The sound of carriage wheels rolling over gravel echoed like a rhythm of fate.
The rain had thinned, now no more than a mist that kissed the trees as the road to Konoha unfolded.
Inside the carriage, the boy named Gojo—three years old with a gaze sharper than his years—closed his eyes.
Memories stirred.
Memories he had buried.
Until now.
---
The first memory of this world wasn't the system.
It wasn't chakra.
It wasn't even Konoha.
It was her.
---
The first thing he ever saw when he opened his newborn eyes…
Was a woman.
Pale.
Weak.
But so breathtakingly beautiful.
Long, raven-black hair clung to her cheeks soaked in sweat.
Her eyes—deep, dark pools—looked down at him.
Eyes full of pain.
But also…
Eyes full of love.
---
She looked like she had come from a dream.
Even with her body trembling.
Even as the color drained from her lips.
She smiled.
Her hand trembled as she reached for him.
Her fingers brushed his tiny cheek.
"...My little boy..." she whispered hoarsely.
---
Gojo didn't understand at first.
He was too shocked.
Too overwhelmed.
But then—
She spoke again.
---
"...Listen, baby…"
"...You have to take care of yourself… okay?"
Her voice cracked.
"Eat properly… never skip meals… always be warm..."
"And…"
She bit her lip, blood dripping down her chin.
"...Make lots of friends."
---
Gojo's tiny body trembled.
His baby eyes began to widen in horror.
He remembered.
He remembered his own mother from Earth.
That kind smile.
Those soft hands.
Her tearful eyes the last time she held him before her illness took her.
He had cried for years in his old life for just one more hug from her.
And now—
---
He had been given another mother.
A second chance.
But fate was cruel.
Just like last time…
He was about to lose her again.
---
His mother coughed violently.
Blood sprayed across the sheets.
She clutched her chest.
Her other hand held onto him tightly, like she could anchor herself to life.
"I'm sorry, Gojo..."
Her eyes filled with tears as she smiled gently.
"I… I wanted to be there to see you grow…"
---
"To watch you laugh…
To hold you when you cry…
To tell you I love you every single day…"
"I'm… so sorry…"
---
Her voice faded as her hand reached up one last time.
She stroked his soft white hair.
Kissed his forehead tenderly.
And then…
She was gone.
---
Gojo screamed.
But it came out as a baby's wail.
Raw.
Helpless.
Agonizing.
His tiny fists pounded the air.
His face turned red.
His cries shook the room.
No chakra.
No jutsu.
No system.
Just pain.
---
Moments later, the doors slammed open.
A tall, regal man stepped into the room.
His hair was silvery-gray, tied into a warrior's knot.
His robes were of the finest silk, soaked from the rain outside.
His eyes—calm but fierce—locked onto the lifeless body.
And then… to the crying baby in the crib.
---
He rushed forward and picked the child up with trembling arms.
Cradled him.
"Misaka…" he whispered to the dead woman.
He held Gojo close.
And something in his grip…
Felt like the world would burn if anyone tried to hurt this child.
---
He didn't leave the child behind.
He didn't call for a nurse.
He held Gojo tightly… and took him away himself.
That man was Gojo's grandfather.
---
From that day on, Gojo grew up under his care.
And it was nothing like his old life.
His grandfather was doting.
Fiercely protective.
And… strangely modern.
He never once raised his voice.
He taught Gojo how to speak early.
Fed him with his own hands.
Told him stories every night.
---
Then, one day, as Gojo turned two, he asked:
"Grandpa, why did you name me Gojo?"
His grandfather smiled cryptically.
"Because… your name belongs to you, not me."
That was the only answer he gave.
Gojo didn't press further.
But deep down, he felt something strange.
A name from another world…
Given by someone in this one.
Coincidence?
Or fate?
---
Then came the second shock.
His grandfather…
Was filthy rich.
Like, insane-level Daimyo-rich.
A vast estate.
Countless servants.
Scrolls, artifacts, contracts.
He owned businesses across the Fire Nation.
Gold flowed like water through his network.
---
But wealth wasn't his true power.
It was his lineage.
One night, Gojo heard everything.
---
"You are the descendant of Senju Tobirama," his grandfather revealed.
"Your great-grandfather entrusted me with our legacy. We were never to interfere with Konoha's politics. Tobirama ordered it."
"And your grandmother… was Uzumaki Miko, sister of Mito Uzumaki."
Gojo's heart nearly stopped.
---
"And your mother…"
"She was Misaka Uchiha."
"The younger sister of Mikoto."
---
Senju.
Uzumaki.
Uchiha.
Gojo couldn't even speak for a long time.
His body held the blood of three of the most powerful clans in history.
His potential was… beyond measure.
And yet, the world didn't know he existed.
---
His grandfather smiled.
"You don't have to fight anyone's battles."
"But if you choose to…"
He leaned forward, gently placing a hand on Gojo's shoulder.
"Win."
---
Now, as the carriage neared the gates of Konoha, Gojo opened his eyes again.
The rain had finally stopped.
The clouds parted, revealing a brilliant blue sky.
His grandfather sat calmly beside him, sipping tea like they were headed to a garden.
Gojo smirked.
'Senju. Uzumaki. Uchiha.'
'A system that steals fate.'
'A grandfather with more influence than most nobles.'
'And a dead mother I will make proud…'
---
He clenched his fists softly.
"Let's meet the Third Hokage," he whispered.
"And begin rewriting the story."
---
End of Chapter 2
---
Author's Note:
Loving the journey so far?
Please support with a Power Stone!
Your votes help this fanfic grow—and as a thank you, there will be bonus chapters for Power Stone milestones!
Got suggestions or wild ideas?
Drop them in the comments—I'd love to include your thoughts as we shape Gojo's path together.
Let's keep pushing forward—no regrets, just pure hype!
– azuredragonx
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