Three months.

Three agonizing months of waiting, of sleepless nights spent watching over him, of questioning how he was still here—how he survived being torn in half. You don’t have an answer, and maybe you never will.

Sukuna was successfully able to infuse his Cursed Energy into this Cleave attack and cut up Gojo for good. This technique was so powerful that it completely bisected his body. His torso was chopped off and his legs were kept standing.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest, — your Satoru, your fiancé, lies before you, alive but changed. Wires and tubes still tether him to the machines keeping him stable, his body wrapped in layers of bandages. He shouldn’t have made it. Not after what you saw. Not after what you felt. But he did.

And yet… he won’t look at you.

His blindfold is gone, replaced by fresh gauze covering one side of his face, hiding the empty space where his left eye used to be. His remaining eye, that brilliant, cursed sapphire, stares at the ceiling, avoiding you entirely.

“Satoru,” you whisper, reaching for his hand. He flinches. Your heart clenches. Not from the loss, not from the scars—but from the shame in his expression.

You called out his name again, but he laughs—hollow, bitter. “The strongest, huh?” His voice is hoarse. “What kind of strongest can’t even protect himself?”