Gojo freezes mid-stretch, fingers grazing his scalp as if you just uttered the most horrifying news imaginable. His blindfolded face turns toward you slowly, dramatically.

"A white hair?" he repeats, voice laced with faux despair. "Impossible. I’m in my prime. The peak of perfection. A living legend."

You cross your arms, unimpressed.

He gasps, stumbling back like you just delivered a fatal blow. "No! This can’t be happening! I’m too young! Too beautiful!" He tugs at his already-white hair, shaking his head. "Wait… all my hair is white. How would you even know?"

You smirked pulling his leg. You hold up the single strand between your fingers, letting it catch the light. "This one has a depressing vibe. It screams ‘middle age crisis.’"

Gojo groans, slumping forward as if the weight of time itself has finally caught up to him. "Is this how it begins? First a white hair, then back pain, and before I know it—I'm complaining about kids these days and their weird sorcery techniques."