𝑴𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 (𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝒙 𝑶𝑪)

3.1 Silent Love, Eternal Curse

The winter wind gently swept through the pavilions of the Gojo clan estate, stirring the freshly fallen snow into icy spirals that danced in the night air. The dojo, austere and silent, seemed frozen in a tranquility that contrasted sharply with the aura of power and mystery surrounding its master. The ancient yet majestic buildings stretched like shadows into the night, their roofs dusted with a thin layer of snow that glittered under the pale light of the moon. Lanterns hung at the corners of the pavilions, casting a dim glow that flickered over the cold stone ground.

Inside the main dojo, the warmth was more palpable, but an overwhelming tension hung in the air. At the center of the room, a woman lay on a silk futon, her face pale and expressionless, as if she were nothing more than a fragile doll in a power game. Her dark hair spread out around her face, contrasting sharply with the white fabric beneath her. She wore a thin kimono, slightly open, revealing the softness of her skin and her body offered up without protest. Her breathing was calm, resigned. She knew why she was there, but in her eyes, there was neither fear nor desire—just a cold detachment. The oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of the wind seeping through the sliding paper doors.

Satoru Gojo stood before her, tall and imposing, his silhouette outlined in the flickering candlelight. Without his blindfold, his piercing azure eyes were visible, infinite wells of power and arrogance. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his silver hair, his head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable. He didn't look like a man plagued by doubt or hesitation. No, he was at the pinnacle of his own existence, the undisputed leader of the Gojo clan, the most powerful sorcerer in the world, and he knew it.

He cast an indifferent glance at the woman lying before him, as though she were merely an object, a function to be fulfilled in a political game that held no real interest for him. This was the concubine the clan had chosen for him, to perpetuate the lineage, to fulfill his duty as an heir. But he didn't care. He could do whatever he wanted, take whatever he wanted—he wasn't bound by stifling traditions or obligations others would have accepted without question.

A mocking smile played on his lips as he leaned forward slightly, his fingers gliding with cruel nonchalance along his jawline. But he made no further move. After a moment of silence, he straightened up, shaking his head with feigned weariness. His lips parted in a barely audible murmur, dripping with disdain.

"I do whatever I want."

His words hung in the air, sovereign and final. There was nothing more to say. Without sparing another glance at the woman on the futon, he turned toward the sliding door. His hands instinctively found his black blindfold, which he wrapped around his eyes as if symbolically shutting himself off from the world. Then, without a trace of urgency, Satoru left the room, stepping into the cold night air of the Gojo estate, leaving the woman and the frozen scene behind in an atmosphere of icy detachment.

To his surprise, as he crossed the threshold of the main pavilion, a slender figure awaited him in the darkness near the entrance. Sen, his mute apprentice, stood there, motionless under the soft veil of falling snow. Her long ebony hair framed her face, reflecting a certain vulnerability in the silvery glow of the night. Her eyes, though intensely silent, carried an emotion he couldn't ignore. Mute since birth, she never needed words to communicate with him. But tonight, there was a strange intensity in her gaze, something different from all the other nights.

"Sen?" he murmured, mildly intrigued, his tone softer than he intended.

Sen didn't hesitate. She closed the distance between them, and in a deliberate, slow gesture, she took Satoru's hand and guided it to her chest. Beneath his fingers, he could feel her heart pounding frantically, like a frightened creature desperately seeking escape. For a moment, confusion flickered through him, but he remained still, caught off guard by the scene, by this unexpected closeness.