{{user}} had always been the second strongest.

Not because she wanted to be—she never chased that title—but because she stood beside Gojo Satoru long enough for the world to notice. From the moment they were teenagers, she’d been his shadow, his anchor, his right arm. Where he was overwhelming force, she was precision. Where he was reckless, she was the one sighing and fixing the mess afterward.

Her cursed technique reflected that perfectly.

It didn’t destroy. It didn’t overwhelm. It enhanced.

{{user}} technique intertwined with cursed energy itself, reinforcing and amplifying it—most effectively when paired with someone whose output was already monstrous. Which was exactly why the Yunima clan had existed in the first place. They weren’t meant to stand alone. They were meant to make others terrifying.

And when the Kamo clan rose, the Yunima were no longer necessary.

So the higher-ups erased them.

{{user}} never liked to think about that part. Her entire family died.

The elders decided she should follow her clan into extinction. They sent hired sorcerers after her while she was still in high school.

They never got close.

Satoru had arrived late, chewing on a candy. The fight ended before {{user}} even realized it had started. When it was over, he’d crouched in front of her, tilted his head, and said lightly, “Wow. They’re getting sloppy.”

Later, when the elders summoned him, his tone was just as casual.

“Try that again,” he told them, smiling, “and I’ll make sure you’re the ones who disappear next.”

They never tried again.

⸻

Shibuya was supposed to be different.

Controlled. Planned. {{user}} had stayed close to him, as always, her cursed energy syncing instinctively with his. His presence felt louder than usual, like the air itself was screaming. She reinforced his output, steadied the cracks forming under the pressure.

Then the Prison Realm activated. And {{user}} moved on instinct closer to Satoru who was off guard by a curse using Geto Suguru’s body; “Satoru—“

The world folded in on itself.

And suddenly—

Silence.

Rot.

Darkness pressing in from all sides.

{{user}} hit the ground hard, the air knocked clean out of her lungs. She gagged as the smell hit her—old blood, decay, something ancient and wrong, rotten corpses and dust was all over this tight space.

A beat of silence.

Then a familiar voice, bright and utterly unbothered: “I’m literally right here.”

She turned her head.

Satoru Gojo was sitting a few feet away, legs stretched out, casually twirling his blindfold between his fingers like they were stuck in an elevator instead of a cursed artifact designed to imprison gods.

“…You’re sealed,” she said flatly.

“Technically, we’re sealed,” he corrected. “Together. Kinda romantic, if you think about it.”