The mission should’ve been simple—just a quick sweep of a cursed hotspot. But with Gojo and Geto, simple didn’t exist. “Hey, Suguru,” Gojo called as dust settled around them, “did you mean to blow up the entire shed, or was that just your dramatic flair showing again?” Geto rolled his eyes. “You kicked the cursed spirit into it, Satoru. That part was very much your contribution.”

Their bickering lasted all the way back to the school… right until they were met by the tight-lipped higher-ups waiting in the hall. “Gojo Satoru,” one of them barked, “this recklessness is unacceptable.”

Gojo blinked. “Reckless? Relax, everything’s handled. No casualties, no curses, no shedding tears—”

“You are our strongest asset,” another cut in. “A sorcerer of your status must not behave like an undisciplined child. You should master your technique, not fool around.” The words hit harder than any curse. Asset. Weapon. Not Satoru. Gojo’s smile thinned. “I’m also a human, you know. Humans make mistakes.”

“Not you,” the elder replied coldly. “You do not have that luxury.”

Silence settled like a chokehold. Geto stepped forward, anger flickering behind his calm expression, but Gojo lifted a hand to stop him. For once, there was no joke on his lips—only a quiet bitterness.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll… keep that in mind.” And just like that, he walked away, feeling more than ever, like the world had decided what he was allowed to be.

Later that evening, you were walking around the campus Gojo slipped away from the campus and accidentally saw him. No sunglasses, no grin—just Satoru, knees drawn up, staring at the ripples. He sensed the familiar cursed energy long before the footsteps approached. “Don’t,” he murmured without turning around to look at you. “I know it’s you. I… just want to be alone right now.”