The night was ablaze with a furious red.
The Nine-Tails loomed over Konoha, its tails whipping about like furious whips, each strike leveling homes and tearing up streets. Fire danced from rooftop to rooftop while terrified civilians fled, clutching their children amid the chaos. Shinobi grouped together, calling out names of their jutsu, but the creature's roars drowned out their efforts. Paper walls turned to smoke, tiled roofs shattered; the village felt utterly insignificant under the weight of overwhelming hatred.
In the Uchiha compound, a helpless newborn cried in the wreckage of a crushed house. His parents lay motionless, their blood mingling with the dust on the floor. The baby squirmed in his soot-stained blanket, wailing as debris rained down from above—a tiny heartbeat in a world that seemed to have come to an end.
But inside that tiny body was no ordinary newborn's soul. A man's mind was alive there—sharp, vigilant, and acutely aware of his surroundings.
This is Konoha. That roar—Kurama. The Nine-Tails is attacking. Of all the days to be reincarnated, it had to be today. Really, karma?
Another beam creaked and fell. Heat surged through the room. Somewhere, a woman screamed a name until her voice broke.
The air above the infant shimmered.
[Critical Event Detected. Survival Probability: 0.7%]
[Emergency Protocol: Summon Authorization Granted]
[Target World: Jujutsu Kaisen]
[Designate: Satoru Gojo]
Blue light spiraled into the room, cutting through smoke and flames. A tall figure materialized as if stepping through an ordinary door—his hands in his pockets, white hair shining, and a black blindfold covering his eyes. He paused for a moment, surveying the destruction, seeming as if he'd just walked into a quiet street instead of a battlefield.
The baby's dark eyes widened.
No way. That's… Gojo Satoru. From Jujutsu Kaisen. The strongest sorcerer alive. My first summon is him? Jackpot!
Gojo crouched down, a smirk playing on his lips as he reached out. "So this is the boss? Small. Loud." His grin broadened. "But I've seen worse."
He gently scooped the baby into one arm. Ash brushed against his coat, while the baby's tiny fingers clung to the fabric as if seeking security.
Did he just call me his boss? I'm literally drooling on myself right now. Stay cool. Just… act like a baby. Yeah, just giggle or something.
Ren giggled. On the rooftops, an ANBU team noticed the odd pair for a fleeting heartbeat before moving on. To them, it seemed like a stranger had rescued a survivor.
The ground trembled. Kurama's shadow loomed over the street as its enormous paw swung down. Tiles popped off roofs like loose teeth. A shockwave sent debris flying into the air.
"Move!" an ANBU captain shouted. "Protect the civilians!"
But it was too late. The claw was going to crush everything.
Gojo adjusted the baby against his chest, raising a hand casually, palm open.
The paw halted.
Not blocked. Not repelled. It simply froze, just inches above his palm, unable to move closer. Dust and rubble twisted away as if space itself had said no. The air hummed with a pitch beyond hearing, yet felt in the bones.
Masked faces turned in shock.
"What kind of jutsu is that?!"
"I don't sense chakra!"
Gojo tilted his head, a smirk curling beneath the blindfold. "Sorry, big guy. This kid's off-limits."
Kurama snarled, lashing its tails, splitting the street into deep trenches. Flames and stone exploded outward in waves, chunks of beams and roof flung like shrapnel.
Gojo didn't flinch. Every piece of debris slid harmlessly aside, curving around him and the child in smooth arcs. The infant blinked through the soot, falling silent, as though the universe had remembered to be kind.
Infinity. I'm witnessing Infinity in real life. He's actually untouchable. Holy sht.*
Gojo gently swayed the infant. "First rule of babysitting—set boundaries."
From the rubble, a wounded villager gasped, "He… he saved us…"
The ANBU captain barked, "Don't relax! Unknown entity! Treat with caution!"
A jonin with burned sleeves landed near the captain, eyeing Gojo and the fox. "Captain, I can't detect any chakra flow. It's as if reality around him is—"
"Less theory, more evacuations!" the captain snapped. "Clear Sector Five—now!"
Kurama's jaws opened, chakra coalescing into a blinding sphere. A Tailed Beast Bomb grew, brighter than anything, humming with destruction. The street brightened to a false noon. Civilians screamed, shielding their children. A boy in a doorway whispered, "Is this how the world ends?"
Gojo sighed. "Fine. I'll take care of this."
He flicked his fingers.
