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moshi moshi
I hovered my hand in the air, and before me, three souls appeared. They hovered there, each one unique, each one lost in its own world. The first soul belonged to Yoriichi Tsugikuni from the Demon Slayer world. A warrior of unmatched strength and skill, he had failed to kill Muzan in his final battle, only to grow old and die at the hands of his brother, Michikatsu.
The second soul was that of Gol D. Roger from One Piece. He had lived an extraordinary life, but his time had come to an end, succumbing to a deadly illness before he could see the Pirate King's dream fulfilled. Still, he had sparked the Great Pirate Era with his final words.
And the third… it was Bunta, the hero from One Punch Man. His soul was as mundane as his life had been. With his overwhelming strength, he had destroyed every opponent in a single punch, leaving him with nothing to challenge him. Boredom had become his greatest enemy.
I smiled as I watched the souls swirl around me. They were all interesting in their own way, but none of them could compare to the entertainment I would get from the twins.
The rules of fate were never set in stone. What if they met? What if they crossed paths in this new world? The possibilities were endless.
As I sat upon my throne, my fingers lightly brushing the fabric, I wondered how long it would take before the twins began to realize the truth. Perhaps they would figure it out sooner than expected.
One thing was certain—I would not be bored for a long time.
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Warring States Era — Night of Birth
Uchiha Clan Compound, Hidden in the Eastern Mountains
The air was thick with the iron scent of blood and the earthy aroma of burning herbs. Outside, the wind howled like a beast denied entry. Inside the dimly lit room, flickering lanterns cast shadows on mud-brick walls, dancing over the faces of the women tending to the laboring mother.
"Almost there, Lady Miyako. One more push," the midwife urged, her voice gentle but steady.
Sweat clung on Miyako's brow. Her long black hair was plastered to her skin, but her eyes burned with a quiet strength. This was not her first child. She had already birthed—Madara, Izuna, and three others buried beneath the soil. She knew the weight of what she was bringing into the world: not a child, but a soldier.
And yet, as the cry of new life pierced the room, all she felt was love.
The infant was small—smaller than his brothers had been, thinner, quieter. But his eyes opened too quickly. They didn't flutter and shut like a newborn's. They stared. Unblinking.
The mother smiled, exhausted but serene. She reached out, brushing a fingertip along his cheek. "He's beautiful," she murmured. "My little firefly."
The door creaked open, and Tajima Uchiha stepped inside.
Everything shifted.
He was clad in his battle robes, blood still drying on his gloves. The air seemed to bow under his presence. His eyes scanned the child, his wife, then the midwives. A man of war, not of words.
He walked forward without speaking, staring down at the boy.
The baby met his gaze—no fear, no confusion. Just a heavy silence between them. The child didn't cry. He studied.
"Too quiet," Tajima muttered.
"Too aware," said one midwife under her breath.
Tajima glanced at the midwife not uttering a word. The midwife froze and stepped back.
Tajima didn't argue. Instead, he stepped forward and reached for the child, lifting him with practiced, but not gentle hands. He studied the boy's face like one might examine a blade.
"Arai, you will be called Arai Uchiha" he said flatly. "You'll carve your name into the earth. Or die with it forgotten." Already witnessing his 3 children die on the battlefield, he had become stern.
He placed the baby back in the mother's arms without warmth and turned, already striding toward the door. The door slammed shut behind him.
Inside the Asher's Mind
And beneath it all, the newborn burned.
I've come. Gods above, I've really come into the naruto world.
The instincts were raw. His body feeble. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his mind—his mind was racing. Every sound felt too loud, every light too sharp. He remembered death, rebirth, the 11-year old boy's grin, the light that tore his soul from the void.
Now he was trapped in a swaddle of linen, bones soft, vision fuzzy, lungs weak.
But awareness pulsed in every cell.
His mother hummed a soft lullaby, voice trembling with warmth and relief. Her arms were gentle, her chakra calm and nurturing.
It grounded him. He stopped struggling. Not yet. Be patient. Play the part. Learn the clan, the politics.
He blinked slowly, letting the weight of sleep tug at him.
The storm could wait.
For now, he was just Arai Uchiha—infant son of a Uchiha Patriarch and the younger brother of Uchiha Legend.
But the fire in his soul was already roaring.
Meanwhile at Senju Clan Compound, Deep Within the Forests of Fire Country
Inside a quiet room built of old cedar and thick, woven cloth, the atmosphere was tense but sacred. Candlelight flickered on wooden beams above, casting shadows that danced across the walls. A woman lay on a futon, her breath coming in labored gasps, sweat beading on her brow. Two midwives worked beside her with practiced efficiency, whispering encouragements.
"You're doing well, Lady Masaki. The baby is almost here."
The woman smiled through the pain, her grip tightening on the blanket beneath her. One final cry, and then—
The silence broke with the sound of a newborn's first breath.
The mother reached forward with trembling hands, tears in her eyes. "Give him to me," she whispered. When they did, she cradled him with a gentleness that could soothe fire. "My precious little one…"
The baby was looking around as if trying to find something.
Butsuma Senju entered.
A tall man of coarse presence and sharper instincts, his mere presence commanded silence. His armor was worn, his katana still bloodstained. But beneath the steel, there was a fire in his gaze that flickered when he looked at the woman holding his son.
"Hiroshi. His name will be Hiroshi Senju." Said loudly
The name echoed through the room with weight and finality.
"A wise name," the mother whispered. "May he grow into it with peace."
But the man shook his head. "There will be no peace—not in his time. But he'll survive. I can tell. He's got a fire."
Inside the Liam's mind
It worked.
Liam's mind reeled. His body was tiny, fragile, weak—but his consciousness burned like a furnace, too large for the vessel it was forced into. Thoughts raced through him—memories of a void, of a god in a child's body, of Asher, of dying. Again.
Senju… he remembered. This was what I chose. Power. Regeneration. Talent. I've hope Asher was born in loving family.
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Sayonara