He was born again. He didn't know why or how but he felt like the living again. In a fleeting moment, Toji's consciousness jolted awake to a world both unrecognizable and utterly foreign. The air crackled with an unfamiliar energy, and as his senses slowly adjusted, he became acutely aware of a youthful vitality coursing through his veins. His body, once weathered and aged, now pulsed with renewed vigor.
Toji's mind echoed with the haunting remnants of a life left behind—a bitter defeat in a confrontation that sealed his fate. The memories of an unfinished battle against the prodigious Gojo reverberated through his thoughts, a bitter reminder of the mortality he thought he had accepted. The sensation of loss intertwined with the sheer emptiness of his final moments, where the significance of his past actions faded into irrelevance.
In the recesses of his mind, a poignant image emerged—the ghostly visage of his ex-wife, a spectral presence holding their newborn son. The ache of an unresolved past surged within him, a yearning for connections severed by circumstance and personal choices. That fleeting glimpse of familial bliss now seemed like a distant dream, a poignant reminder of what could never be reclaimed.
As he grappled with these fragmented recollections, Toji found himself standing in a world teeming with vibrant life, a stark contrast to the desolation of his last memories. A surge of determination coursed through him, igniting a newfound purpose amid the remnants of his past regrets.
But as of right now, he's a child again and the words that he could put it are...
"This is bullshit." In a young voice, the young child was laying in a orphanage with no care in the world, having a black shirt he wore dwarfed his small torso and his shorts stopped just above boney knees. He was wearing soft, rubber soled sandals, and the cuteness of it pissed him off even more.
Scene Change
When he realizes how he was born again, it didn't please him in the slightest. Toji's frustration simmered as he navigated the enigmatic realm of ninja prowess. In his past life, knowledge was a weapon, a key to dominance. Yet here, details were shrouded in veils of secrecy, historical accounts leaving gaping holes in the narratives of formidable figures like Senju Hashirama.
His mind raced, dissecting the disparity between historical timelines and the colossal trees that stood sentinel around Konoha. The discrepancy gnawed at him—a hundred-year gap impossible to reconcile with natural growth. It begged the unspoken question: what unrecorded power had the history books deliberately concealed?
The absence of accessible information rankled Toji. In the world of sorcerers, knowledge had been relatively accessible, aiding his understanding and ultimate triumph. But here, within the secretive folds of ninja prowess, such transparency seemed a luxury denied.
"Hey you!" The boy looked over to see another boy around his age. He was with him in the orphanage as well seeing the poor clothing. He didn't know why he was talking to him, he isolated from himself from the other kids knowing either one of two will happen, ignore them or just beat them up.
"Hey! Stop ignoring me!" Toji's eye twitch a little with the boy trying to get his attention. The boy just closed his eyes to pray that the loud brat could just leave him alone. It probably was a success.
"Why do you look like that?"
It wasn't.
Opening his eyes, Toji surveyed the boy with a measured gaze. A mop of vibrant blonde hair framed a face adorned with a headband fashioned with goggles, a peculiar choice of accessory.
Toji regarded the blonde boy with a measured gaze, his expression a mixture of weariness and faint intrigue. "What do you want?"
The boy, undeterred by Toji's apparent disinterest, grinned widely. "I've never seen someone like you before! You're not from around here, are you?"
