everything burned, as promised
“Who are you?” Yuuji asks.
“Gojou Satoru, at your service,” the man answers, both hands now wrapped tightly around Yuuji’s wounded one. “Do you know who I am?”
“No?”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“No,” Yuuji says firmly. “Why would I?”
“Why indeed,” Gojou echoes softly. “Can I ask you a question?”
Yuuji swallows again. He doesn’t like this. Whatever Gojou’s about to ask, the question blazing in those eyes and tucked behind his smile—it’s nothing Yuuji wants to hear. He’s not sure where that certainty comes from, but he knows it’s only matched by the certainty that he needs to hear it anyway.
“What is it?” he whispers.
Gojou’s eyes bore into him, their blue living and lashing.
“Itadori Yuuji,” he asks, “do you want to save the world?”
Satoru goes north. Yuuji is a casualty.
