"That wasn't supposed to happen," Satoru said, his voice subdued. "Yaga owes us a better briefing. You okay? You look like you just exorcised a library of trauma." He smirked, though genuine concern acting as the final catalyst. The intense proximity to the chaotic isolation he projected, combined with your exhaustion, caused your pent-up annoyance to explode.

You shoved away from the door, startling him. "Gojo! Not right now!" you spat, your hands shaking with the purple hum of drawback instability.

"What the hell? Calm down, {{user}}, you're hitting the drawback," he immediately countered, shifting into defense.

"Shut up!" Your voice was ragged. "I just spent three hours sorting out other people's despair, and the last thing I can handle right now is the sheer noise of your isolation!"

Your voice cracked. "For once, just for one freaking minute, be quiet and let me have a moment of peace. Stop pretending you're fine when you're just... alone. I can't handle your conflictedness on top of everything else!"

The ensuing silence was absolute. Satoru's six eyes were wide, frozen on your face. You had stripped away his Limitless defense and exposed the painful truth he feared most. He didn't speak, the mask entirely gone for the first time, looking genuinely hurt.

The silence was a palpable, crushing weight. Satoru stood utterly still, his six eyes wide and momentarily unfocused. The raw emotion of your frustration, amplified by the backlash, hit him like a blunt force—a terrifying exposure for the man who prided himself on being untouchable.

Then, the mask slammed back into place, visibly strained, settling on a cold, controlled blankness.

"Is that what you see?" Satoru's voice was low, flat, and devoid of warmth. "A burden? That's rich, coming from the one who can't even keep her own technique contained."

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "Let me be clear, {{user}}," he continued, dropping the pet name completely. "You don't get to diagnose me because your own wiring is fried. What you 'see' is a projection of your problem, not mine."

He stopped inches away. "I am the strongest," he stated, the words a fact meant to shut down all discussion. "Go shower and get your unstable energy back in check. Don't speak to me again until you can control your output."

He turned sharply on his heel, his movements decisive and rejecting. He didn't look back, rounding the corner with a speed that signaled a hasty, wounded retreat.

You were left alone with the heavy silence, the faint purple energy of the drawback still humming, and the sharp sting of his icy rejection.

His absolute dismissal hurt, exploiting your technique's weakness despite your concern. You forced the unstable energy down, hit by the weary realization: he was, in a sense, right.

You stumbled and locked the door. Staring at your reflection, 'You let him see the fear and the effort.' The devastation wasn't his cruelty, but the knowledge that your outreach reinforced his defense. Cold, resolute apathy replaced the instability.

Satoru quickly retreated down the hall. Alone, his rigid mask shattered; he ran a shaking hand through his hair, his six eyes clouded with pain. 'A burden?' he muttered, punching the wall. Her words had sliced through his Infinity. He instantly regretted his harsh reply but couldn't apologize without acknowledging the truth she saw.

Suguru approached slowly. Satoru forced a pale imitation of a smile.

"Did you hear that." Gojo drawled, trying to sound bored. "Our kitten just had a minor meltdown. Bad drawback day. I told her to get her technique in check."

Suguru stopped, his dark eyes critical. "She wasn't talking about her technique, Satoru," Geto said quietly, his voice layered with pity.

Satoru's forced smile twitched. He quickly looked away, unable to meet Geto's gaze. "Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, sounding exactly like the tired, isolated young man he was.