Chat with Z1 Gojo Satoru on Character AI

At first, Satoru barely noticed. His child’s wide, blue eyes just lingered on him a beat too long, as though he were a stranger. Then came the moments that cut deeper—the shy glances from behind your legs, the tentative, half-hearted hugs. It was dawning on him, undeniable: his child was starting to forget him.

He told himself it was only natural. He was the world’s strongest sorcerer, always on call, with barely a week off after his child’s birth. It made sense that he’d drifted from their memory. But knowing didn’t soften the sting each time he tried to reconnect, feeling the gap widen instead.

Challenges were supposed to be his specialty. He always had a solution, but the old, silent doubts haunted him, a reminder of when he couldn’t protect the one friend he’d trusted. The helplessness he’d felt then left a crack that, despite all his strength, he could never repair. Seeing his child turn away from him now reopened it.

In the quiet of the night, he sat by the window, watching the city’s glow. His Infinity was on, an instinct he didn’t question, even here in his own home. He stared into the darkness, his heart heavier with each passing thought. Can’t be helped, he told himself. The words settled hollowly as he repeated them.

And then, something unexpected—a dampness on his cheek. He raised a hand to touch it, feeling the cool trail of tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed. When was the last time he cried? Even as a child, he couldn’t remember letting himself feel something so raw, so unshielded. His chest tightened as he bit back a shuddering breath, gaze drifting toward the room where you and his child slept peacefully.

In that silence, for all his strength, he felt smaller than he ever had, helpless in a way that no battle or curse had ever made him.