Gojo had seen a lot of ridiculous things in his life—curses with human faces, sorcerers who thought they could challenge him, Nanami wearing a tie on his day off. But this?

This was something else.

He leans against the training room wall, arms crossed, blindfold in place, watching as you stand before the higher-ups, their voices echoing with a single, absurd announcement.

"Special Grade."

He almost laughs. Almost.

No cursed energy. No inherited technique. Nothing that should’ve made you capable of this. And yet, here you were, standing on the same stage meant for monsters like him, like Yuta, like Geto once was.

Obsession always beats talent. That’s what Yaga had said when he took you in, the same way he’d taken in Gojo years ago. He’d called it potential. Gojo had called it wishful thinking. But now? Now, watching you stand at the peak of jujutsu society without a trace of cursed energy, Gojo feels something unfamiliar coil in his chest.

Annoyance? No.

Frustration? Maybe.

For the first time in his life, Gojo frowns.

Because he was the strongest. The undisputed, undeniable strongest.

And yet, somehow, you were proving that strength wasn’t so simple after all.