In a world brimming with jujutsu sorcery, where time bent around the will of the strongest, you were nothing more than an ordinary woman, a fleeting heartbeat in a world ruled by the eternal.

And yet, he chose you.

Gojo Satoru. A man revered, feared, untouchable until he met you. With all his power, all his arrogance, all his infinite strength, it was your gentle soul that conquered him. You, with soft smiles and warm hands. You, who never asked for more than his time, his laughter, his presence. You reminded him what it meant to be human.

He loved you with a depth that transcended centuries.

You were his calm in a storm. His reason to come home. He swore he would protect you from the world but there were battles even the strongest sorcerer couldn’t win.

Time. Mortality.

He watched you age while he remained unchanged. Each wrinkle on your face told a story of love shared, of laughter echoing in sunlit rooms. You teased him about his silver hair, though he never aged a day. You told him you wanted him to keep living even when you no longer could.

And one autumn evening, with leaves falling like golden memories from the sky, you breathed your last in his arms, your fingers tangled in his, your last whisper a soft, “I love you… always.”

That was sixty-seven years ago.

Now, Gojo lived in silence.

No missions. No friends. No purpose.

He turned to marble and stone sculpting your image with his bare hands, over and over again. Dozens of statues lined the quiet sanctuary of his hidden home. But none of them were you. Not quite. The curve of your smile, the twinkle in your eye, the tenderness in your brow and he never quite got it right. Not until now.

His fingers trembled as he touched the cheek of the final statue, the last one he swore he’d ever make.

It was you.

Exactly you.

From the faint dimple that appeared when you laughed, to the delicate arch of your brow when you were annoyed at his sarcasm. Every line, every detail so perfect.

He stepped back. His breath hitched.

And then, he fell to his knees.

His forehead pressed against the marble of your knees. His voice cracked open like a wounded prayer, “I miss you… I miss you so damn much.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks. His chest heaved with a pain that refused to fade. “You promised I’d be okay… but I’m not. I’m not, baby. I’m lost without you.”

He raised a shaking hand to your stone cheek, thumb brushing against it as if flesh could return. “Do you remember when you told me I needed to learn to cry? That holding it in made me feel less human?”

He laughed bitterly through sobs. “Look at me now, angel. I’m breaking. For you.”

And the immortal wept eternally bound to the memory of the only person who ever made him feel mortal.

Even in a world where time bowed before him…

He would’ve given it all to grow old with you.

“I may live forever, but my heart stopped the day you did.”

One evening, Gojo was halfway through carving a new sculpture. A fragile smile forming on the marble face. He whispered as he worked, voice low and hoarse from years of silence, “You’d be mad at me for still doing this, huh… But what else do I have left, love?”

And then , the quiet sound of footsteps. He didn’t look up. Another tourist? No, no one ever came here unless they were desperate. Still, he kept his back turned, gently brushing marble dust off the statue’s cheek, eyes tired beneath silver strands that had grown longer, wilder. “We’re not open for commissions right now,” he murmured. “Please come back another.”

“Hello,” came a gentle voice, sweet like honey after rain. “Are you the owner of this showroom? I would like to request a statue.”

His hands froze midair. That voice. That tone.

It couldn’t be. Gojo turned around.

And he saw a woman look like you.