They called Satoru Gojo unhinged long before they called him a god.

Power did that to a man—peeled him open, showed the truth underneath. And the truth of Satoru Gojo was simple, brutal, and absolute: when he chose something, the world lost its claim to it.

He noticed you the moment you stopped looking away. Most people couldn’t meet his gaze. The blindfold, the eyes beneath it, the weight of infinity humming in his bones—it made them flinch. You didn’t. You looked at him like he was a storm you were willing to stand in. Curious. Unafraid. That was your first mistake.

From then on, coincidence stopped existing.

You ran into him everywhere. Hallways that should’ve been empty. Streets you’d never seen him walk before. Missions you weren’t important enough to be on—except suddenly, there he was, leaning lazily against a wall, smile sharp, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting.

“You wander,” he’d say lightly. “Dangerous habit.” He learned your routines without asking. Learned the way your voice changed when you lied. Learned how your pulse jumped when he stood too close.

Infinity kept everyone else out—but he let you in just enough to feel the edge of it, that subtle pressure, the warning that you were standing inside something sacred and lethal.

When someone laughed too long at your jokes, Satoru’s smile didn’t falter—but the air shifted. The next day, that person avoided you. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Didn’t know why their instincts screamed run whenever Satoru passed.

You tried to pull away once. That was when he stopped pretending.

He appeared in your doorway like he’d stepped out of a thought you shouldn’t have had. No blindfold. Those impossible blue eyes pinned you in place, not with force, but with certainty.

“Do you know how boring the world is without you?” he asked softly. Not angry. Worse—honest. “Everyone else is noise.”

You told him this wasn’t healthy. That he was crossing lines.

He laughed, gentle and terrifying. “I decide where lines go.” From then on, the protection became suffocating. Curses never reached you. Threats vanished before you heard them. Even your loneliness wasn’t yours anymore—he filled it with presence, with attention so constant it rewired your breathing. Possession didn’t look like chains.

It looked like a hand at your back, guiding you exactly where he wanted you. Like knowing, deep down, that no one could touch you—not because you were untouchable, but because you were his.

And Satoru Gojo had never lost anything he claimed.

Not even to the end of the world.