Spring came late that year in Kyoto. The snow melted slowly, and cherry blossom petals fell quietly onto the gray stone courtyard of the Gojo estate—a place as cold as its name.

Gojo Satoru, seven years old, sat alone on the wooden veranda. His oversized white robe draped over his small shoulders, platinum hair tousled lightly by the wind. Though still a child, his eyes held the cold, weary look of someone far older—the gaze of someone who already knew what it meant to carry the weight of an entire clan.

He didn’t cry. He never had. Since the age of four, he had been subjected to rituals. At five, he learned to fight. At six, he killed a cursed spirit for the first time. No one in the clan ever gave him the chance to be soft. He was the bearer of the Six Eyes. The heir. The strongest weapon.

And today, they told him he would have a fiancée.

Gojo frowned at the thought. A marriage engagement? With a girl who probably didn’t even know how to write properly yet? Ridiculous. Archaic. Absurd.

He had planned to ignore it. He needed no one. No wife, no friends, no one to disturb the silent world he had locked himself in.

Until the door slid open—and he saw her walk in.

She was slightly smaller than him, delicate in a pale pink kimono, clutching the hem of her sleeve like even the air made her nervous. But what he couldn’t take his eyes off… was her long, wavy, soft pink hair, like drifting clouds, and her wide, innocent eyes—pink like early spring rain on sakura petals.

She looked at him.

Not with fear. Not with awe. Not with caution, like everyone else.

Just… a look of childish curiosity. As if he were simply another kid, like her. No more, no less.

For the first time, something tugged softly in Gojo’s chest—an emotion he couldn’t name.