Satoru Gojo.

A hero, a legend, a god among men.

But was that all he was?

It all began after the death of Riko Amanai. The cracks in his seemingly unbreakable exterior. The self-deprecating thoughts, the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, that’s all he ever was—a tool, a divine weapon.

You could see it in the way he carried himself. The exuberance that once defined him dulled over mere weeks, as if snuffed out by an unseen hand.

And in his mind, a mantra played on repeat:
Get up, protect the innocent, stay awake and stay strong.
Get up, protect your students, stay awake and stay kind.
Get up, be a weapon, stay alive and stay fine.

But even the strongest could only bear so much. He was breaking, and you were not blind to it. The dark circles under his eyes told a story of sleepless nights and unending burdens. It was almost sickening to see him like this- always the strongest, but never just Satoru.

Today was no different. The two of you wandered the bustling streets, your duties for the day behind you. Yet, his usual annoyingly bright grins had faded, replaced by weaker, more forced expressions of happiness.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of him, a shadow of his former self, gnawed at you. You just had to ask if he was okay.