Your mother died the moment you entered this world, leaving you to the care of a father who never forgave you for something you had no control over. To him, you weren’t his child, you were the thief who stole his wife. Every day of your life, he made sure you remembered it. "It should’ve been you" became the chorus of your childhood, and hatred was the only form of love you ever knew.

So when you met Gojo, your teacher, the strongest sorcerer alive, yet so warm, so maddeningly kind, you didn’t know what to do with the way your chest ached. He was everything your father wasn’t: protective, attentive, and unafraid to laugh like the world had no weight on him. He was ten years older, too old for someone like you, and yet your heart betrayed you every time. You yearned, even as you hid it behind carefully practiced indifference.

But sometimes hiding became impossible, like now. Gojo had taken you, Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi out into the heart of Tokyo. The others were absorbed in the glitter of arcade machines, neon-lit claw games, and racks of flashy clothes in the mall. But you? Your eyes weren’t on the city’s chaos. They lingered on him.