To Love-Ru: Yūki Rito × JJK Templates

"Every life lived, every choice made, leaves an imprint. What if some imprints are deep enough to transcend the individual, becoming part of a larger consciousness?"

______

'I don't work for free.' That's what I would always say before making a run for it. But now the awakened power of the ⃞⃞⃞⃞ stands before me. He's probably the greatest ⃞⃞⃞ alive. I wanted to discredit it. To crush it. The pinnacle of the ⃞⃞⃞ world and the ⃞⃞⃞n family. I wanted this for self-affirmation. And I deviated from my true self. 

At that point, I had already lost. I thought I had set aside such petty pride. To be proud neither of myself nor others… I chose that path, didn't I?" 

Rito could feel what the man before him was thinking, feeling, experiencing. 

He walked amongst men, a god among shadows, seeing all, yet unseen.

Tall and powerfully built, with straight black hair falling around his ears and a jagged scar pulling at the corner of his lip. His eyes are green. And a gaping, cauterized void had replaced his left side, a testament to the terrifying power of the shadowy figure who stood over him, victorious. 

This was death, clear and absolute. 

His feelings poured into Rito—a lifetime of scorn and resentment. He experienced flashes of memory: Born with a Heavenly Restriction that completely erased ⃞⃞⃞⃞ energy from his body and relying on ⃞⃞⃞⃞ tools to fight, He was seen as inferior by many of his relatives. 

This disgust of him was held so high, to the point where in his childhood he would be abused and a childhood spent in a disciplinary pit, thrown there by his own clan, the cold terror of monstrous spirits crawling over him, the very experience that caused the scar into his lips.

Despite this, as an adult, some members of the family would develop a tremendous fear of this physical strength, while others would grow to respect it. When he was still within that Clan.

But now, that man had a gaping hole in his left side of his body, all vanished before that Purple energy ball from that shadowy figure what he call the greatest ⃞⃞⃞ Alive. He chose to try and cut down the most gifted ⃞⃞⃞⃞ in the world as another way to spite them all. 

Pride, a venom, sweet upon the tongue. And unfortunately, this pride cost his life. Unable to look past his demons, he deviated from his natural instincts and ignored the uneasiness plaguing him during the fight.

Rito stood as witness, neither judge nor guest. That was the first… first other Personality/Shadow of his mind/a different world/ or whatever, it didn't matter what he called it. The man who had always stood tall, a defiant smile on his lips, was now facing his end.

And Rito felt no sadness, nor was he terrified facing death as he looked at the shadowy figure before him.

Sadness was an emotion for an outsider, a mourner. He was not an outsider. In this fleeting, impossible moment, he was a witness, a vessel for a life's final account. To feel sorrow would be to pass judgment on a man who had already judged himself and accepted the verdict.

To witness a life's end is to hold a universe in your hands – its triumphs, its regrets, its final, resolute peace. The man accepted his death. 

And Rito, the silent inheritor of his last moments, accepted his will—not a command or a mission, but the raw, untamed essence of his strength, his instincts, and the price was his profound, tragic pride and past.

It felt like a lifetime had passed. 

Rito saw the world from a god-like perspective and from 'him'. The dream world looked bright, but anything alive appeared as a shadow, while monsters looked grotesque. Sometimes, he couldn't discern who was what – a human in shadow form or a monster wearing human skin.

The monstrous hides in plain sight, and beauty often wears a disguise. Perhaps the truest vision is not what we see, but what we absorb without judgment. This was how he had seen the world, a world stripped of illusion. 

Rito didn't question it, he simply accepted the world as it is. This was a part of him now.

Then, silence fell, a curtain softly drawn, the dream ended here. He had a feeling that this person's dream and life would become a part of him.

but the name Toji Fushiguro was now embedded in a part of his soul. 

________

It was morning. 

The moment Rito opened his eyes, he knew everything had changed.

He was a ghost in his own life, reborn with the senses of a god and the memories of a killer.

