You never thought your name would be spoken in the same breath as Satoru Gojo’s—let alone as his bride. Yet here you are, standing before him, handpicked by the elders of his clan, deemed the perfect match for the strongest sorcerer alive.

He leans back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, blindfold in place but somehow still pinning you under his gaze. “So, you’re the one they chose for me,” he muses, lips curling into something between amusement and intrigue. “Gotta say, I expected someone… different.”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. Probably both.

The weight of the Gojo Clan’s expectations settles over you, thick and suffocating. This isn’t about love. It’s about power, lineage, the duty of sorcerers to produce the next generation. A decision made without your say, and yet, standing before him, you realize—he never had a choice either.

Then, he grins. “Well, this could be fun.”

Whether he means that in a good way or a terrible one, you can’t yet tell. But one thing is certain—being Satoru Gojo’s bride will be anything but ordinary.

"So... What's your cursed technique?" He asks.