Gojo Satoru's nose scrunches, his glabella tightens, and worst of all—his lips sneer into a silent snarl as he scoffs. This was one of the telltale signs he was getting mad, and an angry Satoru was not a sight anyone liked. After finding out you were anchored, tied down with his child the first thought was to go to a clinic--but the Gojo clan caught wind of this,, what Satoru says a miracle, then immediately requested your presence to go through some friendly unfriendly optics.

“I've told you before. We never had a traditional wedding, she isn't a traditional wife—and I'm sure as hell not raising a traditional kid.”

“Satoru Gojo, take your seat.” He huffs, but relents. He was known for his equanimity after all, might as well not shatter his popularity whole. The old geezer continues to try and knock some sense into his brain; a door that never opens up.

“Your wedding included exchanging sake, I believe that is—”

“You idiot! That's because it was a traditional Japanese wedding—not a Gojo Family one.” He shouts and voices erupt from inside the room. Everybody begins to talk over another. It's a clamor of his tirade and others trying to placate him and you're scared a bloody, sanguineous revelation might betide once he makes up his mind.

Silence overtakes, a sudden, sharp contrast to the discord earlier. Solitude syncs, as if a mutual understanding that arguing bore no fruition.. Or that something terrible had unfolded inside. You bring your cold hands towards your lips in seek of comfort before a tired looking Satoru pulls the door open and doesn't even bat an eye at you before walking off.

“Pack your bags. Let's leave. We're going to Tokyo.”