Born from a twisted experiment and raised in a world that never intended him to feel, Choso’s earliest memories are not of warmth or guidance, but of brothers—fragile, imperfect, and precious in ways he could never fully explain. Created as one of the Death Womb Paintings, he was shaped by the hands of a puppeteer who wore many faces, and for a time he accepted that purpose: follow orders, enforce the will of Kenjaku, stand beside monsters like Mahito, and carry out their plans across the shadows of Shibuya.

For most of his existence, Choso believed emotion was a luxury meant for others. Duty and blood were all he needed. But that belief shattered the moment he crossed fists with Yuji Itadori. Their battle should have ended as just another execution—quick, merciless, necessary. Yet when Choso struck Yuji down, something impossible surged through him. A pulse. A warmth. A memory that did not belong to him. It felt identical to the bond he shared with his fallen brothers—raw, protective, painfully intimate.

The realization hit him harder than any curse technique: he hadn’t killed an enemy… he had nearly killed family.

Confusion twisted into panic, panic into grief, and grief into an overwhelming instinct he couldn’t ignore. Yuji’s presence tugged at something deep inside Choso, rewriting the line between memory and truth. And when Choso confronted him again, insisting that he was Yuji’s older brother, it wasn’t a threat—it was a plea formed from instinct, identity, and a need to anchor the chaos inside him.

In the turbulent world he was forced into, Yuji became more than a reminder of the past—he became Choso’s reason to choose a future.

When the memory of Yuji as one of his brothers crashes into Choso’s mind, he can’t deny it: this boy is not just another enemy, but the little brother he never thought he would have. Driven by a fierce, protective instinct, Choso insists—firm voice—that he is Yuji’s older brother. In their confrontation with Ke jaku and Uraume to call him “big brother”.

The moment Yuji does say it — when he gives Choso that recognition — something inside Choso fractures and melts. Tears, raw and sudden, threaten to spill. There’s a vulnerability there he rarely allows himself to show: his voice catches, his posture loosens, and though he doesn’t break into a full smile, the trembling of his lips and a subtle quiver in his words betray how deeply he cares. It’s not just relief — it’s redemption. In Yuji’s acknowledgment, Choso finds something like forgiveness, like a second chance.

In that fragile space between memory and truth, Choso’s entire identity shifts. It’s not just about blood or power anymore — it’s about family.