A Strange Crossover

That day, the clouds were low, as if they were mourning alongside everyone else. There was a constant gray covering the sky that made time feel like it was moving slower and crept into your bones. The wind sighed through the long, copper-colored grass, bringing with it the slight smell of rain and the brittle crunch of leaves that had fallen. Crows stood calm and silent in trees far away. No song from the birds. There is no sun. The earth is only holding its breath.

A modest canopy had been built up near the burial place. There were perhaps two dozen people standing under it. They were neighbors, extended family, old fishing pals, and a few men from the old carpenter's guild. Their coats were dark, and their faces were much darker. Most of them clasped their hats in their hands or pressed them to their chests. Faces were marred with tears, some raw with sadness, others simply bewildered by the finality of it.

The old man's casket—made from oak he had once fallen himself—lay lying above the open grave, polished clean and plain, with a faint carved border of intertwined branches and roses. No fancy designs. Just the subtle craftsmanship he'd admired throughout life.

Beside the casket stood his son, Caleb Thorne. Mid-thirties, unshaven, tie slightly askew, knuckles white around the aged paper folded in his palm. His breath trembled as he stepped forward. A hush spread through the crowd. Only the rustling leaves answered.

He cleared his throat, and his voice sounded low but steady: "My father was not a loud man. He didn't fill rooms with speech, or thrust himself into the forefront. But he was there—always there. A constant, like the ticking of the clock in our hallway or the creak of floorboards in winter. Reliable. Quietly brilliant. And stubborn until the very end."

A gentle giggle rumbled through the sorrow. Caleb took a breath, eyes scouring the slopes his father used to hike each morning.

"He built this home. I don't mean the house—we all know he constructed it too—but I mean the feeling of home. The fire that was constantly burning when we came in out of the cold. The way he could mend anything with a little wire and a lot of patience. The stories he told—not many, but always the right ones at the appropriate time."

He paused, voice catching.

"I remember being ten years old, crying over a bird I found dead in the yard. And he didn't give me some speech about life and death. He just knelt alongside me and whispered, 'Sometimes, son, things leave us quietly than they arrive. Doesn't mean they weren't important.'"

A tear slid down his cheek. He didn't wipe it.

"He never wanted much fuss made over him. He wouldn't like all this, I guess. But he deserves it. He gave everything he had to the people he loved—and even when he had nothing left to give, he found a way to give more. If I can be half the guy he was... if I can make my children feel even a quarter as safe as he made me... then I'll consider my life a good one."

Caleb stepped back, voice barely above a whisper now.

"Rest well, Dad. You deserved it."

The hush following was total. Even the wind paused. Then an old man in a tweed coat removed his cap, lowered his head, and whispered a gravelly prayer. Someone sniffled. Someone else wailed.

And then, the first shovel of earth hit the lid with a quiet clunk.

One by one, they stepped forward, each tossing in a handful of dirt or a flower—crimson dahlias, Elias's favorite. The clouds didn't break. The sun never came. But as the burial filled and the hilltop cleared, a curious warmth lingered in the air.

A warmth that had nothing to do with weather.

And everything to do with memor

The old man awoke not with agony or serenity, but with confusion.

There was no casket. No grave. No aching joints. No aroma of oak and earth. Just an intense brightness that hurt his eyes, and a chilling sense of wrongness, like a violin string plucked too tight.

He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt stubby, frail—like twigs rather than limbs.

His eyesight clouded, and slowly focused.

A large paper-paneled ceiling above him. The pleasant whisper of wind chimes through an open window. Tatami mats beneath his body. A fragrance of incense and bitter plants. He gazed down, barely realizing

what he saw—tiny hands. Soft, light skin. A child's body.

"…What…?"

He strained for his voice but what came out was a faint, scratchy gasp—more of a wheeze than a word.

[System Initialization: Soul Integration Complete.]

The words burnt themselves into his consciousness. Not uttered out, but engraved directly into his consciousness, like heat forced into wax.

Welcome, Elias Thorne. You have been reincarnated as: Arata Gojo

Age: 3 years, 2 months

Current Stats:

Name Arata Gojo

Age 3

Level 0

Stats

Str 4

Speed 3

Int 4

End 3

Sta 3

A/n: Anything above 14 stats points for 3 y/o make him equal to a 14 y/o.

Trait Detected: Void aura, Ability (Locked), Skill (Locked)

System: 'Growth Ledger' unlocked. All progress will be tracked.

"…Arata?" the old soul echoed, frowning.

Suddenly, memory rushed in—not his own, but vivid and raw.

A tiny boy sobbing behind a wooden door, clutching a torn rice ball.

A cold voice: "He's defective. A Gojo with no cursed energy? Pathetic."

Whispers from distant halls: "We should have drowned him at birth."

The boy kneeling for hours in the snow outside the shrine, waiting for forgiveness that never came.

A hand. A slap. The taste of blood in a child's mouth.

Dreams of power, turned nightmares of rejection.

The flood of it buckled Elias's breath, made his new body tremble with a rage and sorrow that wasn't entirely his—but was now part of him.

He crawled toward the nearest mirror—low, silver-backed, resting by a corner pillar. The child's reflection stared back. Pale blue eyes wide with shock. White hair, matted and unevenly cut. A thin scar across his brow. Cheeks hollow. Small and unloved.

A/n: No six eyes for him…yet

He touched the mirror with tiny fingers. "You poor soul…" he whispered hoarsely.

[Fragment Memory Integration: Original Soul – Arata Gojo]

The minute Elias fully linked with the vessel, he wasn't met with a blank slate.

He was met with yelling.

A child's memories were woven into the bones of this body like barbed wire – raw, harsh, and heartbreaking to watch.

He noticed a boy… Arata.

