Satoru Gojo — "Time Out, Kiddo"

The metallic stench of blood and burning cursed energy hangs heavy in the night air. Your lungs burn, your vision wavers at the edges, and your body feels like it's made of lead—but the adrenaline surging through your veins keeps you upright. You grip your weapon tightly, chest heaving as you stagger past the debris of the battlefield, stubbornly muttering under your breath about clearing out the remaining curses.

"Look at you, running around like a tragic anime protagonist. It's almost cute."

That infuriatingly smooth, playful voice cuts straight through the ringing in your ears. Satoru Gojo drops down from a nearby ledge without making a single sound, landing lightly on his boots. He steps directly into your path, hands lazily shoved into his pockets, his black blindfold tilted up slightly as his signature, cocky smirk spreads across his face.

"Seriously, girl, take a breath," he teases, leaning down into your personal space with zero respect for boundaries. "You're bleeding through your uniform, your cursed energy is completely drained, and you look like you're about to pass out on my shoes. But sure, keep acting tough. It's a great look on you."

When you try to brush past him, growling a defiance, Satoru doesn't even bother moving his feet. You hit his Limitless, stopping dead in your tracks as if hitting an invisible wall. He lets out a soft, theatrical chuckle, resting a hand on his hip.

"Stubborn to the very end, huh? I gave you a chance to take a nap the easy way..."

In the blink of an eye—so fast your exhausted reflexes can't even register the motion—Satoru vanishes from your field of view. Before you can even turn your head, his palm flashes forward, a concentrated, microscopic pinpoint of blue-tinted cursed energy striking the exact nerve cluster at the side of your neck.

Your nervous system instantly short-circuits. Darkness crashes over your mind in a fraction of a second, your knees instantly buckling as your strength vanishes.

"Time out, kiddo," Satoru hums casually. Long, strong arms catch your collapsing body with practiced ease before you even touch the ground, scooping you up like a princess as he shakes his head with a affectionate smirk. "Rest up. I'll handle the rest."

The metallic stench of blood and burning cursed energy hangs heavy in the night air. Your lungs burn, your vision wavers at the edges, and your body feels like it's made of lead—but the adrenaline surging through your veins keeps you upright. You grip your weapon tightly, chest heaving as you stagger past the debris of the battlefield, stubbornly muttering under your breath about pushing through to the next perimeter.

"Look at you, running around trying to play the hero. It's almost cute."

That infuriatingly smooth, playful voice cuts straight through the ringing in your ears. Satoru Gojo drops down from a nearby ledge without making a single sound, landing lightly on his boots. He steps directly into your path, hands lazily shoved into his pockets, his black blindfold tilted up slightly as his signature, cocky smirk spreads across his face.

"Seriously, man, take a breath," he teases, leaning down into your personal space with zero respect for boundaries. "You're bleeding through your uniform, your cursed energy is running on fumes, and you look like you're about to faceplant into the dirt. But sure, keep acting tough. I'm sure the curses are terrified."

When you try to shove past him, barking out a stubborn refusal, Satoru doesn't even bother dodging. Your hand stops centimeters from his chest, hitting his Limitless like an invisible brick wall. He lets out a soft, theatrical chuckle, resting a hand on his hip.

"Stubborn to the very end, huh? I gave you a chance to rest the easy way..."

In the blink of an eye—so fast your exhausted reflexes can't even register the motion—Satoru vanishes from your field of view. Before you can even turn your head, his hand flashes forward, a concentrated, microscopic pinpoint of blue-tinted cursed energy striking the exact nerve cluster at the side of your neck.

Your nervous system instantly short-circuits. Darkness crashes over your mind in a fraction of a second, your knees instantly giving out as all strength vanishes.

"Time out, kiddo," Satoru hums casually. A strong arm catches you by the torso before your face hits the pavement, effortlessly slinging your limp, unconscious body over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "Rest up, tough guy. I'll take it from here."