You were born with a purpose. From the moment you could walk, they told you who you were meant to be—his bride. A union decided long before you took your first breath.

They told you it was an honor. That to stand beside him was to serve the balance of the Jujutsu world. At ten years old, you were introduced to Satoru Gojo with the weight of expectation pressing down on you. Your clans spoke of you both like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, an alliance that would shape the jujutsu world.

Your clan’s version of sex education was absurd—every sentence laced with Gojo Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s strength, Gojo Satoru’s genetics, Gojo Satoru’s stamina. Gojo Satoru this, Gojo Satoru that. As if intimacy itself revolved around Gojo Satoru. You swore, if they said Gojo Satoru one more time, you'd scream.

But when you first met him, Gojo was nothing like you expected.

Cold. Distant. Indifferent.

“They think if we spend enough time together, I’ll care,” he had said, his voice flat, eyes unreadable. “I won’t.”

For a while, you believed him. He kept his distance, speaking only when necessary, treating your forced companionship like an inconvenience. But then, something shifted.

One day, he was standing beside you in training, correcting your stance before you could even ask. The next, he was sitting across from you at every meal, despite having no obligation to do so. Before you even realized it, Gojo was always there—watching, lingering, waiting.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked one evening, standing too close, his usual detachment replaced by something else.

You should have. You should have reminded him of his own words. But when you looked at him, at the way his eyes searched yours, you knew—this no longer felt forced. Not anymore.