Alone, always alone.

Locked in a chilly stone room for weeks because he dared to play with other youngsters.

Whipped with cursed bamboo rods by clan elders for "wasting sacred blood."

Denied sustenance unless he exceeded absurd expectations: ignite a blaze with cursed energy.

Each failure regarded not with compassion, but scorn.

Once, he reached for his mother's sleeve. She flinched.

"You're not my child. You're a punishment."

That night, Arata ceased speaking altogether.

No friends. No warmth.

Only responsibility, expectation, and eventual erasure.

Even the servants hated to utter his name aloud.

He cried once, for hours.

No one came.

He stopped crying after that.

Then came the final day.

A storm battered against the Gojo complex.

Lightning shattered the sky, and young Arata—barely three years old—stood atop the high northern wall.

Thin arms trembling. Barefoot. Rain falling.

"I was born wrong," the child mumbled to no one.

"If I return to the Void, maybe I'll come back right… maybe then they'll love me."

And he jumped.

The fall never ended.

But when his soul shattered…

Elias Thorne landed.

He sat in startled quiet after the memory passed. Rage and sadness combining in him like oil and flame.

"You… you didn't die because you were weak. You died because they broke you."

Tiny fists clenched. His breath was ragged.

"Not anymore."

[Soul Override Confirmed – Elias Thorne: Dominant Core]

[System Questline Created: "The Legacy He Was Denied"]

Duration: 10 Years (Max)

Primary Objective: Reclaim the Rightful Power of the your Lineage & Forge a New Myth

Daily & Weekly Quests – The Grind to Greatness

"Thread Meditation"

Sit within your own curse marks. Draw a circle. Let it whisper back.

Objective: Meditate surrounded by cursed thread patterns

Buff: +0.5% Cursed Energy Control

Bonus: "Thread Awareness" buff (6 hours - danger detection)

Reward: Unlock Curse Energy stats, +1 INT/month, +1lvl

"Train Like No One Sees You"

Beneath a broken shrine, in the dead of night, your fists echo where no one applauds.

Objective: Practice martial arts and drills alone for 2 hours daily for 10 years

Bonus: x2 EXP if done late night/early morning

Reward: +1 to all stats per month, +1lvl

"Breathe Between the Strikes"

Your breath is the blade. Your silence, the scabbard.

Objective: 30 minutes of uninterrupted Hamon breathing

Reward: Ripple clarity, Calm Mind buff (resist instability), Unlock: Hamon stats, +1lvl

"In Their Shadow"

Watch from behind the broken arch. They spar. You learn.

Objective: Spy on Gojo clan training undetected

Bonus: +7 INT, +1lvl

Streak Reward: After 7 completions, mimic 1 technique

"Street Scars"

Blood on your sleeve. Ash in your mouth. Another name remembers you.

Objective: Win a fight in the slums against any supernatural entity

Reward: +3 Stamina, +10 Underworld Reputation, +1lvl

Rare Drop: Unlock "Street Style" stance trait

Milestone Quests – Soul, Identity, Unlocks

"Make the Forgotten Remember"

Touch the broken. Feed the ignored. Breathe life into the discarded.

Objective: Help one servant/outcast of the Gojo estate weekly

Reward: +15 Respect in Clan, +1lvl

Passive: Random loyal followers may appear later

"Ghost of Who I Was"

The room still smells like sobbing. You know what you left here.

Objective: Enter your childhood prison, sit in silence for 1 hour

Reward: Soul Resonance Fragment, Unlock 100% body-soul sync, synergy with all locked stats, +1lvl

Bonus Buff: +10% Curse Synchronization

Time Limit: 2 years

"Reclaim Your Name"

The wall is clean. Your blade is sharp. The paint is blood.

Objective: Etch "Arata Gojo" publicly in clan grounds

Reward: +10 Willpower, +2 Speed, +1lvl

Title: Name Returned

Bonus: Clan NPCs begin whispering your name

"Master the Morning Silence"

The world breathes before the sun. You must breathe louder.

Objective: Daily Ki meditation routine

Reward: Unlock Ki stats, +1lvl

Combat & Power Quests – High Risk, High Reward

"Beat the Bloodied Apprentice"

The one who mocked you is strong. But now, so are you.

Objective: Defeat a mid-level student in single combat

Reward: +Cursed Technique, +1 lvl

Drop: Custom cursed weapon shard

Reputation: +Infamy (clan-wide hostility +2)

Time Limit: 2 years

"Duel in the Alley"

No powers. No help. Just fists, fury, and the crowd's silence.

Objective: Win a slum ring duel under mortal rules

Reward: +10 Ki stats, +3lvl, +Street Fame

Bonus: Access to underground trainer

Time Limit: 5 years

"Crush the Chain Enforcers"

They come in threes. They wear your father's crest. Leave only one breathing.

Objective: Eliminate arrogant hero squad patrol

Reward: Unlock Quirk, +5lvl

Time Limit: 5 years

"Archrival Emergence"

Satoru Gojo trained in light. You grew in shadow. He still thinks he's above you.

Trigger: Reach 15 Rep or challenge Satoru

Reward: Motivation-based power surges, +1lvl

Drop: Rare cursed crystal (evolves base technique)

Time Limit: 2 years

As the wind stirred outside the chamber where the three-year-old kid now sat with the soul of a fighter burning inside him, the world shifted.

A monster was being born.

Not one bred in hate—

—but fashioned in justice, in memory of a kid who never got the chance to live.

"I will take everything they denied you," Elias muttered, eyes flaming.

"Your birthright. Your dignity. Your name."

Somewhere in the Gojo compound, a pair of elders felt a cold shiver crawl up their spines. The cursed child they had cast aside… had opened his eyes.