The scales fell from his eyes, and he saw the world anew, not as it was, but as it truly is.

The first thing he noticed was the dust. Not as usual cloudy haze, but as individual motes drifting in the pre-dawn light, each a perfect, individual shimmering speck. he could see them clearly. 

He could trace the complex whorls in the wood grain of his ceiling, count the loose threads in his blanket. His gaze fell upon his own hands, and he saw the faint network of lines on his skin, the subtle shifts of muscle beneath, with a clarity that almost felt microscopic.

His body was physically refined to an unimaginable level, his body still adjusting to the tremendous improvement in his body. 

This wasn't just a physical change. It was physiological, psychological. A level to the point, it feels like he was Rebirth from the atomic level. 

This was the effect of Inheritance. 

And this inheritance also includes Toji's memory. He felt clear and cool-headed. He doesn't feel the shock, or any dizzying panic at the sudden hyper-awareness. 

There was only a sense of correctness, as if a distorted lens he'd been looking through his entire life had finally been wiped clean, as if this is how it should be. 

This was natural. This power, this body, this mind—all of this was meant to be his.

The time was around 5' o clock, he didn't mind early awakening, rather he wakes up early or sometimes, or sometimes doesn't sleep at all. 

He moved to the window and vanished from his room, reappearing on the ground below without a sound. His body absorbed the impact of the drop as if it were nothing. Rito felt he could traverse a floor of dry leaves without a single crackle.

The world was full of sounds he had never truly heard before.

The steady beat of his own heart, the subtle creak of his bones with every slight movement, the whisper-soft sound of his eyelids blinking. He could even hear the rush of blood through his veins and the tiny footsteps of ants on the pavement several feet away.

He could even distinguish the individual chirps of different birds, and across the neighborhood, the low, murmuring sounds of other humans, some asleep, others starting their days. 

Rito could feel and feel the subtle shift in air pressure as a car passed on a distant street. 

His senses, all five of them, were heightened to their absolute peak, feeding him a constant, crystal-clear stream of information that his mind processed without effort.

"This is the Heavenly Restriction," he muttered,his tone has changed too, sounding deeper, more stoic to his new ears.

Rito doesn't know the extent of current physical prowess. He thought of the two men in black suits from the previous night. 

He didn't know the full extent of his current prowess, but the memory of the two men in black suits from the previous night replayed in his mind—their movements, their strength, their tails. 

He knew, with absolute certainty, that defeating them now would be trivial. Killing them would be easy. And this wasn't his limit. There was still room to grow. He was growing stronger each moment.

For the next half an hour, he explored the neighborhood, like a phantom, moving through his own world, testing his new capabilities and enjoying the flood of sensation. 

When he returned, the state of his room, that was once acceptable, now looked intolerably messy due to his heightened perception. His morning was spent cleaning it meticulously until not a single speck of dust remained.

The floor looked shining. 

_________

Not surprising, under the hot spray of the shower, Rito ran his hands over his body. There were no scars, he checked just in case, he noticed his muscles felt denser, well defined and toned. 

Wiping his wet hair with a towel, he stepped out of the bathroom and came face-to-face with Mikan, her own hair still adorably messy from sleep.

"Onii… chan?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She blinked, once, then twice, a small frown creasing her brow as she tried to place the boy standing before her. It was Rito, but… not.

"Yes," Rito titled his head in confusion in her questioning tone, "Good morning." He gave her a smile. Her gaze sharpened, locking onto his. The confusion didn't vanish, but a different emotion settled over it, she felt concern. 

"You… come here," she said softly. She gently took the towel from his unresisting hand. 

"Sit." She led him to the living room, her small hand warm in his, and had him sit on the floor in front of her and in between her legs. It was a familiar, comforting routine. As she began to carefully dry his hair.

"Your hair feels… thicker," she commented, her fingers gently massaging his scalp. "Honestly, Rito, did you do something? It's gone completely black. And don't think I haven't noticed your eyes. Are you getting into cosplay now?"

