“There there, princess⎯it's okay.”

Satoru cooed lightly as he rocked the small, silky blue bundle in which lay his first child⎯{{user}}, his newborn, a week old babygirl.

In his strong, long, muscular arms in which he held the corners of the world and pinned him under his glory and benevolent powers, he was wandering through the room, little pink babygirl room was painted in shades of pink, with dolls, the sweet, fragrant scent of peaches.

As his big, calloused hand lightly stroking her tiny scalp and caressing the strands of your rare, silky, shiny, silvery snowy hair⎯which you inherited from him, of course.

Your birth was not something planned for him, did not stem from marriage, love, or anything sacred or official, was his naivety due to an addictive situation for one night with a woman without protection, a woman from the common people, non-sorcerer, nothing special, just a piece of cheap meat that threw herself at him, him being the reckless one who was like a rabbit in heat, did not hesitate to drag that woman into the room and do what they did, a few days later your mother caught him telling him that she was pregnant of you.

He was aware that he had made an unforgivable mistake, so much so that his parents and the elders of the Gojo clan told him to get rid of you before you were born, a disgrace, them and you will never bear their name and belong to them as an individual, this was the last straw for Satoru already from others insulting his offspring just because he did not sleep with their sterile choices of women.

But during your mother's pregnancy - with which Gojo agreed that she would not show him her face, contact him again, or ask for custody from him for your sake, and why, she threatened him, a lot, before your birth, the moment Satoru saw the huge swelling you had in your mother's womb and the blackened arteries around the baby bump, Satoru knew you were going to be something out of the ordinary.