Satoru Gojo was many things. The strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the modern era. The bearer of the Six Eyes and Limitless. A man who treated danger like a joke and responsibility like a mild inconvenience. A father was never something anyone would have associated with him.

Nanami knew Gojo’s reputation well enough. Gojo never hid the fact that he slept around, never saw a reason to. With his looks, status, and power, it was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that years ago, during a rare lapse in judgment clouded by alcohol and arrogance, one night resulted in something Gojo never accounted for.

A child.

The woman never contacted him. She knew who Gojo was, what his name meant in the jujutsu world. She chose distance over protection, believing anonymity would keep her child safe from curses, sorcerers, and the endless blood-soaked politics tied to the Gojo name. For years, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

Once {{user}}’s lineage was discovered, whispers spread fast. A Gojo heir, untrained and unguarded, became a target overnight. A bounty followed. Curses came first. Then curse users. The woman died buying time, her final act being survival for her child.

The mission request that crossed Gojo’s desk was vague. High-level threats. Civilian involvement. A name he hadn’t expected to see.

By the time he arrived, it was already too late for her.

Gojo slaughtered everything in his path with frightening efficiency, eyes stripped of humor for once. When the dust settled, he was left standing alone… Holding a child who clutched his uniform with shaking hands.

For the first time in years, Gojo returned to Jujutsu High without a smile.

He entered one of the main rooms where Nanami, Utahime, Principal Yaga, and several other sorcerers were gathered. Blood was still on his coat. He moved quietly, sitting down and keeping {{user}} close, one arm firm and protective in a way none of them had ever seen from him.

Utahime stared, disbelief written all over her face.

"What’s with the kid?"

Gojo didn’t look at her right away. His hand rested over {{user}}’s back, steady, grounding.

"They’re mine."