The bomb's path twisted violently, dragged sideways as if reality itself refused its course. It shot over the walls and detonated in the empty training fields. The explosion burst like a second dawn, a ring of light rising and collapsing. The shockwave rattled rooftops, shattered fragile glass, and sent dust cascading through the air—but the village remained.
Shinobi stood in stunned silence.
"He… he redirected it."
Gojo smirked, patting the baby's back. "No fox is messing with us tonight."
Kurama lunged again, its tails sweeping down. Gojo sidestepped with lazy ease. Each attack failed to connect—as if the last inch of space refused to be crossed.
"Big claws," he muttered. "Bad manicure."
On the rooftops, ANBU exchanged hurried whispers.
"He's mocking the Nine-Tails…"
"What is he?"
"Focus!" the captain interjected. "Use the corridor!"
Gojo lifted his hand, and the street between two rows of burning houses morphed into a clear passage—the flames pulled back, beams toppled into neat stacks, glass fell as dust instead of knives. It didn't resemble a jutsu. It looked like the world was simply being polite.
"Move west!" the ANBU captain yelled, catching on. "He's keeping it open! Go!"
Families ran. A mother with singed hair pulled two boys by the wrists; an old man leaned on a broken broom, limping stubbornly forward. A little girl in a tattered green dress froze, gazing up at the blindfolded man standing perfectly calm with a baby in his arms while a monster howled overhead.
Gojo smiled gently. "It's safe. Trust me."
She dashed toward the shelter. Her father scooped her up mid-run, not looking back.
This… this is how rumors start, Ren mused as he noticed how the people's fear shifted toward wonder. Good. Remember him. Forget me.
A golden flash darted across the battlefield. The Fourth Hokage appeared on a rooftop, his cloak billowing in the burning wind, his eyes sharp and resolute. He surveyed the fox, the stranger, the infant, and in that moment calculated more variables than most people could grasp. Then he vanished, teleporting to fulfill his true mission: binding the beast and saving the village.
Gojo chuckled, clearly amused. "Fast guy. I like him."
Three more tail strikes tore through the place where he'd stood just a moment before; three times the air decided he would not be touched. Kurama's breath swept over the village like a blast of furnace wind. Somewhere, a tower bell snapped its rope, crashing down in a single, jarring clang.
Minato's sealing… it's building, Ren realized, feeling a pull in the air, the weight of jutsu a child shouldn't experience. This is the night Naruto's born. The night everything shifts.
In the Hokage tower, Hiruzen Sarutobi stood at the window, his pipe forgotten and cold in his hand, observing the fox and the stranger with equal disbelief. "Report," he said softly.
"Unknown combatant intercepting the Nine-Tails," an ANBU replied, kneeling. "No chakra signatures. He seems to… distort space."
Hiruzen's fingers tensed. "Then give him space."
Back in the streets, panic found its routes. The corridor broadened. A jonin with a shattered arm used his remaining hand to guide a cluster of civilians. "Stay in the path!" he yelled. "Avoid the flames! Move!"
A beam crumbled overhead. Gojo raised two fingers. "Red."
The beam skewed, as if embarrassed, and buried itself harmlessly into a patch of cobblestones. Chips sprayed into dust, falling like gray snow around the fleeing civilians.
A young chunin landed roughly near Gojo and glanced down at the infant. "Sir—who—who are you?"
Gojo tilted his head. "Temporary childcare," he replied brightly. "Affiliation: the small, loud one."
Ren nearly laughed.
Kurama inhaled again, chakra condensing into a seething star between fanged jaws. Gojo turned his hand, not toward the sphere but to the space it craved. The path shifted. The tool obeyed the path. The explosion detonated beyond the walls, a flower of destruction blooming where no one stood.
On a distant rooftop, a masked figure with a single red eye observed the blindfolded man and the infant in his arms—and the way Konoha failed to crush either—and vanished into spiraling space.
Gojo planted his heel in the center of the street and lowered his voice, shifting from playful to flat and resolute. "Here's the line," he told the fox. "You don't cross it."
Kurama's claws tore downward. They screeched against nothing and halted—halted because the last half-inch of reality had been set to infinite. The beast roared in rage, shackled by Minato's jutsu, restrained by chains the eye couldn't perceive, pulled toward a fate it couldn't escape.
"Shelter gates!" the ANBU captain shouted hoarsely. "Last wave!"
