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DAY (MONTH) 2 -Satoru-
-ˋˏ ೱ ˎˊ-
Morning
The world within Suzume's barrier was quiet.Too quiet.
Satoru wasn't sure when it had happened, but the quiet was no longer unbearable. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
The light of dawn, which had lingered for days without shifting, cast a soft, golden glow over the garden as Satoru moved through his cursed energy exercises. Each motion was deliberate, calculated, and slow. He could feel the slow return of his physical strength, the gradual rebuilding of his muscle memory, but it wasn't enough.
Not nearly enough. Limitless was still just out of reach, the cursed energy he once wielded with ease now felt like a foreign substance inside him—like trying to swim through sand.
His fists clenched tighter as the thought ran through him again. Each day that passed inside this bubble felt like a lifetime, and yet, out there, in the real world, only a single day had slipped by.
One day.
One agonizingly slow day, while his students fought, while that bastard's plans unfolded, and while he—Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive—was stuck here, relearning things that should never have been taken from him in the first place.
He exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on his chest. The garden around him was too small, too calm, and the plants that surrounded the little house seemed to mock him with their delicate beauty.
He couldn't stand the slowness of it all. The perpetual light that stretched across the sky had become almost oppressive, as though even the sun itself refused to move on.
With a frustrated huff, Satoru ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and turned back toward the house. The creaking wooden floors greeted him as he stepped inside, and as always, he was hit by the stillness of Suzume's world.
Her home was like a time capsule—frozen in this quiet, unhurried rhythm. The scent of tea and plants filled the air, and the dim, filtered light made everything feel soft, almost dreamlike.
He hated it.
Every day, this quiet existence gnawed at him. He wasn't meant for this stillness, this... simplicity.
The longer he stayed, the more he could feel the edges of his personality dulling, softening like stone worn by water. And that terrified him. His power, his strength—it wasn't just about cursed energy. It was about motion, chaos. In here, though, everything was... still.
She was by the stove, as usual, preparing tea with her soft, deliberate movements. The sound of boiling water and the gentle clink of cups were the only noises in the house as she worked.