"No," he said, his eyes closed, enjoying the simple comfort of her touch. "No cosplay."

Still the changes were undeniable, his once brownish hair was now jet black, his eyes a deep green instead of their usual golden orange. It was hard to believe he wasn't wearing contacts.

Mikan's hands stilled for a moment. Her voice dropped to a soft whisper, full of a worry she was trying to hide.

"Then… something happened last night, didn't it?"

Onii-Chan is different. Nobody knew Rito better than she did. It's his face. It's his name. But the air around him is different. The way he stands... it's different. He used to slouch just a little, a comfortable, familiar slump. Now... he holds himself like a drawn bowstring. 

Still, but full of... something. His smile was right, but the calm in his eyes and the unique and unnerving calm and the tone in his voice. That felt wrong. It wasn't just the change in hair and eyes. He feels so different. His voice… it sounded distant. 

"Yeah. I met a girl." A flicker of surprise and then a smile touched Rito's lips. A lie would have been an act of pity. The truth, as ludicrous as it was, was an act of respect. And he decided to tell her the truth. 

Mikan's hands froze completely. A complex mix of emotions washed over her face—surprise, suspicion, and a hint of sisterly protectiveness. 

"A girl?" she repeated, her voice cautious.

"Her name is Lala," Rito continued, his tone even. "She's an alien."

For a second, Mikan just stared at the back of his head. Then, she let out a quiet breath and played along, "An alien? Is that so? Was she pretty?" a hint of teasing returning to her voice. 

"Very," Rito replied honestly.

Mikan sighed, a soft, exasperated sound, and resumed drying his hair. "Onii-chan, your dreams are getting more and more bizarre. Maybe if you got a real girlfriend, you wouldn't have to dream them up."She had almost believed him for a second, almost thinking something truly impossible had happened. The feeling still lingered. She thought he'd truly fallen in love at first sight.

"It felt real enough," Rito said quietly.

"That's what you always say," she countered, though her tone was gentle. "Still," Mikan muttered, her voice regaining its doting warmth, "your hair has gotten a little long. I should trim it for you later." She finished her work and gave his head a final, affectionate pat. "There. All done."

Rito stood and turned, sitting beside her on the sofa. Before he could speak, she looked him straight in the eyes, her own expression stripped of all teasing, filled with an unwavering sincerity that made her seem far older than her years.

"Rito, look at me." Her voice was soft but left no room for argument. "If something is really wrong… you know you can tell me, right? No matter how strange it is. I mean it. We're in this together, always." He saw the deep, genuine worry swimming in her eyes. He let out a slow breath.

"Yeah, something happened to me, Mikan," he said, his voice softer now, closer to his old self. He met her gaze without wavering. "It was… like another dream. But you don't have to worry. I'll show you tonight."

Her eyes widened slightly at the admission. "Show me?" she whispered, confusion wrestling with her concern. "What do you mean by that?"

Rito offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Just what I said. I can't really explain it with words. It's better if I show you. Just trust me for a little while longer, okay?"

She searched his face for a long moment, seeing the honesty in his confession and the promise in his eyes. He wasn't pushing her away; he was asking her to wait. Choosing to place her faith in him, she nodded slowly, her grip on his hand tightening.

"Okay," she squeezed his hand back. "If you say so."

"Good." Relief washed over him as he pulled her into a brief, warm hug. 

"Now, you go get ready. I'll make breakfast today."

Mikan watched him walk towards the kitchen, his back straight and confident in a way it had never been before. He was different, no doubt about it, and a thousand questions buzzed in her mind. 

The world presented her with a puzzle: a brother who was not her brother. Logic offered her easy answers: he's tired, he's joking, he's sick. But love offered a single, more difficult answer: he's true. She chose the difficult answer.

When she heard the familiar sounds of him starting breakfast, a small smile appeared on her lips. He was still her brother, and for now, that was enough.

***

A/N: And a God is born.