Gojo carried the baby into the underground shelter, where terrified civilians huddled together in cool stone corridors. The press of bodies instinctively recoiled from him; Infinity enforced personal space with perfect politeness. He located a quiet alcove with a rock that curved like a cradle, placed the child on a folded blanket, and crouched down.
The infant's tiny fingers clutched his coat tightly. His dark eyes shimmered—not with fear, but with an intensity that didn't belong on such a young face.
A chime rang in Ren's mind, clear even amid the muffled chaos above.
[Summon Contract Finalized.]
[Each summoned ally bears a hidden wish. They cannot voice it. Fulfill it, and their power will be yours.]
Ren's lips curled in a strange smile. For a baby, it was an expression that felt wrong—too sharp, too aware, a hint of the man who resided behind it.
Hidden wishes… and their power will become mine. That's the deal, huh? Perfect.
Gojo chuckled softly, tapping the child's hand with a knuckle. "Rest, little boss. I'll keep the sky from crashing down."
Above them, the battle twisted tighter. The corridors shook once, then twice. Cries rose and fell, and then a silence descended—not peace, but the hushed aftermath. Somewhere near yet far, a newborn took his first breath, and the Nine-Tails let out a final, furious howl before being shackled to a future it didn't choose.
Hiruzen's shoulders slumped at the tower window. He carefully set down the cold pipe and closed his eyes. "Minato…" he murmured, letting the prayer dissolve into the absent smoke.
Inside the shelter, families clung to one another. The little girl in the green dress peeked around her mother's skirt at the blindfolded man with the baby. When Gojo turned his head slightly, she flinched—but then he gave her that warm, easy smile again. She tucked her face into her mother's side and decided, forever, that not all monsters were evil and not every savior bore the village's symbol.
Ren observed the way people regarded Gojo—the fear, the awe, the gratitude they struggled to express. He watched as the ANBU captain stood at the door and made a quick decision with a single nod: tonight, this stranger was an ally. He saw how denial and hope shone equally in worn-out eyes.
Let them speculate about him, Ren thought. Let them never learn to see me.
A quiet wave of whispers spread through the shelter—a ripple of words that would transform into tales by morning.
"A blindfolded demon…"
"A white-haired sorcerer…"
"He walked through the Nine-Tails' fury with a baby in his arms, and nothing could touch them."
Someone else murmured, "Did you see how the fire stayed away? Like it was scared."
Another added, "He smiled at my daughter. She stopped crying. I think… I think he saved us."
Gojo settled back on his heels, lightly drumming his fingers against his knee, lavishing in the birth of the first rumor with open amusement. "Man," he murmured, "PR writes itself in this world."
Ren's hand, so small and seemingly powerless moments before, relaxed on Gojo's coat.
Not powerless, he corrected himself, the thought clean and precise. Not for long.
Above ground, shinobi began counting the living and the dead. The fires quieted to a hiss, roofs collapsed into their ash, and the night grew darker—not from extinguished flames, but from the fading fear.
Minato's seal held.
Konoha survived.
Wounded. Smaller. Changed.
In the cool alcove, Gojo rose, dusting off his coat, and glanced toward the stair as if he could see through rock. "Clean-up's going to be a hassle," he said cheerfully. "But hey—silver lining—nobody touched my hair."
Ren would have snorted if his lungs weren't still learning how to breathe. Instead, he let his eyes close for the first time since the ceiling fell, and in that darkness, he envisioned more than survival. He saw paths. He saw promises. He saw a title not of his choosing, emerging from the mouths of others like steam off cool stone.
Eclipse? No. His mind tested the sound, rejected it, and tucked the rumors away for later consideration. Names hold power. Titles even more. I'll choose the right ones when I can stand.
For now, he allowed the village to name the man who couldn't be touched and the baby no one noticed.
For now, he embraced the idea that an empire could begin with a quiet breath in a stone alcove.
For now, he slept.
The shelter exhaled with him. Shinobi relaxed their grips on weapons. An ANBU leaned his masked head against the wall and, for just a heartbeat, closed his eyes.
The first story of a hidden order began to form in the spaces between tired words.
The narrative would change over time. It always did. Some would claim the stranger was a demon. Others would argue he was an angel. Some would swear the child in his arms glowed. Many would insist there was no child at all, just a man who laughed at a monster and made it obey. That was fine.
Truth would eventually emerge.
The power would follow.
And somewhere, in a place only fate could perceive, a path opened from this night to a remote throne.
The beginning of an empire still cloaked in shadow.