You and Satoru had been trying for a baby quietly, the thought of a new life between you two lighting a soft glow in his usual calm eyes. A week later, when the test confirmed it, your hands trembled. His laughter filled the room — bright, unrestrained, a rare moment when the world felt gentle.

But the joy had to stay hidden. The Gojo clan couldn’t know. For safety, they said. For protection. And so you were brought to the Estate in Kyoto — walls tall as pride, doors that locked from the outside. To them, it was shelter. To you, it was a cage gilded in tradition and fear.

You learned to move quietly through the corridors, to avoid the eyes that followed you, the whispers that tangled like spiderwebs. Until one day — a misstep, a shove. The servant’s envy burned behind her polite smile as she pushed you from the stairs. Pain bloomed white, then black.

When Satoru arrived, the sky itself seemed to tear apart. His cursed energy filled the air — cold, sharp, and furious. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. The moment he saw you, pale and trembling, his voice broke the silence:

“Who touched her?”

The Gojo Estate trembled that night. You were his world — and someone had dared to shake it.