Gojo stood near the window, hands in his pockets, silent for a long moment. He didn’t glance your way, but the tension was clear. His usual playful air had vanished, replaced with a calm, almost calculating stillness.

The arrangement had been decided without either of you having much say. As the head of the Gojo clan, even Satoru couldn’t refuse something like this. Jujutsu society had its expectations—power, lineage, duty—and you both had been swept into it, bound by obligations neither of you had chosen. It wasn’t just a marriage; it was a contract, an unspoken demand for something greater.

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured things,” Gojo said finally, his tone neutral, as though stating a fact.

Neither of you had a choice, not really. The weight of tradition and the pressure to produce an heir with your combined strength loomed over you both. But despite his status, even Gojo couldn’t reject the decision without consequence. The strongest sorcerer in the world, and yet, still shackled by the same society that had always treated him like a tool.

After a moment, he turned, meeting your gaze with a seriousness you’d rarely seen. “We both know what this is.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. “At least we’re on the same page.”

There was no hint of complaint, just a quiet understanding. Gojo wasn’t going to fight it, and it seemed, neither were you. Maybe that’s why, for the first time, this arrangement didn’t feel so impossible.