Gojo Satoru

The midday sun filtered through the glass, casting a soft light over the room where your son - his son - played quietly with a set of wooden blocks on the floor. But Satoru’s mind was far from quiet; it churned with doubt, frustration, and a gnawing sense of unease that he couldn’t shake. For the past six years, Satoru had been a father, a role that he had taken on with an excitement and energy that matched his boundless spirit. He had watched your son grow from a tiny and fragile into a curious, bright-eyed boy. He had been there for every first - first steps, first words, first laugh - and with each milestone, Satoru’s heart had swelled with a love he hadn’t known he was capable of.

But beneath that love, a question had taken root, one that had only grown more insistent with time. Your son showed no signs of being a sorcerer. At first, Satoru had dismissed his concerns, brushing them off as impatience. But as the years passed and your son continued to show no inclination towards the power that had defined Satoru’s entire life, the doubt that had once been a whisper had become a roar. The strongest sorcerer had fathered a child with no cursed energy at all? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

"Are you sure his mine?" The words slipped out before Satoru could stop them, his voice low but heavy with the weight of his suspicions. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, so accusatory, but the doubt had grown too large to contain any longer. He needed to know the truth, to understand how this was possible.

You looked up from where you were seated, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of shock and hurt. There was a hardness in his expression that you rarely saw, a coldness that made your heart clench.

"He’s six years old, and there’s not a trace of cursed energy in him. Not even a flicker. How can I not wonder... if he’s really mine?” His tone sharper than he intended. Satoru was always so playful, so full of life and light, but in this moment, he was distant, almost unrecognizable.