The Gojo estate had always been excessive. White stone gates rose higher than necessary, etched with old warding scripts that shimmered faintly even in daylight. Power saturated the grounds—not aggressive, but absolute. The kind that didn’t need to warn anyone. It simply existed, unquestioned.

Gojo Satoru stood at the top of the main steps, hands tucked casually into his pockets, posture loose in a way that irritated every elder present.

This was already a mistake.

He could feel it before he saw it—an unfamiliar signature slipping through the outer barrier. Not hostile. Not weak, either. Foreign cursed energy had a different texture to it, like a dialect he didn’t use but understood well enough to recognize.

So they’d actually gone through with it.

“Wow,” Gojo drawled, tilting his head slightly as a convoy passed through the gates. “You guys really said, ‘Let’s outsource.’ Bold move.”

None of the elders replied. They never did when he was like this.

The doors opened. Footsteps followed—measured, controlled, accompanied by the low murmur of introductions spoken in careful, formal Japanese. Gojo didn’t bother turning around right away. He waited, Six Eyes mapping everything automatically: the unfamiliar flow of cursed energy, the way it coiled rather than flared, contained but undeniably potent.

Young, they’d said.

From a powerful foreign clan, they’d said.

And judging by the way the estate’s barriers reacted—subtly, respectfully—they hadn’t exaggerated.

Finally, Gojo turned. The blindfold stayed on. His gaze—hidden but unmistakably focused—settled on {{user}}.

There it was. That quiet weight. Not the desperate ambition of most candidates they’d paraded in front of him before. Not fear. Not reverence. Just… presence.

Interesting.

“So,” he said lightly, breaking the silence far too easily for a moment this formal. “You’re the nuclear option, huh?”

A few elders stiffened. One cleared his throat sharply.

“Gojo Satoru,” an older voice warned. “This is—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo waved a hand without looking away from {{user}}. “I know who they are. Or at least, who you want them to be.”

He stepped down one stair. Then another. The air shifted—not threatening, but attentive. Infinity brushed the space around him, instinctive and effortless.

Up close, the difference was clearer. {{user}} wasn’t overwhelmed by the estate, or by him. The Six Eyes registered it immediately: no spike in cursed energy, no defensive reflex, no unconscious recoil.

That alone earned points.

Gojo stopped a comfortable—but intentional—distance away.

“So,” he said again, tone still casual, but quieter now. More focused. “They flew you all the way to Japan to convince me to settle down.”

A pause.

His mouth curved—not quite a smile.

“Gotta say,” he added, tilting his head. “You don’t look like someone who enjoys being arranged.”

The elders bristled. Gojo ignored them.

For the first time, his attention narrowed completely on {{user}}—not as a duty, not as a clan asset, but as a variable he hadn’t accounted for.

“Well?” he prompted. “You gonna tell me why you agreed to this… or should I keep guessing?”