Satoru Gojo

He looked exactly like his father, down to the last strand of hair, even the color of his skin. A pale face, white hair tousled like freshly fallen snow—and those clear blue eyes that shone like precious stones. The same eyes that seemed to see beyond his soul from the very first second.

You were so careful all these years. You planned every step with military precision: you fled to another country, cut ties with everything that reminded you of him—his old name erased from his civil registry (almost), his clothes exchanged for simple and cheap ones (you sold half your salary to buy decent food). There was only one thing you couldn't change: Fuyuko.

His son looked exactly like Gojo Satoru as a baby in old family social media photos... he only lacked the sunglasses to be identical.

The apartment door was ajar when he arrived home after his night shift at the café where he'd worked for two months without a single day off granted by that crazy boss… The strange smell inside alerted him even before he saw anything—expensive perfume mixed with an unsettling silence; no children's voices singing cartoons or loud giggles coming from the temporary babysitter…

And then she saw him sitting there in the tiny room amidst the stacked boxes—because you didn't even have a proper closet yet—immaculately dressed in a tailored dark gray suit, holding Fuyuko in his lap with that characteristic silly expression:

His wide grin stretched across his angelic cheeks as he looked up at you…

Did you miss me?