Authots Note:: Not gonna say anything, will upload 2 chapters per week.
Enjoy
Chapter 2
Darkness. Warmth. Suffocation.
The first thing Gojo Satoru realized after his supposed "death" was that waiting sucked.
And if there was one thing Gojo Satoru was not, it was patient.
At first, he had taken his reincarnation in stride—excited, even. After all, how often does someone get a second chance at life? His mind raced with endless possibilities.
Sure, he had been sealed in the Prison Realm for an eternity, but at least time didn't flow there. Nine months of waiting, crammed in a tiny, restrictive space, was pure torture. If he still had access to his Infinity, he would have found a way to make the process faster. Hell, he'd rather be stuck listening to Mei Mei talk about money for hours than endure another second of this mind-numbing boredom.
Still, he had to admit—it was kind of exciting.
A new world, a new beginning. What kind of life awaited him? Would he be born into some grand fantasy setting? Maybe he'd be born into a high-fantasy world filled with magic, dragons, and absurdly powerful beings. Maybe he'd get one of those ridiculous overpowered systems, like in those Chinese manhwas. He could already picture it:
[Welcome, Host! You have been granted the Supreme Heavenly Reincarnation System!]
[Mission: Build a Harem and Conquer the World!]
Gojo snickered internally. Imagine it—Gojo Satoru, the reincarnated protagonist, blessed with overwhelming talent and surrounded by an adoring harem of beautiful women. How cliché. How ridiculous. How—
His thoughts stilled.
For a brief moment, his amusement faded. A dull ache settled in his chest, a strange, hollow feeling pressing against his still-developing body.
Shoko. Utahime.
His two lovers.
One Annoying Miku wearing woman and other one... a chain smoker. [Quite the test he has in women]
The memories of them, their laughter, their warmth—it all felt so distant now.
The memories of them, their laughter, their warmth—it all felt so distant now.
Gojo had always lived with a certain detachment. It was a necessity when you were born the strongest. But Shoko and Utahime… they were different. They saw him—the man beneath the arrogance, beneath the mask of invincibility. And now, they were gone. Or rather, he was.
He exhaled slowly.
For a fleeting moment, he entertained the thought of going back. After all, he had cheated death before. He had survived the Prison Realm, overwhelmed countless opponents, and shattered expectations his entire life. Surely, there had to be a way, right?
But no.
He knew better.
Even if he had miraculously healed his bisected body, it wouldn't have mattered. Sukuna's attack had done more than just physically cut him—it had severed his soul. His body in his old world was nothing more than a husk now, an empty vessel incapable of housing his consciousness.
There was no going back.
A long silence stretched in his mind before he finally exhaled—a slow, accepting sigh.
Fine. Guess I really have no choice but to move on.
And so, he did.
—
Except, moving on was a lot easier said than done when you were stuck inside a womb for nine damn months.
Gojo had been bored before—really bored. He had spent nineteen days sealed in the Prison Realm with nothing but his own thoughts for company. But at least there, time didn't exist.
Here?
Here, time dragged.
Nine months of absolute nothingness. No movement, no sight, no ability to stretch his limbs without being met with the suffocating walls of his tiny prison. He was on the verge of losing his mind.
Fate, if you're listening, he grumbled internally, I swear to god, if I don't get overpowered abilities in exchange for this suffering, I'm going to riot.
It wasn't all bad, though.
Over time, he started honing his senses. His cursed energy—if he still had it—remained dormant, but his ability to perceive his surroundings slowly improved. He could hear muffled voices beyond his fleshy confines, though he couldn't make out the words. His mother's heartbeat was the only constant, a rhythmic, comforting pulse that kept him grounded.
Strange.
He had never been comforted by another's presence before.
But even so—waiting sucked.
Then, finally—finally—the moment came.
The warmth around him shifted. The walls of his tiny prison contracted, forcing his underdeveloped body downward. The pressure was overwhelming, almost suffocating.
Oh. Oh, hell no.
Gojo wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what was happening.
Oh god, I'm being born. This is actually happening. I am getting squeezed out of—
Nope. Nope. That was a visual he did not need.
The pressure intensified. A deep, instinctual panic flared within him, but then—
Light.
The suffocating warmth gave way to an overwhelming cold. His tiny body was pulled into the open air, every nerve igniting with new sensation.
It was too much. The bright lights, the unfamiliar scents, the sudden freedom after months of confinement. His lungs burned as they filled with air for the first time.
And so, with every ounce of strength his tiny body could muster—
Gojo Satoru let out his first cry.
It wasn't a normal wail.
It was loud, raw—almost like a roar. The sheer relief of escaping his solitary confinement mixed with the primal instinct to exist again. He was free. Finally free.
But his celebration was short-lived.
Something shifted in the air.
A strange, oppressive sensation pricked at his senses. It was faint, but familiar—a disturbance in the emotional energy around him.
And then, in an instant—
The room was flooded with negative emotions.
A lot of them.
A sudden, crushing weight filled the space around him—fear, anger, desperation. It pressed against his newborn senses like a vice, suffocating in its intensity.
What the hell…?
His tiny body stiffened. His instincts flared, honed from years of battle. Even in this weak, fragile state, his mind was sharp.
That was when he heard it.
A voice—loud, commanding, fearful.
"Yondaime Hokage, get away from the Jinchūriki!"
…
Wait.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
His newborn cries came to an abrupt halt. His mind, still adjusting to its new vessel, took a moment to catch up.
But the moment it did—
Oh. Oh, hell no.
Gojo froze.
His tiny body tensed as the words replayed in his head, over and over again.
"Yondaime Hokage."
"Jinchūriki."
His undeveloped brain screeched to a stop before violently rebooting itself. There was no way. There was NO way.
Slowly—very slowly—reality sank in.
The oppressive negativity. The title "Yondaime Hokage." The fact that he was just born.
There was only one possible explanation.
He was in Naruto.
For a long, long moment, his mind was nothing but static.
Then—
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"
Of all places, of all possible worlds, why this one?!
The Naruto world. A place where child soldiers were the norm, where people threw around mountain-exploding jutsu like party tricks, where literal gods walked the earth.
His newborn hands twitched. He had so many questions.
And the one that stood out the most was.
Why?
Or—God forbid—was he the Jinchūriki they just mentioned?
Was he the Uzumaki Fucking Naruto itself.
His newborn brain was still catching up, but one thing was certain.
Gojo Satoru had been given a second chance at life.
And he was not ready for what the future has it stored for him.