Feel free to read my other stories "Dragon Ball: Satan the Strongest" and "Ben 10 in Marvel Universe" and If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"patreon.com/ik_uzomaki_drt"
You Can Read up to 7 More Chapters there
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One lazy afternoon, the air was thick with the sound of children's laughter in the Gojo garden. The sun draped everything in warm gold, and the grass swayed gently under the feet of little warriors-in-training.
"Ughhh… I'm tapped out!" groaned a boy with short, spiky hair, collapsing dramatically onto the grass. His name was Shibi, and he clutched his stomach as if the sheer lack of chakra was some mortal wound.
"I can't make any more clones! My chakra's gone. Totally gone. Kaput."
Satoru tilted his head, frowning. "Gone? What do you mean 'gone'?"
"I mean—" Shibi sat up, waving his hands like he was trying to explain colors to someone blind. "Like, poof. Empty. Nada. I'm running on fumes."
Satoru blinked slowly, then held out his hands, forming a seal almost lazily. Puff. Another clone popped into existence beside him. Puff. It vanished just as quickly. Then another. And another. And another.
He didn't even feel tired. Not even a little.
The other kids stared, slack-jawed.
"...How are you doing that?" one of them muttered.
Satoru shrugged. "I dunno. I just… do it."
Curiosity sparked in his ocean-blue eyes. He closed them for a heartbeat. When they opened again, the world shifted — colors bled into glowing rivers of energy, veins of chakra pulsing like living light. He could see Shibi's chakra, sluggish and draining away like a dying stream. The others were no better.
Then he looked inward.
His own chakra surged like a roaring waterfall, crashing endlessly into itself. No matter how much he used, it refilled instantly, greedily, like a well that refused to run dry.
He tilted his head again, as if puzzling over a riddle only he could see.
"…Weird."
From the kitchen window, his mother watched silently, hands tightening around the edge of the sink. She recognized that glow in his eyes — the Sixth Eye. The Rikugan.
Her heart clenched.
Please, she thought, don't let the world notice him yet. Let him stay a child a little longer.
But Satoru didn't notice the weight in her gaze. He just grinned, puffing out his chest.
"Guess I'm just better at it," he teased.
Shibi groaned, flopping back into the grass. "You're a freak, Gojo."
Satoru smirked. "Takes one to know one."
No one realized it yet — not his friends, not his neighbors. But at just five years old, Satoru Gojo was already far beyond the reach of most seasoned Chūnin.
For now, he was just a cocky kid playing in the sun.
Soon, he would be the storm.
Six years had passed, and a new chapter was unfolding for young Satoru. The autumn sun hung low, spilling a soft gold over the busy streets of Konoha. Morning chatter buzzed between the market stalls, the smell of grilled fish and fresh bread drifting through the air.
Satoru walked with one hand buried lazily in his pocket, his steps unhurried, framed on either side by his parents whose faces carried the tension he didn't quite understand.
From the corner of a ramen stand, a bent old man leaned on his counter, squinting through the steam.
"Oi, Akane… you hear? The Gojo family's sending their boy to the Academy," he rasped, his voice carrying just enough to be overheard.
The woman sweeping the front of the stand gave a short laugh, her broom pausing mid-stroke.
"The Gojo? Those… shopkeepers? Oh, that's rich," she said, dust swirling at her feet. "What, they think a surname makes a shinobi? Last I checked, no Gojo has ever held a kunai without cutting themselves." She clicked her tongue. "And those eyes… sure, they're blue. Pretty eyes don't win battles."
Laughter swelled from nearby tables — not cruel in volume, but sharp in its edge. Heads turned, whispers thickening like smoke. The Gojo name was suddenly everywhere, though for all the wrong reasons.
A chūnin in a faded flak jacket tilted back his sake cup, smirking at his friends.
"Maybe they've been reading too many old scrolls," he said. "A blue-eyed brat? Pfft. Let him try against a Ryuga in sparring. We'll see how fast those eyes close." He chuckled, low at first, then louder. "The Academy… what for? Gonna teach him how to recite poems to the enemy?"
