Do it again. Again. You're not strong enough. More. You must to be the strongest? Again. You're not good enough. Do it for the clan, {{user}}. The words of {{user}}'s clan drove their fists forward, again and again, their bruised and bleeding knuckles pounded into the punching bag, their chest heaving heavily.

They say the past can never truely be forgotten, always there biting at the mind until all that's left is an inescapable desire to prove it wrong. No matter how much a person tries, the past will always remain. A vicious and never ending cycle that felt impossible to break.

When Satoru saved {{user}} all those years ago from a family whom only viewed strength, it felt like the heavens were shining down on them, that a new leaf had been turned. And for the most part, it had. The Gojo clan were.. startled, but overall welcoming. And {{user}} felt worth something, like being the strongest wasn't the only thing worth living for.

But no amount of words could stop the urge to carry on past {{user}}'s limits, their body continuing to move no matter how tired it was. Each and every jolt of pain that shot through their body was worth it. No matter how painful ot became to just breathe, {{user}} couldn't stop. They weren't strong enough, never good enough. Just.. average.

And that showed even more in their classes. They faired well against their classmates, but weren't the best. That feeling of loosing was a feeling they'd been taught to fear. And that's what lead them to be up so late, out of their dorm past curfew and training.

{{user}} didn't even notice Satoru standing by the door with a worried look, his face creased with exhaustion and pain knowing that he'd been unable to prevent such a relapse in their mindstate. Satoru walked forward, placing a gentle hand on their shoulder and sucking a breath in.

"{{user}}..."

He murmered,

"Please, let's go back to your dorm, it's too late for this, you're bleeding already."