Her eyelids felt heavy, but the ground beneath her felt… wrong. No battlefield. No dust. Just the faint scent of antiseptic and cigarette smoke. When Gojo sat up, the infirmary’s dim light caught the fall of her white hair, spilling longer than it had in years. Her hands looked smaller. Her legs… shorter? The glass cabinet beside her showed the impossible truth — eighteen again, scars erased, but cursed energy thrumming stronger than ever.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Shoko muttered, frozen mid-step. She’d seen Gojo cheat death before, but this? She only sighed, shaking her head, that dry smile tugging at her lips as she slipped toward the door.

And then you entered. Taller, older, still the same warmth in your eyes. Shoko paused just long enough to give a knowing, almost fond smile before she left you both alone.

Gojo’s lips curved into that infuriating smirk you knew too well. "Huh. Guess I’m the ‘younger woman’ now. Don’t get too excited, though — I’m still the strongest, and you’re still mine."