"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 old wooden floor creaked under the invisible steps of the wind. Silk curtains fluttered softly in the humid air of the main pavilion, letting in the ashen light of a leaden sky. Satoru Gojo stood in silence at the center of the room, hands deep in his pockets, dressed in his black exorcist uniform, his eyes hidden behind his trademark blindfold.
He stood like a caged beast, too handsome, too calm—so calm it was almost unbearable. The Zen'in clan, those inbred pigs in ceremonial robes, had summoned him under the guise of a political discussion. But he wasn't fooled. He had come for her. For Chihiro.
A creak. A door slammed.
Naoya entered.
That same dragging step, that cocky swagger, a twisted smile hanging on his lips like a blade on a thread. He wore a black yukata, hair slicked back, eyes gleaming with a sick sort of fire. No bow. No greeting. He walked straight toward him, casual as ever.
"Well, look who's here. The fucking messiah."
Gojo didn't answer. Not immediately.
He slowly lifted his blindfold with one finger, revealing the cruel infinity of the Six Eyes. A wave of unseen pressure rippled through the room, making the air feel thick, suffocating.