The laughter that followed was heavier this time, rolling over them like an uninvited wave.
Satoru's father, Noboru, felt his jaw lock. His fists curled, knuckles whitening, every muscle in his arm tight with the urge to swing. Beside him, Akane's grip tightened around her son's sleeve.
"Let it go, Noboru," she murmured without looking up. "Don't… lower yourself to their level."
He didn't answer, but his breath came through his teeth in short, slow bursts.
Satoru didn't flinch.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, as voices buzzed around him like flies trapped in a jar. The chunin's condescending smirk, the half-hidden worry in his mother's eyes, the stiffness in his father's shoulders—it was all… transparent. Literally.
He saw them, not just their faces, but the rivers of chakra coursing through their bodies. The chunin's flow—strong, but turbulent. The civilians—little trickles, barely enough to light a candle. And then there was his own…
An endless ocean.
It didn't matter how much he used; it would simply refill. He could drown the whole village in it and still have enough to play tag afterwards.
The chunin was still talking. Something about "brats these days" and "respect for rank." Satoru tilted his head, blinking slowly, almost bored.
"Rank, huh?" he murmured under his breath, his voice barely more than a sigh.
The man didn't hear it. No one did. And maybe that was for the best. Because Satoru knew—knew in a way only he could—that if he so much as thought about it, the walls around them would crumble to dust.
If he decided to… none of them would have time to scream.
His blue eyes swept over them lazily, but there was a sharpness there, like a blade hidden in silk. He smiled—innocent, boyish.
They all kept talking.
And Satoru just kept listening, thinking one simple thought:
Not yet.
As the tension in the small courtyard lingered, a sudden hush fell over the place. Conversations froze mid-sentence, even the Chūnin who had been smirking moments earlier straightened like a puppet on a string.
From the end of the narrow street, a man appeared—old, yet somehow unshakable. His robes bore the unmistakable symbol of the Hokage, and the wide-brimmed hat shadowed eyes that had seen more wars, deaths, and rebirths than anyone here could comprehend. Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage, was making his rounds.
Even Satoru's parents reacted instantly—his father stepping forward, back straight, hands clasped behind him in the way soldiers do when facing a superior. His mother bowed, silent and respectful.
Satoru… did not move. His celestial-blue eyes tracked the man as if he were observing something not quite human.
The Hokage's presence was strange to him—not like the others here. This wasn't just another shinobi with a bit more chakra in his tank. No… this man felt like a mountain pretending to be a man. Not in size, but in weight. His very existence pressed on the space around him.
"...Who's that?" Satoru finally asked, his voice carrying more curiosity than respect.
His father's head snapped toward him, expression caught between disbelief and alarm. "Satoru—mind your tone. That is the Emperor of Shinobi."
"The what of shinobi?" Satoru tilted his head, genuinely puzzled, as though someone had just told him water could be set on fire.
"The Hokage. The Third," his father said, voice low as though speaking the name might wake a sleeping beast. "Hiruzen Sarutobi. In this village, he's not just a man—he's the will of Konoha itself."
Satoru blinked slowly. "So… basically the boss of everyone?"
"Yes."
"Even the people who think they're the boss?"
"Yes."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Satoru's lips. "Interesting."
And for the first time since he had been born into this world, he felt something very close to excitement—not the childish kind, but the sharp, cold thrill of seeing a worthy piece on the board.
Hiruzen's eyes swept over the crowd, resting briefly on Satoru. It was only a glance, but Satoru felt it—not as a touch, but as an intrusion. A quiet, deliberate probe, the way a veteran might inspect a sealed weapon crate, wondering what kind of blade it might hold.
The Hokage moved on, the respectful silence dissolving behind him, but Satoru kept watching until the man vanished from sight.
For the first time, he thought: Maybe… this world isn't completely boring after all.
/
Feel free to read my other stories "Dragon Ball: Satan the Strongest" and "Ben 10 in Marvel Universe" and If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"patreon.com/ik_uzomaki_drt"
You Can Read up to 7 More Chapters there