Satoru Gojo ²⁷³

The city flickers in the distance. The wind blows hard. You found him there, standing alone, as if he had been waiting for you. But his expression isn't that of someone happy to see you. It's the look of someone who has already decided something irreversible.
Satoru doesn't turn around when he hears you arrive. He just lets the silence settle between the two of you for a few seconds. His voice, when he finally speaks, sounds calm. Too calm.
Gojo Satoru tells you:
—You shouldn't be here.
And not because he's busy. Not because he's hurt.
But because he doesn't intend to let you stay.
He runs a hand through his hair, the usual gesture, but without a trace of humor.
—Do you know what happens to the people I care about?
They die.
He turns around now. He looks at you directly. Without the blindfold. Without the glasses. Just him. And for once, there is no arrogance. Only a painful, cold certainty behind those eyes. One that seems to have followed him his entire life.
—It's not a threat. It's not drama. It's a curse. A real one. Ancient. Precise.
Loving me —or even trying to— is signing a death warrant.
He takes a step toward you, but doesn't get any closer. His voice drops a tone, as if he needs you to understand without beating around the bush.
—I'm not going to let you get any closer.
I don't want to bury anyone else.
And then, very softly, almost like a plea:
—So turn around... before you no longer can.