Author Note(June 2024): Some people have uploaded my story on YouTube and Wattapad without my permission. So. if you see anyone uploading any of my stories, then let me know. Also, it is futile to ask me for permission because I will not give anyway.
•Prologue•
Struggling to cut through the fog clouding his senses, Satoru Gojo searched for the figure beside him—a comforting but indistinct presence.
The world around him blurred into a smear of light and shadow, like watercolors bleeding on a damp canvas. He felt disjointed, almost as though he was caught between two worlds, one foot in the grave, the other stubbornly planted in reality. Sukuna's blade had carved through him, an undeniable defeat. Death seemed inevitable, yet here he was, lingering. Was it Shoko's healing keeping him tethered, or sheer force of will? He couldn't tell.
His body refused to cooperate; his limbs were a distant memory. The great Satoru Gojo—master of unimaginable power—was now powerless. His pride, once his armor, felt like a cruel joke. Sure, Sukuna had Mahoraga, but still… Gojo should've won. Shouldn't he?
A dry, bitter laugh echoed in his mind, though it barely reached his lips. Pride had always been his downfall, hadn't it? Still, his faith lay elsewhere now. Yuta, Yuji, Hakari, Megumi and even his nephew—they'd take care of it. They had to. If he couldn't beat Sukuna, they would. That thought kept him grounded, even as his vision dimmed.
But man, it would've been nice to see how it all played out, he thought, a pang of regret hitting harder than the pain ever had. He wanted to see them win. He wanted to see Megumi's face, free of Sukuna's shadow. Just once more.
A single tear slid down his face. What a joke, he thought. Gojo Satoru, crying like a child.
"There, there." A soft, almost angelic voice broke through the haze. Feminine, gentle, and annoyingly sweet. "Don't cry, baby. Mama's here."
Gojo would've rolled his eyes if he had the strength. Mocking me on my deathbed? Real classy, lady.
"I kmow my charm is irresistible," he thought bitterly. "But kindly leave me alone,"
"Shh, mama's here," she added.
Another voice, younger and far more practical, interrupted. "Ma'am, you should rest. You've been up for hours."
"Give him this moment," she replied, brushing off the younger voice with an air of authority.
Gojo sighed inwardly, frustration giving way to resignation. The steady beep of machinery hummed in the background, and for a moment, he let himself believe it wasn't so bad. His comrades would handle things, and he'd finally get some rest.
The darkness grew closer, warmer than he expected. So this is how it ends? he mused. The mightiest sorcerer, reduced to this.
"Throughout the heavens and earth," he thought, a wry grin forming in his mind, "I alone… am not the honored one."
And with that, he drifted away.
In a world where the extraordinary had become the ordinary, where the once fantastical was now the everyday, a woman with hair like the verdant depths of an ancient forest tenderly pressed her lips to the soft, unblemished forehead of her newborn. The age of quirks had ushered in an era of acceptance for the diverse and the peculiar, yet amidst this tapestry of the unique, her child stood out as a beacon of singularity.
He was a vision of serenity, his aura a tranquil melody that soothed the soul. His breaths, a symphony of life's rhythm, whispered promises of a harmonious future.
The boy bore her visage, her emerald tresses, and even the constellation of freckles that danced across his cheeks like delicate brushstrokes. He was the epitome of endearment, a stark contrast to Hiashi, his father. Her heart swelled with love as she gazed upon him, but as his eyes fluttered open, a gasp of wonder escaped her.
His eyes were not mirrors of her own; they were windows to a vibrant soul. Not green, but the lustrous jade of dawn's first light, gleaming with untold potential.
She had thought to name him Izuku, yet as she looked upon him, the name felt like a garment ill-fitted for a king. Unbidden, a different name flowed from her lips, "Satoru," a name that echoed with the promise of enlightenment.
"Welcome to the realm of heroes, Satoru Midoriya," she whispered, her fingers gently tracing the contours of his face. "You are destined for greatness beyond measure."
The infant met her gaze, and in the simplicity of his yawn, there lay a charm that transcended words.
Unbeknownst to Inko Midoriya, this moment was a fulcrum upon which history would pivot.
This is the tale of Satoru Midoriya,
An Honored One.
Author Note:
This is calm before storm.
Till next time!