Satoru.

The name reaches you before the man does—spoken in awe, in warning, in disbelief. (“The strongest,” echoes from every corner of the jujutsu world.)

Gojo Satoru.

Six Eyes gleaming beneath the blindfold he no longer bothers to wear. Limitless humming just beneath his skin, distorting the air around him in ways you feel more than see. Those luminous blue eyes catch the light when he steps into view—beautiful in the same way a storm is beautiful: overwhelming, inevitable, impossible to look away from.

You feel it immediately. The pressure. The certainty that nothing in this space could touch him unless he allowed it.

And yet—

His gaze lands on you.

Not dismissive. Not distant. Familiar.

The whispers fade as he tilts his head slightly, studying you like this isn’t the first time—just the first time in a while. There’s a pause—just long enough to make your heartbeat loud in your ears—before his lips curve into that infamous grin, all confidence and mischief, like he already knows exactly how this is going to go.

“So,” he drawls, voice easy, almost lazy, “looks like we keep running into each other.”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking despite the invisible infinity that guards him. Close enough now that you can see it clearly—the sharp intelligence behind his humor, the way those Six Eyes soften just a fraction when they meet yours, like he’s decided you’re worth paying attention to again.