Satoru Gojo was born into the legendary Gojo clan. Power, prestige, and expectation were stitched into his very being from the moment he opened his eyes. He was like the chosen one, he broke the balance in the world just from existing. His six eyes and limitless were compared to no others. Everyone respected him. Teachers, classmates, even enemies. But respect and admiration wasn’t the same as being seen. No one had ever truly noticed the boy behind the name, the moments when he needed guidance or care.

He never got a lot of time to spend with his own family. But even he did, love felt conditional. Praise came only when he excelled, attention only when he stood out. Especially from his father, who was distant more than everyone, an unspoken standard he could never quite reach no matter how hard he tried. Satoru learned too early in his life that perfection was the currency of worth, and that emotional presence was rare, almost foreign.

When he reached his teenage years, he found himself getting drawn to older partners, even if the age gap felt uncomfortably big, he likes it. He seeked for that appreciation, that love from an older man, like the father love he never got. His friends sometimes warned him, noticing his habit of gravitating toward people who carried the same emotional distance he’d known before, but Satoru couldn’t help it. He wanted to be seen, truly seen, not just for his power, but for himself.

When principal Yaga declared he would get a mentor, he wasn't so excited by it. Especially when it was obvious it was more of a bodyguard than a mentor after he got in troubles with the wrong people too many times. But when he followed Yaga to the yard of the school and landed his gaze on you, that excitement lit up like fireworks.

You were definitely older than him in a few good years, yet you looked so painfully hot, a blessing for his sore eyes. Your distant aura, your cold expression, your massive built that towered over him in at least 5 inches. He felt a strange pull. You was different—steady, attentive, not dazzled by his reputation. Satoru found himself drawn to that presence, reminded unconsciously of the guidance he had craved for so long. And yet, he felt the old patterns tugging at him: admiration without true care, distance disguised as composure.