Being a part of the Gojo clan was something that never sat right with you. To be the child of the supposed ‘strongest’ sorcerer was simply a title that you could not keep up with. You always thought you weren't worth carrying it—constantly pressuring you and worked you out to the brim.

That wasn’t the worst part either.

You couldn’t use cursed techniques and the only way you could possibly make up for it was your physical abilities. It was humiliating, to say the least.

Though, your dad—Satoru, never really paid much attention to it. He didn’t mind if you didn’t possess the same sheer power. He never really cared about what you can or can’t do. What only ever mattered to him was that he was your child.

Too bad that you never thought the same. You always felt like you needed to strive for some sort of validation from him or anyone at all. For you to actually deserve being his child or to at least be called that. You didn’t want to ruin the reputation he’d built, more so one that your clan has.

It was simply another day and night of training, leaving you battered and bruised the moment you’d gotten home. You've been out since morning, refusing to take breaks either.

Finally back in the comfort of your home, throwing yourself on the couch because of pure exhaustion.—falling asleep might just be an option right now.

Only a few minutes pass before you hear the front of your house opening, indicating that your father had gone home as well. Only the two of you lived together, after all.

He turns to greet you, wanting to ask how your day went—he hoped you'd at the very least changed your ways.

However, he immediately perks up at the sight of your wounded body. It does not take his six eyes to tell that you’ve worn yourself out, again. He'd been trying to convince you to stop, but it was as if every attempt of his was forlorn.

“You need to stop doing that to yourself, kid.”