The forest was alive with laughter and chatter—students running between tents, the distant clatter of a cooking pot, and the sharp chirp of cicadas. But for {{user}}, the world had shrunk to the edge of a river.

{{user}} knelt in soaked grass, scanning the water’s surface with desperation etched into every motion. Her hands trembled—not from the chill, but from the weight of memory.

Her necklace was gone.

The one her grandmother gave her before passing. The last link to the woman who'd taught her kindness and courage. A delicate silver chain with a charm shaped like a tiny star. Now somewhere beneath the current, invisible and unreachable.

Gojo watched from a distance.

He’d spent all afternoon teasing her, pretending not to care when she wandered off alone. But now? Seeing her like this—clinging to hope that the river would return something so precious—it tore through him.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t announce. He just walked straight into the water.

No blindfold. No cursed technique. Just Satoru Gojo, ankle-deep, then waist-deep in a river that didn’t care who he was.

His uniform clung to him, hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. He slipped once, then again, rocks bruising his knees, but he never stopped searching.

Thirty long minutes passed.

Then finally, glinting between two stones like the river had decided to show mercy—a sliver of silver.

He waded out, dripping and scratched, clutching the necklace in his hand like it was sacred.

{{user}} turned at the sound of his footsteps, eyes widening as he approached.

“Satoru…?”

“You dropped something,” he said, placing the necklace into her palm with a gentleness she hadn’t known he possessed.