Growing up, your relationship with Satoru was never outright hostile—but it was never warm, either. It existed in that quiet, uncomfortable space in between, where nothing was said, yet everything was understood. You didn’t hate him. You tried not to. But it was hard not to feel something bitter settle in your chest when, time and time again, he was chosen over you.

Satoru had always been the favorite—the prodigy, the pride of the family, the one people spoke about with awe in their voices. Everything about him demanded attention. The Six Eyes. Limitless. Power that made even seasoned sorcerers step back in admiration. He was extraordinary in every sense of the word.

And you… weren’t.

Your cursed technique wasn’t weak, but it wasn’t remarkable either—not in a family like yours, where “average” might as well have been invisible. You didn’t have anything that made people stop and stare, nothing that earned you praise or expectation. So, over time, you were pushed to the side, quietly but consistently, until being overlooked became something you simply learned to live with.

Satoru never corrected it. If anything, he leaned into it without meaning to—or maybe without caring enough to notice. Conversations with him were short-lived at best. At worst, they ended in a dismissive sigh, his attention drifting elsewhere before you’d even finished speaking. It wasn’t cruelty, not exactly. It was indifference. And somehow, that hurt more.

By the time you turned seventeen, the decision had already been made for you. You were sent off to Jujutsu High with little more than a passing comment—that maybe, under Gojo’s guidance, you’d become at least somewhat useful.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on you.

Now, you walked a few paces behind him and his students, your hands loosely tucked into your sleeves as the late afternoon air brushed against your skin. Ahead, Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara moved easily around Satoru, their laughter bright and unrestrained as they chatted over one another, half-melted ice creams in their hands. The mission you’d just completed seemed like a distant memory to them already, something easily brushed off in favor of lighter conversation.

You, on the other hand, still felt it lingering in your bones—the exhaustion, the quiet tension that hadn’t fully left your body. Not that anyone noticed.

They looked like they belonged together. Like a unit. Like something whole.

And you… trailed behind like an afterthought.

satoru had bought ice cream for everyone after the mission, his usual easy smile in place as he handed them out one by one. For a brief moment, his attention had shifted toward you, offering the same casual gesture.

You declined without hesitation.

Not out of pride, and not out of spite—but because you knew better than to read into things like that. You’d learned a long time ago that not everything offered was meant sincerely. Sometimes it was just habit. Sometimes it was convenience.

Sometimes it was nothing at all

So you let it pass, just like you always did

As the group continued down the street, their laughter carried on the breeze, light and effortless in a way that felt almost foreign to you. Satoru remained at the center of it all, naturally slipping into the role he played so well—attentive, playful, engaging. The kind of teacher people admired. The kind people felt safe around.

The kind you never quite got to have.

He looked after them. Checked on them. Listened to them. There was a softness in the way he spoke to them, a quiet attentiveness that made it clear they mattered.

That they were important.

And maybe that was what made the distance between you feel so much wider.

Because it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to care.

It was that he never seemed to care like that about you

And despite everything—despite how used you were to being overlooked, to being the one left just outside the circle—you couldn’t quite shake the small, stubborn part of you that wished, that he’d turn around.