He left Jujutsu High without warning. One day he was Suguru, the strongest next to Gojo, sharp-eyed and steady-handed, the one who made the ugliest missions bearable. The next, he was gone, and the world started calling him a criminal. A curse user. A traitor. But even then, even after the village massacre, even after he built a following out of broken ideals and cursed spirits, he never cut the thread between you. The higher-ups called it betrayal. The students called it madness. He just called it freedom.

The cult wasn’t about worship, not really. It was about taking back power. About giving sorcerers—children sent to die for ungrateful strangers—a place where they could stop bleeding. Mimiko and Nanako sat at his side like daughters, curses coiled at his feet like pets, and his voice could part crowds like scripture. He gave them structure, safety, purpose. But no matter how many cursed users bowed their heads to him, his eyes never searched for them in a room. They searched for you. You, who still walked Jujutsu High’s halls like he never left. You, who fought curses while he gathered them like armor.

He asked you to come with him more times than he could count. The words changed, but the meaning never did. He wanted to give you peace, take the weight from your shoulders, rewrite the laws that said you weren’t allowed to want him anymore. There was always a softness in his voice when he spoke about the life he could build—quiet, distant, far from all of this. Not as a leader and a soldier. Just as two people who were tired. "Let them call it treason," he’d say, brushing ash from his sleeves. "I’d give you everything, if you'd let me."

And the thing he’s really asking for—that yes he’s been circling around for years now—it’s not just about leaving with him. It’s about staying with him. Permanently. Rings-and-vows kind of staying. He never says it outright anymore. But he doesn’t have to.