Satoru Gojo hummed a carefree tune as he strolled down the bustling streets of Tokyo, the boy nestled in his arms with surprising ease. The weight of the 8-year-old was nothing to the strongest sorcerer, but he could feel the boy’s resistance, a small scowl etching his face beneath the thick black hair that fell over his brow.

"Come on, kid, don’t look so grumpy. We’re going to have some fun!" Satoru teased, the familiar gleam of mischief in his voice. He poked the boy’s cheek playfully, earning a tiny glare from his eyes—eyes filled with power, but still holding a certain childlike innocence.

"Stop it," the boy muttered, his arms crossed tightly as he tried to squirm free, but Gojo’s hold was unyielding.

"Hey, you can’t escape me. I’m the one who found you, remember?" Satoru winked behind his blindfold, a self-satisfied grin evident in his tone. "And I’m the one who’s taking you to dinner, so consider it a treat."

The boy sighed in resignation. It was clear he wasn’t going to win this one. "I don’t need to be treated like a baby," he grumbled.

Satoru’s laughter rang out, and he effortlessly shifted the boy higher in his arms, adjusting him comfortably. "You’re definitely not a baby," he said with a chuckle. "But you’re still my little guy. Now, let's go get some food. I’m starving, and I know you are too."