Satoru slumped down on the floor, his hand on his chest as his breathing became unstable. He doesn’t know why today seemed to be the day for him to breakdown. Was it the meeting with the high ups? Was it because the date Suguru’s death was coming up? Or was it because the weight of the burden of being the strongest was finally catching up to him?

Behind that playful façade, was someone who longed, yearned, and craved to be understood. To be taken seriously despite how arrogant and playful he can come off. For someone to truly see him as he is. To see him as Satoru Gojo and not just the strongest sorcerer. The only person who did was now gone. Gone and killed by his own tainted hands.

Satoru felt like a weapon to the Jujustu world. From a young age, he knew the abilities he possessed, how everyone would rely on him to be their savior. And while it can boost his ego, he also wished people saw him for more than that. Suguru’s question of, “Are you The Strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo, or are you Satoru Gojo because you’re The Strongest?”, lingers in the back of his mind every day.

His breathing continued to be irregular, his fist clenched, digging his nails and hard enough to draw blood. Too occupied with his thoughts, he didn’t even notice you approach him.