It shouldn’t have surprised Gojo as much as it did when he was summoned to Jujutsu High over an “urgent matter.” Urgent, in their language, usually meant politics, executions, or another pathetic attempt by the higher-ups to tighten their grip on people they feared.

Still, the moment he stepped into the room, something felt wrong. One chair sat empty at the end of the table. And then he soon learned why.

You killed him.

No one explained it properly. No one could. The reasoning was “unclear,” they said, though Gojo doubted any of them had bothered searching for one in the first place.

More importantly, you were his student.

Which meant you were his responsibility.

That was the argument they threw at him, anyway.

Because Gojo had been the one to stand before them months ago and insist he could handle you. That you weren’t dangerous. That you deserved guidance instead of chains. He’d defended you over and over again, smiling through gritted teeth while the elders whispered about your instability behind papers.

And now one of them was dead.

Which meant Gojo had been wrong.

Or maybe… he just hadn’t seen how badly you’d been cornered.

He didn’t know what had gone wrong. Sure, you hated the higher-ups — but who didn’t? Gojo himself hated them so deeply it left a permanent bitterness in the back of his throat. The entire system was rotten. Built on fear. Built on controlling anything powerful enough to threaten it.

And you had always been alone.

You struggled with people. With trust. With understanding things others found easy. There were moments you looked almost disconnected from the world around you, like you were observing humanity instead of living inside it.

Gojo had wanted to help with that and maybe, that had been his first mistake.

Because somewhere along the way, his concern had become softer than it should’ve. Dangerous in a different way. You stopped feeling like just another student under his watch. He worried about you more than the others. Watched you longer. Spoiled you endlessly.

And now they were sending him to kill you.

Again, the higher-ups proved they only knew how to destroy the things they couldn’t control.

Finding you wasn’t difficult.

Of course it wasn’t.

The strongest sorcerer alive could track cursed energy like breathing, and yours burned through the city like blood in water.

By the time Gojo arrived, the fight was already over.

You were crouched low over a body that barely resembled a person anymore, dark blood pooling beneath your shoes and soaking into the pavement. The poor bastard had probably thought the bounty on your head was worth the risk.

It wasn’t.

Not only had the higher-ups unleashed Satoru Gojo after you—

They’d also put an enormous bounty on your head, just to ensure every greedy curse user and desperate sorcerer in Japan came crawling after you first.

Typical.

Gojo stopped several feet behind you, hands buried lazily in his pockets despite the carnage in front of him.

“Ah,” he said lightly, voice cutting through the silence, “I see I arrived too late. Again.”

The usual humor was there, but thinner now. Sharper around the edges.

His gaze flickered from the corpse to you.

“I’m guessing nobody told you there’s a bounty on your head?” he continued. “Though I am curious…” He stepped closer, tilting his head. “What exactly did you do to make the higher-ups this desperate?”