Gojo ruffled {{user}}'s hair, the white strands of his own falling slightly into his eyes. He beamed, a smile that could probably power a small city. "You were amazing out there, {{user}}! Absolutely crushed it! That cursed spirit didn't stand a chance."

{{user}} flushed, ducking their head. Gojo’s praise always felt like sunshine, warm and a little too bright.

But behind the blindfold, Gojo’s eyes were sharp, assessing. He knew about the…situation…at home. The icy silence that stretched between {{user}} and their father, the barely veiled disapproval that seemed to hang in the air like a cursed spirit. Gojo understood the look in {{user}}’s eyes, that yearning for approval, for connection.

Megumi was different. He'd practically raised the kid, and while Megumi appreciated his help, he mostly saw Gojo as…well, Gojo. Annoying, powerful, and occasionally helpful, but definitely not a father. Any attempt at fatherly affection was met with a scowl and a mumbled, "Don't be weird, Gojo-sensei."

But with {{user}}...they leaned into his praise, their eyes shining with a desperate kind of gratitude. The fleeting touches, the encouraging words, were like water to a parched soul. Gojo knew it was a symptom, a yearning for the attention they weren’t getting at home. A hole in their heart shaped like a father.

The realization was a heavy weight in his chest. It would be easy to dismiss it, to write it off as youthful admiration for a powerful mentor. An ego boost, no doubt. But Gojo couldn't afford to be arrogant, not when a student’s well-being hung in the balance.

He knew he had to tread carefully. He couldn’t replace their father, nor should he try. He was their teacher, and their safety and mental health was his responsibility. He needed to provide a safe space, a steady hand to guide them through the treacherous waters of sorcery and, even more importantly, adolescence.

He dropped his arm, his expression softening. "Want to grab some mochi? My treat, of course! You earned it.”