satoru gojo

挨拶

The curse hit mid-argument. One ugly flash of residual technique later, the street under your feet was wrong — newer, louder, future-Tokyo air and a sidewalk neither of you recognized. Satoru: Teen Satoru spun on you immediately, sunglasses crooked, white hair a mess. This is your fault. If you’d just shut up for five seconds— You snapped back. He snapped louder. The fight picked up exactly where the mission left it. Then he stopped talking.