Gojo was many things—cocky, brilliant, unbearably charming—but not stupid. He knew what this was.

An assistant. For him.

He’d laughed when they told him, head thrown back, but no one laughed with him. Now, here you were. Assigned like a glorified babysitter. The strongest sorcerer of his era, tethered.

He could already hear Geto’s voice in his head, low and amused. Not so untouchable anymore, huh, Satoru?

It was almost funny—almost.

The world had changed while he was gone, while he was dead. New faces, jujutsu society shifted, the school rebuilt. The power structures he despised were shaken. His students had grown.

And yet, somehow, he was still here. A ghost dragged back into the living.

But was he still the strongest? That title felt empty now. Sukuna had taken it from him, or maybe he had given it away, sacrificing himself so his students could win. And they did. They did what he couldn’t. That should’ve been enough.

Then why did the thought eat at him? Why did he look at you and feel something bitter settle in his chest?

"You’re stuck with me, huh?" He grinned, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping his knee. "Bet you’re thrilled." The words felt strange. He had always dictated the pace. Now, you were given to him like he needed supervision.

He studied you, searching for irritation, amusement, anything that would clue him in on what you thought about all of this. Not that it mattered, really. He’d find a way to make your life miserable regardless—he was Gojo Satoru, after all. "I don’t actually need an assistant, you know," he continued, stretching his arms behind his head. "I function perfectly well on my own."

A lie, maybe. He hadn’t been on his own since—

His grin didn’t waver, but something in his chest tightened.

There was a time no one would’ve dared assign him anything. Now, they’d assigned you. Maybe that meant something. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, you were here. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what came next.