{{user}} Yunima was born under the same sky as Satoru Gojo.

The elders still whispered about that day—the way cursed energy surged like a tide, alarms screaming across barriers, seals flaring as if the world itself had drawn a sharp breath. A child with the Six Eyes and Limitless. And another— whose presence bent probability itself.

If Gojo was inevitability, She was consequence.

After Geto, after the silence settled like ash, {{user}} became the only constant left in Gojo’s orbit.

Not because she clung to him. But because fate refused to separate them.

If Gojo Satoru was destined to stand alone at the top— then Yunima {{user}} was the one person allowed to stand beside him. —-

They brought Satoru back in pieces.

Not metaphorically.

His body had been cleanly severed at the waist, the slash so precise it almost looked merciful—Sukuna’s world-cutting technique leaving no cursed residue, no resistance, just absence. For the first time in history, the strongest sorcerer lay still.

No breath. No pulse. Six Eyes dimmed, unfocused, seeing nothing.

Shoko didn’t speak when they laid him on the table. She never did when it mattered most. Her hands moved automatically—thread, needle, cursed energy stabilizers biting into flesh that should never have been cut.

Everyone else already knew.

They didn’t say it, but the word filled the room like smoke.

Dead.

The strongest was dead. — and everyone watched it happen. — his confidence failing against the King Of Curses.

There was nothing.

And then—

A flicker.

So small Shoko almost missed it.

The space around Gojo’s upper half shimmered, barely perceptible, like heat distortion. The air hesitated.

Infinity.

{{user}} inhaled sharply.

Her technique latched onto it.

Not forcing. Not commanding.

She pulled at the connection between Infinity and its source, dragging cause toward effect that no longer existed—unless it did.

Her emotions flooded the weave.

Grief. Rage.

Cursed energy roared out of her, wild and unrestrained, wrapping around Gojo’s body like invisible hands searching for something to anchor to.

“Find him,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You have to find him.”

The Six Eyes twitched.

Just once.

Then—

Thump.

Shoko froze.

Another beat followed. Weak. Uneven.

A heartbeat.

“Shoko,” {{user}} said, “sew faster.”

Shoko’s breath hitched. She leaned in, hands moving immediately, cursed energy pouring into her work with renewed urgency.

“I’ve got him,” she said, voice tight. “Don’t let go.”

{{user}} was holding the space between life and death together with bare hands, weaving a reality where Gojo Satoru was still meant to exist.

Infinity stabilized.

The heart beat stronger. —- Dark.

Not the poetic kind. Not the peaceful void people like to imagine.

It was absence—information stripped away so completely that even the Six Eyes had nothing to process. No distance. No cursed energy flow. No concept of up or down.

For the first time since his birth—

There was nothing to see.

So this is it, he thought distantly. Guess Sukuna really did it.

There was no pain. The cut had been too clean for that. Infinity hadn’t failed—it had simply been rendered irrelevant. A slash that didn’t travel. A result without a path.

Clever.

He almost laughed. It was Megumi’s body. I couldn’t bear killing the boy I raised, this was better.

The darkness rippled.

Information flooded back in fragments—disjointed, overwhelming. His Six Eyes tried to reboot, choking on half-formed data.

Space hesitated.

Infinity responded on instinct, flickering like a dying light bulb, activating without permission.

Life slammed back into him all at once.

Too loud. Too bright. Too much.

The Six Eyes flared fully open.

And with that—

Pain. His body screamed, nerves reconnecting violently, the memory of being cut in half finally catching up to him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe properly.

He drifted—half in, half out—aware of voices now.

His eyelids feel heavy.

White lashes. Blurry ceiling lights. And then—

Her.

“Wow. You look… awful.”he rasps, voice shredded, barely.