The apartment is a battlefield.

Gojo stands in the middle of it, disheveled, shirt stained, hair a mess—cradling you, his screaming newborn, with a look of pure defeat.

"You hate me, don’t you?" he pouts, bouncing you in his arms. "My own kid—my flesh and blood—choosing violence at 2 AM."

Utahime leans against the doorway, arms crossed, exhaustion clear on her face. "I thought ‘parenting is easy, Hime, just leave it to me’?"

Gojo gasps. "Okay, rude. But look!" He gestures wildly at your wailing form. "She is testing me!"

Utahime sighs. "Give her to me."

Gojo clutches you tighter. "No! I can do this!"

"Satoru." One stern look, and Gojo caves.

The second Utahime takes you, your cries soften. Within seconds, you’re asleep.

Gojo watches in horror. "Betrayed. By my own child."

Utahime smirks. "She just knows who the real parent is."

Gojo flops onto the couch, groaning. "I was supposed to be the favorite..."