I am lost. (Gojo Satoru x Arifureta)

Interlude | The Price of Strength

From the moment he drew his first breath in a world steeped in curses and spirits, Satoru Gojo was heralded as extraordinary. Born into the prestigious Gojo clan, he awakened as a prodigy unprecedented in centuries. The convergence of the Limitless cursed technique and the Six Eyes within him was a phenomenon unseen in over four hundred years. He was thrust into the spotlight, crowned with titles that would shape his destiny:

The miracle child.

The boy wonder.

The LEGACY.

His birth was celebrated with an adoration that bordered on disturbing reverence, a fervor that carried undertones of both hope and fear. The jujutsu world trembled at whispers of his potential, for he embodied a collapse in the power balance that had long been established. The weight of expectation settled upon his infant shoulders like an invisible crown, heavy with the legacy of his bloodline and the desperate hopes of a society yearning for change.

A normal childhood was a luxury forever beyond his reach. The sprawling Gojo estate, with its labyrinthine traditional architecture and meticulously maintained gardens, served as both his sanctuary and his gilded cage. Within its ancient walls, he was methodically shaped into the ideal vessel to contain the vast power that surged through his veins.

There were no carefree days spent chasing butterflies through sun-dappled courtyards. No quiet afternoons lost in the pages of childhood stories. Instead, his early years became a relentless succession of:

Training sessions that pushed his young body beyond mortal limits.

Lectures on the intricate manipulation of cursed energy.

Endless drills to hone abilities that defied comprehension.

The adults who surrounded him—his own flesh and blood—viewed him not as a child to be nurtured, but as a weapon to be forged. They instilled in him the paramount importance of strength, drilling into his developing mind that weakness was tantamount to failure—and in the jujutsu world, failure meant death. Any hint of vulnerability was met with stern disapproval, immediately corrected lest it take root in his psyche.

"You are destined for greatness, Legacy," they would say, their voices carrying both pride and warning. "The future of our family—of all jujutsu—rests upon your shoulders. You must never falter."

His exceptional talents, while a source of pride to his clan, served to isolate him from his peers. Other children either regarded him with a mixture of awe and bitter envy or shrank away in fear, intimidated by the aura of power that seemed to emanate from him even then.

Loneliness became his silent companion, though he would never admit to its presence.

The admiration showered upon him by his family proved to be a double-edged sword. Their praise was effusive but conditional, always tethered to his abilities and achievements. Success was met with recognition, but anything less than perfection brought with it the bitter sting of disappointment. This relentless pressure fed his burgeoning ego and fostered a sense of invincibility that would come to define his youth and early adulthood.

As he grew older, the silent tension between himself and the elders of both his clan and jujutsu society became increasingly palpable. They respected his developing powers, but their respect was as superficial as their egos—always tinged with an underlying current of fear.

In him, they saw a force that could upset their carefully maintained balance of power, customs, and traditions. Their attempts to guide him were thinly veiled efforts at control, each interaction a subtle power play that he saw through with growing disdain.

He remembers with crystal clarity the first time he truly grasped the magnitude of his power—of what he could do. During a training exercise at age nine, as he channeled his cursed energy, the very world seemed to bend and warp at his will. The core of reality trembled at his touch. It was a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.