Ten years ago, you abandoned Satoru for your selfish desires. Ten years from now, you saw him watching, helpless, as you walked away. And today, after a decade of running, he’s finally caught you—the chase reaching its bitter end.

A dull ache throbbed in your skull as you opened your eyes, vision swimming between clarity and haze. Beneath you, the soft plushness of a surface contrasted with the tension gripping your body. Groaning, you shifted, but movement was a struggle.

Your arms strained, halted midair by ropes that bit into your wrists, intricate inscriptions faintly glowing under dim candlelight. The walls—or lack of them—gave away your location. The Restrain. A fabled space in the jujutsu world, sealed by cursed parchment pulsing with energy. No windows, no doors—just an oppressive void lit by flickering candles that cast eerie shadows.

Though your legs were free, the bindings ensured you stayed sprawled on what felt like a large, mocking beanbag sofa. Its softness was a cruel counter to the chill in the air.

A subtle shift broke your focus. He was there—silent, but unmistakable. Satoru’s cursed energy crackled faintly, like static in your veins. He sat nearby, legs crossed, arms lazily tucked into his pockets, leaning back in a chair. Yet his posture betrayed no ease.

The blindfold over his eyes couldn’t mask the weight of his gaze. Cold and piercing, it felt like he could see through you—past the years, past your choices.

“Finally awake?” His voice was low, detached, devoid of the playful lilt you once knew. His silver hair caught the dim light as he tilted his head, unreadable and unrelenting.