The first thing you noticed wasn’t the pain fading.

It was the silence.

Heavy. Watching. Waiting.

You barely had the strength to lift your head, but you did anyway—and that’s when you saw them. The elders. Lined up like shadows along the walls, their faces calm… too calm. Satisfied.

That’s when the regret hit.

Not because of the child.

Never because of him.

But because of them.

Because the moment your son let out his first cry, something shifted in the room. Not warmth. Not relief. Calculation.

“Strong,” one of them muttered.

“Promising,” another said.

Like he wasn’t even a person yet.

Like he was already theirs.

Your fingers curled weakly against the sheets as the realization sank in. This wasn’t just a birth. It was a confirmation. A continuation of power. A piece placed on a board you never agreed to play on.

And then—

A presence.

Familiar. Overwhelming. Unmistakable.

Satoru Gojo stepped into the room, late as always, like the rules never applied to him.

His gaze didn’t go to the elders.

It went straight to you.

Then to the child.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the whispers, the expectations, the suffocating weight of tradition.

He walked closer, stopping beside you. “Hey,” he said quietly, unusually soft. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer.

You just looked at him… then back at the elders.

He followed your gaze.

And smiled.

But not the playful, careless smile everyone knew.

This one didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ah,” he said, almost amused. “So that’s how it is.”

The air changed.

Even the elders seemed to stiffen slightly.

Gojo leaned down just enough so only you could hear him.

“They look happy,” he murmured. “That’s annoying.”

Your voice finally came out, weak but sharp. “They think they won.”

A pause.

Then, a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah,” he said. “They always think that.”

He straightened, then—without asking—reached down and picked up the baby.

The elders didn’t interrupt.

But they were watching closely.

Too closely.

Gojo looked at the child for a second. Then back at them.

And just like that, the room felt dangerous.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” he said casually, though the pressure in the air spiked. “This isn’t your weapon. Your asset. Your little ‘future investment.’”

A beat.

“He’s ours.”

The elders didn’t like that.

You could tell.

Good.

For the first time since the birth, the tightness in your chest loosened just a little.

Regret was still there—but it changed shape.

Not regret for your son.

Regret for the world he was born into.

But as you watched Gojo stand there, completely unbothered by centuries of authority glaring at him…

Maybe—

Just maybe—

They were the ones who should be worried.

Let's go back to the night where the baby was conceived.