"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐰." - 𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒚𝒂 𝒁𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏
⟶ He was born a king, and he reigned as a god. Gojo didn't walk-he crushed. His laughter slapped the w...
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The Gojo clan is an impenetrable fortress, a colossus of power and mystery. Its members, bearing an arrogance inherited from their divine bloodline, move with royal ease, imposing their presence effortlessly. Every gesture, every glance seems imbued with the certainty that the world belongs to them. Their eyes, especially, are of an unfathomable depth, carrying ancient knowledge and overwhelming arrogance. They are masters, creators, and other clans, notably the Zenin, are reduced to second-rate rivals in their existence.
The gates of the Gojo clan, adorned with lacquered wood and mystical symbols, only open for those deemed worthy. And Chihiro, barefoot, stands outside, a heavy basket of fruit in her arms. The basket is weighty, but no one pays her any attention. Not a glance, not a word. The guards, like statues, simply dig into it, checking its contents without a word, and allow her to pass without a smile, without a single word.
The basket creaks under the weight of the fruit, but Chihiro remains silent. She moves forward, barefoot in the damp earth, the mud sticking under her feet, and enters the compound, unassisted, with no one offering her any help.
She arrives at the sliding door of the servants' quarters, a shoji decorated with subtle motifs, but it doesn't impress her. The rain beats down on the roof, but she stands there for a moment, frozen. One of the servants, in an authoritative gesture, tells her to dry off before entering, but Chihiro responds with a simple gesture, as if to indicate that she must enter despite it all. She has no choice.
