The soft rustle of leaves outside the Gojo estate was the only sound in the quiet room. Satoru leaned against the doorframe, his ever-present blindfold resting on his forehead, revealing those brilliant, piercing eyes. Across from him sat you, his younger brother, hunched over on the tatami mat, staring down at his hands as if searching for the strength he knew he didn’t have.

You were a failure in the eyes of the Gojo clan—no extraordinary techniques, no overwhelming power, just a shadow living in the glow of his older brother's brilliance. The whispers from the elders, the silent glances of disappointment—they weighed heavily on you. But Satoru, towering above him, wasn’t here to judge.

“Hey,” Satoru said, his tone unusually soft. “You don’t need to be me.”