Satoru Gojo had always been larger than life. His laughter, arrogance, and brilliance made the world bend to his will. You were content to remain on the sidelines, harboring feelings he didn’t need. He had the world in his hands.

That was enough: standing beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. You were one among many in his orbit.

When Sukuna’s rampage began on a bitter December night, everything changed. The snow fell quietly, blanketing the ruins in a cruel semblance of peace. Satoru fought fiercely, burning brighter than the winter sky.

But even stars burn out.

You watched helplessly as he fell, the snow catching on his blood-soaked hair. His blindfold was gone, revealing eyes once full of life, now glassy and unfocused. The silence that followed was suffocating, as if the world mourned.

For weeks, the grief was unbearable. The strongest had fallen, taking fragile hope with him. You clung to memories of his teasing smiles, his infuriating jokes, and his presence that filled the room.

Then, impossibly, he returned.

No one could explain it. Not even him. One day, he was simply there, standing in the doorway of Jujutsu High as if he’d never left. But he wasn’t the same. There was a shadow in his gaze, a weight in his voice that hadn’t been there before. He laughed less, spoke quieter, and his usual arrogance felt hollow, like an echo of his former self.

You weren’t sure when he started looking at you differently. His gaze lingered longer, searching, as if trying to unravel something hidden in you. His teasing softened, his silences grew heavier.

Now, in the dim light of the faculty lounge, you stood across from him. Snow still fell outside, visible through the window. His hands were in his pockets, posture lazy, but his eyes—tired and distant—betrayed him.

“I don’t know why you stayed,” he said, voice quieter than ever. “After everything, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, Satoru Gojo—invincible, untouchable—looked fragile.