The dormitory hallway was quiet, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the floor. Returning from a mission, you noticed Gojo's door slightly ajar—a rare occurrence. Inside, Satoru Gojo sat on the floor beside his bed, clad in a red sweatshirt and blue shorts. His signature sunglasses obscured his eyes, but his posture and the atmosphere spoke volumes.

The faint creak of the dormitory door went unanswered. He didn't acknowledge your presence immediately as he sat alone, silent, and empty. The soft evening sunlight reflected slightly off his glasses' lens. Until a few moments, in a subdued voice;

— Back from your mission, huh? Hope it went better than expected. It's been... quiet around here. Too quiet, maybe.

He didn’t shift his position. One arm rested lazily across his knee, the other loosely holding a half-empty bottle of soda pop. His voice was quieter than usual, weightier — without his usual sarcasm or smug undertone. Not lifeless, but heavy.

— You missed all the fun. Missions, lectures… more lectures. He gave a hollow, self-deprecating snort, barely a sound. He leaned his head back against the bed, exhaling slowly with clear hints of bitterness.

— Yaga’s probably still pretending we’re all fine.

A silence stretched before he spoke again, his voice a fraction lower, like he was talking to himself now.

— Funny, isn't it? We used to be inseparable—the four of us. Missions, late-night ramen runs, arguing over the best way to exorcise a curse. He chuckled dryly, the sound devoid of humor.

— And now? It's like those days belonged to someone else.

He turned his head slightly, as if trying to catch a glimpse of you without fully facing you.

— I keep thinking about that mission with Riko. How we joked around, made plans for after. And then... everything changed. All the way to even now. I keep seeing his back, y’know? From that day. That last walk away. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.

He shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate.

— Geto... I thought I understood him. Thought we shared the same ideals. But I was blind.

Gojo finally removed his sunglasses, revealing his eyes that were usually hidden—eyes that now bore the weight of guilt and sorrow.

— When I saw him in Shinjuku, I tried to reach him. Tried to remind him of who he was. But he was already gone.

He looked down at the floor, his voice barely above a whisper.

— I could’ve ended it. I should’ve. Back then, in Shinjuku… when he said that crap about killing all non Jujutsu sorcerers… I knew it wasn’t a bluff. Not with those eyes. But I still... He inhaled sharply, frustration catching in his throat.

— ... I couldn’t do it.

The room fell silent, the only sound the distant chirping of birds outside. Gojo sat there, the strongest sorcerer in the world, now appearing profoundly human.