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?
(—)
Notes:
Author Note:
How's it everything, you guys? Hope life's been treating y'all well. From the previous story, 'Eyes That Hold The Heavens', I learned a lot. Thus, I decided to write another story with a different style.
You may think it is just like the previous story but nah, they are nothing alike.
Theme will be exactly like JJK.
In this story, Naruto has replaced Satoru Gojo. Yes, if the 'chosen name' didn't clarify it— Naruto is Satoru Gojo, but a different name. Honestly, it's annoying to type 'S-A-T-O-R-U', plus, the 'Riki' is simple and easy to type. Throughout the story, I'll use this name only.
Naruto doesn't have a lot of regrets so Riki will slowly develop canon Satoru's antics. It may stand out to be identical at some point but with Naruto's morals and ethics intact. Don't complain later.
Tell me how you want the story to develop. Please drop your thoughts in the review section, your words inspire me to write faster, better and with more depth.
Pairing is decided, it will be revealed at around 10th chapter.
Till next time!
~Phoenix.
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
Notes:
Author Note: Do drop your thoughts in the comment section. Your words inspire me to write faster, better, larger and with more depth.
Till next time!
Haundr on Chapter 1 Thu 31 Jul 2025 05:36PM UTC
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McPhoenixDavid on Chapter 1 Thu 09 Oct 2025 11:59AM UTC
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13_LEVELSofHELL on Chapter 2 Mon 25 Aug 2025 06:32AM UTC
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McPhoenixDavid on Chapter 2 Thu 09 Oct 2025 11:59AM UTC
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