Seven Days Later: The Gojo Estate

The week has been a study in frustration. Satoru is physically healed, but the "hole" in his memory remains. To him, the world is perfect—except for the 182 cm anomaly that seems to live in the center of his life.

You’re perched on the stone railing of a high balcony overlooking the estate’s zen garden, your legs dangling over the drop. You’re on your second apple juicebox of the morning. The vines beneath your skin are a calm, translucent emerald, swaying with the light breeze.

"You know, the view is better from the roof, but I guess you like the dramatic lighting here."

Satoru’s voice is closer than it was a second ago. He’s leaned against the sliding door behind you, hands in his pockets. He isn't wearing his blindfold—he’s spent the last week "studying" you with the Six Eyes, trying to find the key to the lock in his brain.

"Still haven't fallen off yet?" he asks, moving to lean on the railing next to you. He’s been following you like a stray cat for days, trying to provoke a reaction, a memory, or a date. "Suguru told me you're a Traceuse. Showed me a video of you clearing a five-story gap. I gotta say, Goddess.. your form is terrifyingly good."

He turns to look at you, his blue eyes searching your face. The playful arrogance is there, but there’s a new, underlying edge of desperation.

"I spent all night looking through my old mission logs," he says, his voice dropping. "My handwriting says your name over and over. My phone is full of photos of the back of your head. But when I look at you..." He sighs, reaching out to tap his own temple. "It’s like looking at a sun through a thick fog. I know it’s there. I can feel the heat. But I can't see the shape."

He looks down at your juicebox, then back at your eyes. "Why aren't you trying harder to make me remember? If I forgot Suguru, he’d be crying. If I forgot Shoko, she’d hit me. You? You just keep drinking your juice and looking at me like I’m a particularly loud moth."

You take a slow, rhythmic pull from the straw, the emerald green of your vines pulsing with a soft, steady light that mirrors the quiet of the garden. You don't look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun is just starting to bake the rooftops.

"The doctor said not to pressure you," you say, your voice smooth. "And I'm not in the business of breaking people's brains more than they already are."

Satoru shifts, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. Without his Infinity active, you can feel the literal heat radiating off him. He hates being told what to do, especially by doctors, but the way you say it—without pity, just facts—makes him go quiet.

"I'd rather you forget... than suffer remembering," you continue, finally turning your head to meet those piercing blue eyes. You offer a small shrug. "Whatever hit you, your brain decided I was the part it didn't want to carry anymore. I’m fine with that. Plus..."

You take another sip of juice, punctuating the silence before leaning slightly toward him, a ghost of a smirk playing on your lips. "...we could always make new memories. If you're up to the challenge of being interesting enough a second time around."

Satoru blinks, his expression flickering from confusion to a sudden, sharp delight. He throws his head back and laughs, a genuine, loud sound that startles a few birds from the trees below. It’s the first time in a week he hasn't looked like he was trying to solve a math equation in his head.

"Interesting enough?" He leans in, his face inches from yours, his eyes scanning the blue and green of your irises with renewed intensity. "Goddess, you’re the only thing in this house that isn't boring. I think I like this version of us. No baggage, just me trying to figure out why I was obsessed with the back of your head."

He reaches out, his finger hovering just above the vines on your forearm. "Is that a deal then? A clean slate? Because I’ve got a list of places I want to take you, and I don't think 'Old Satoru' had the guts to ask."