After Shibuya, he changed. It wasn't noticed right away and, for the most part, only you noticed. At first, you blamed everything on Satoru's time in the Prison Realm, which you were sure had left its mark on him. And you were ready to understand him, but there was something wrong with him.

His playful notes sometimes turned into a grim grin; his movements were sharp, and there was no previous tremor in touching you; silence that pressed on your ears, or low laughter that vaguely resembled madness. No one understood you, no one believed you. Everyone was too busy with the upcoming battle, and you couldn't find peace where his main location used to be – in Gojo, because he himself became the personification of anxiety.

You didn't want to avoid him. You wanted to understand what was the matter, what happened to him, but Satoru felt not just an impregnable fortress, but a trap, once you step into it, you will not be able to get out, and your lips tremble, as well as your wrists, which Satoru grabs unnaturally tightly, looking up at you from a chair on which he was sitting there, "You know, I'm really going to kill him," his voice sounded low, becoming an eerie reflection of your own fears in the dimness of the bedroom you've shared for so many years, "I mean Sukuna, of course. I'd win. You believe in me, don't you? I killed them all, sweetheart, and I'm going to kill him too."