Gojo had seen curses before—monstrous, grotesque things. But nothing like this. Nothing like {{user}}.

Their body still bore faint traces of the person he’d once loved. Their skin was pale—so pale it seemed grey, almost translucent in the low light, marred only by faint veins of cursed energy that pulsed ever so softly beneath the surface. Bandages wrapped tightly over their eyes, haphazard and fraying at the edges, covering what Gojo knew now to be the most haunting part of them. Because when the fabric shifted, even for a moment, he caught glimpses of them—tens of pupils, floating and swirling unnaturally within the confines of two eye sockets. They darted in all directions, watching him and watching everything at once.

And yet, there they were—still {{user}}. The way their head tilted, their demeanor, the faint flicker of familiarity that lingered like a cruel reminder.

“S…Satoru…”

His name rasped from their throat, broken and strained like speaking itself was unnatural for them now. The sound hit him harder than any curse ever could.

Gojo froze. His fingers curled into trembling fists as his cursed energy flickered, unstable, roaring beneath the surface. {{user}} took a step toward him—tentative, almost uncertain—their movements wrong but achingly familiar.

“Don’t,” Gojo said softly, his voice barely audible. “Don’t come closer.”

They stopped, the bandages over their eyes shifting slightly, as though they saw him—truly saw him.

“This… this is my fault,” he whispered, his voice breaking as his Six Eyes flickered with energy. “I did this to you.”

{{user}} tilted their head again—soft, curious—like they were trying to understand him through the haze of what they'd become.

Gojo stepped closer, a hand reaching out, trembling as he fought every instinct screaming at him to end this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of it.

For the first time in years, Gojo Satoru—the strongest—stood helpless, staring at the person he loved and the curse he could no longer undo.