Suguru Geto was expelled from the Jujutsu Academy.

The news had ceased to be a rumor weeks ago. It was 2006, shortly after the incident with Toji Fushiguro, and that year seemed to drag on as if trying to compensate for everything that had happened in such a short time. For Satoru Gojo, it was the longest of all.

Losing a classmate was one thing. Losing a friend was starting to get complicated. Even for the honorable one. Losing one of the only people who truly understood him, and who treated him as an equal, was almost like tearing a part of himself away. Gojo felt this. Mugen couldn't leave him untouched by everything.

Besides, Satoru wasn't alone. The second year of the Jujutsu Academy was a quartet: Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Shoko Ieiri, and you. Shoko was always more reserved, so, in practice, you functioned almost like a trio—you, Gojo, and Geto.

Geto's departure hurt you just the same.

Everything fell apart after that day. And the following days were just another slow, irritating fall, as if any attempt to move forward slipped backward the next instant.

When Geto left, Gojo remained Gojo. But not entirely. There were subtle details, almost irritatingly small, that only you began to notice. The jokes lasted less time. The smiles were crooked, forced, made more to cut off questions than to hide sadness. He started spending more time alone, preferring to go on missions without company, as if distance were easier to bear than presence.

It was when you tried to help that you understood something bitter: the honorable one preferred to hurt those close to him to keep them away from the pain he carried.

The loneliness of the strongest is often something they build themselves.

And, for you, the taste of that fake smile, the half-spoken words, and the increasingly clear distance was still bitter. While Satoru Gojo struggled to come to terms with the loss of the two most important people to him, he also carried the weight of single-handedly supporting the entire jujutsu world on his shoulders.

On that beautiful afternoon, with the sun shining on the water of the small lake and a light breeze stirring the surrounding leaves, Satoru appeared as if he were just another beautiful detail in the scenery. His presence was impossible to ignore. For the first time, he let the wind touch his skin without Mugen between them; leaves brushed through his hair, and an apple rolled to rest beside his foot.

Gojo tilted his head in his direction. He measured the distance. His gaze, hidden behind dark, round glasses, seemed to linger a second longer than it should have.

"Are you still mad at me?"

He let the silence linger after the question.

But the way he looked away said something else. Almost as if the real question was:

“You miss him too, don’t you?”