they couldn't see, his sharp instincts filled in the gaps. His tiny mind, once Naruto Uzumaki's, processed the conversation faster than it should have.
"They're coming for her," he thought, his little fists curling against the soft blankets around him. His mother wasn't perfect, but she was his.
As the night settled over the Gojo estate, everything grew still. The air had a weight to it, thick and suffocating, as if the world itself held its breath. Riki lay quietly in his crib, his small chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.
Somewhere down the hall, the elder, the one chosen for the task, moved silently through the shadows. He was old, but his body was still sharp, every step light and deliberate. His movements made no noise as he slipped through the halls. This wasn't his first time handling an "inconvenience." He was confident it wouldn't be his last.
The elder paused outside the room belonging to Niko Gojo. His hand hovered over the sliding door, the needle hidden up his sleeve catching the faintest gleam of moonlight. He glanced around one last time, ensuring the coast was clear.
Inside, Niko slept soundly, unaware of the looming threat. Her face was soft, peaceful, as though the weight of her worries had finally lifted for just a moment.
The elder inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Quick and clean, he thought. He'd done this countless times before. A small prick, a whisper of poison in her veins, and she'd be gone before the morning. The clan would handle the rest.
But as he reached for the door, his body froze.
Something cold and sharp shot through his chest, like the twist of a knife. His instincts screamed at him to stop, to run, to leave the place altogether. But he didn't.
He'd been through worse. He wasn't about to back down now.
Shaking off the strange sensation, the elder nodded to himself. He slid the door open a crack—
Cluck.
He felt like a boulder was all of a sudden placed over his chest. He had just enough time to register the noise before his body jerked violently forward, his feet stumbling out from under him.
Then the silence returned.
The elder's lifeless body crumpled to the ground just outside the door, his face twisted in confusion. His wide, unseeing eyes didn't catch the faint glow coming from the other side of the hall.
Back in his quarters, Riki lay still, his eyes wide open, glowing faintly in the dark. His little fingers curled around the edge of his blanket, and his gaze remained fixed on the shadows outside. He didn't know how he knew—whether it was instinct or some leftover fragment of Naruto Uzumaki—but he'd sensed the danger.
And he'd stopped it.
The next morning, the estate was anything but peaceful.
A maid's piercing scream echoed through the compound as she stumbled across the elder's body in the garden. His cold, lifeless figure was sprawled awkwardly on the dewy grass, his expression frozen in shock.
The commotion spread quickly. Servants whispered to each other, their voices shaky and uncertain.
"What happened to him?" one maid asked, peering nervously at the scene from a distance.
"No idea," another muttered. "But whoever did this… they didn't leave a trace."
The elders were silent, their faces pale as they stared down at the body. The head of the clan stood off to the side, his lips pressed into a thin line as he assessed the situation.
"It's a message," he finally said, his voice low and gravelly. "Whoever did this wanted us to know they were here. And they wanted us to know they can strike back."
Niko, clutching Riki close to her chest, stayed far away from the commotion. She'd heard the whispers, caught bits and pieces of the maids' panicked chatter, but she didn't press for details.
Riki, for his part, nestled into her arms, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of her robe. His expression was calm, almost serene, as though he knew everything would be fine.
Niko glanced down at him, brushing a strand of white hair from his forehead. "It's okay, Riki," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "We're okay."
But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.
And in the back of her mind, a question lingered—how long would it stay that way?
(—)