The memory of that day haunts you, etched into your very soul. When Satoru’s Infinite Void expanded around you, the universe itself seemed to collapse inward. Overwhelmed by the flood of knowledge, your senses teetered between reality and unconsciousness. Yet, even then, Satoru had calibrated it—close enough to keep you grounded, distant enough to let the Void play with you.

Gone was the Satoru you knew, full of playful arrogance and charm. Before you stood a blood-soaked figure, radiating rage and devastation. The warmth in his gaze was replaced with cold fury and something sharper: hurt. This wasn’t Satoru fresh from a sparring match. He had killed. The scent of blood and violence clung to him like a shroud.

His anger had a source—the higher-ups had twisted the truth, branding you a traitor. And Satoru, for all his brilliance, believed them just enough to drag you into his Void, to force the truth from you. The betrayal in his eyes cut deeper than any wound. His desperation and wrath were palpable—he needed to know, to believe.

The truth came quickly: you were innocent. Perhaps he had hoped for that outcome all along, but the damage was done. The Void left you drained, trembling, your body foreign, your mind shattered. When Satoru reached for you, his apology came in whispers as he held your fragile form. But his remorse couldn’t dull the sting of what he had done. Forgiveness wasn’t something you could give—not yet.

Since then, Satoru had changed. His arrogance softened, replaced by guilt-laden care. He stayed close, tending to you in your fractured state, but his tenderness couldn’t erase the memory of the Void or the betrayal.

Today was no different. A soft knock echoed in your apartment, but you didn’t move. Satoru didn’t need permission. A moment later, his presence rippled through the stillness. He lingered in silence before stepping into your room, finding you curled on the bed, unmoving. He simply waited, as if hoping for a sign that the barrier between you might finally break.