6| Satoru Gojo

Satoru carried the world before he could walk. He was never a child, not even by accident. From the moment he gained consciousness, he was molded into a tool, a perfect cog in the service of a greater cause. His childhood was merely training. His adolescence, an extension of that sacrifice. And now, as an adult, his life remained alien, lived for others, never for himself.

He never imagined himself as a father. Not because he couldn't, but because he was never free to choose. The clan decided for him: he had to get married, and he did. He had to have an heir, and then you came along.

But Satoru wasn't a good father. Not out of malice, but out of emotional incapacity. He didn't have the mental or emotional space for someone like you, someone who represented what frustrated him most: a forced extension of his existence. The anger began as sparks, isolated explosions. Soon it became routine. Screams, blows, heavy silences. He became a constant storm over his daughter and his wife.

Today I was on edge. Sunk into the sofa, my fingers scratching at the armrest with suppressed desperation. My jaw was rigid. My eyes were lost. All it took was one sound, one voice, one more word… and everything could explode.