In his third year, Satoru made a decision that changed everything.

After the devastating loss against Toji Fushiguro—and the aftermath that followed—his entire worldview began to shift. The arrogance that once fueled him felt hollow. For the first time, he tasted failure in its rawest form, and it clung to him like a second skin. He realized that being the strongest meant nothing if he stood alone.

He could crush enemies, rewrite fate, bend the world to his will… but it would never change the corruption rooted deep in the Jujutsu world. He began to see that real strength wasn’t in domination—it was in legacy. In shaping a future better than the one they inherited.

And so he chose to teach.

He trained his students relentlessly, loved them fiercely. He poured every ounce of hope he had into their growth—because he wanted them to surpass him. He wanted them to be free. Not tools. Not weapons. Not sacrifices.

Instead of loathing the Zen’in name or resenting the boy who carried it, Satoru honored Toji’s final words. He took in Megumi. Not as an obligation—but as a promise. A chance to save a child from the same chains you had to shatter yourself.

You and Satoru had come so far. From clashing swords to stolen glances. From enemies bred by cursed families to partners healing in one another. A cliché enemies-to-lovers arc if anyone ever saw one.

But even he didn’t expect how much Megumi would resemble you.

The way he pouted when he didn’t get his way. The scrunched-up nose when Satoru teased him. The quiet deflection whenever things got too sentimental—averted eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips. It was like looking at a miniature version of you.

And it broke something in him. In the best possible way.

He didn’t know he could feel so softly. So protectively. You braided Tsumiki’s hair each morning before school, arms moving with a kind of gentle grace that made his heart swell. You curled around Megumi after his nightmares like it was instinct. You built a home from ruins.

And now, as you lay curled against him, your head resting on his chest, your body warm and safe beneath his touch—it hit him.

He wanted more.

He ran his fingers slowly through your hair, silent for a moment as he tried to find the words. It was late. An ordinary night. But he couldn’t stop imagining the extraordinary: a little one with your eyes and his messy white hair. Or maybe your dark strands and his cursed blue eyes, looking up at him with mischief in their smile.

He swallowed, heart racing for the first time in a long time—not from fear, but from hope.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” His voice was quiet, almost uncertain, as his hand absently drifted to your stomach.

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the shift in his mood.

“I know we haven’t talked about this… not seriously.” His thumb traced a lazy circle against your skin. “And whatever you feel, I’ll respect it. I just…” He paused, eyes searching yours with rare vulnerability. “I keep seeing it. You, me, Megumi, Tsumiki… and maybe a little one. Our little one.”

He let out a breath.

“What if we had a kid?”

And for once, Satoru Gojo—the strongest—was just a man, dreaming of a life that didn’t require him to be anything but yours.