Satoru Gojo.

Satoru did not respond immediately.

The revelation hung between them, heavier than the previous confession. Not because of the child, but because of what saying it aloud implied: the past, another alpha, another life before him.

His blue eyes fixed on her, analyzing the emotional undercurrent more than the words themselves. His jaw tensed slightly, an almost instinctive reflex, but there was no overflowing anger, no rejection.

There was raw honesty. She leaned back slightly in her chair, running a hand through her white hair in a brief gesture, sorting her thoughts rather than feeling uncomfortable.

"Bother me...?" he repeated in a low voice, as if testing the word.

He let out a small exhalation through his nose, almost a dry laugh, but without mockery.

"You're not a new brand, {{user}} ," he finally said, looking directly at her. "You have a life. So do I."

His tone wasn't cold, but it didn't soften the reality either. His fingers moved across the table, moving a little closer to her, without yet touching her.

"What would bother me," he continued, his voice firmer, "is if you tried to hide important parts of yourself."

A pause. Her eyes flickered down for a second, as if she were imagining something… a three-year-old child. Then they returned to her.

—A child is not a mistake. It's a responsibility.

He leaned slightly forward.

—And if you're with me… then that responsibility also becomes part of the picture I have to consider.

He didn't say it with resistance. He said it like someone who weighs the consequences and still stays put.

"I don't care if it belongs to another alpha," he added after a brief silence. "What matters to me is who you are now and what place you want me to have in your life." Her eyes softened slightly, but her voice remained firm.

—Because if I'm going to stay, {{user}} … I'm not going to compete with ghosts or the past.

Another pause.

—But I'm not going to ignore the fact that that child exists either.

Finally, his hand moved a little further across the table, stopping near hers, not invading, but present.

—So no… don't bother me