The morning air at Tokyo Jujutsu High was crisp, the kind of weather that usually made Gojo Satoru feel like he could conquer the world with a single flick of his fingers. He was currently standing in front of his three favorite students—Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara—in the middle of a shaded courtyard. He had spent the first twenty minutes of the lesson bragging about his newlywed life, flashing his platinum wedding band at every opportunity, and generally being the most insufferable version of himself.
"And then," Gojo chirped, leaning against a stone pillar with a smug grin, "Miyuki made this incredible breakfast. Seriously, kids, you haven't lived until you've had a Special Grade librarian fry an egg. The precision! The technique! The love!"
Megumi sighed, rubbing his temples. "Sensei, please. We've been here for half an hour. Can we actually talk about the barrier techniques for the upcoming mission, or are we just going to catalog your domestic bliss all day?"
"You're just jealous, Megumi-kun!" Gojo laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "When you find someone who can stand your brooding personality, you'll understand. But until then, you have me! Your brilliant, happily married mentor."
Nobara rolled her eyes, leaning on her hammer. "If you say the word 'bliss' one more time, I'm going to use my straw doll on your ego. It's the only thing big enough to hit from this distance."
Gojo opened his mouth to deliver a witty retort, but he was interrupted by a sharp ping from his pocket.
His face instantly lit up. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen with a speed that rivaled his combat reflexes. "Ah! Speaking of the goddess herself! My beautiful wife is probably checking in to see if I've missed her yet. Which I have. Terribly."
The students watched with varying degrees of boredom and disgust as Gojo's face softened into a delighted, almost dopily romantic expression. He tapped the notification, expecting a sweet 'I love you' or perhaps a reminder to pick up milk on the way back to the penthouse.
Then, his entire body went rigid.
The "Six Eyes" processed the information on the screen in a fraction of a millisecond. It wasn't a text about groceries.
It was a photo.
A high-definition, perfectly lit, and utterly scandalous photo of Arima Miyuki. She was in their bedroom, wearing nothing but one of Satoru's own black high-collared jackets—unzipped entirely, draped open to reveal the pale, flushed curve of her breasts and the dark, bruised marks he had left on her neck the night before. Her emerald eyes were looking directly into the camera, heavy-lidded and dark with a promise that made the air in Satoru's lungs vanish.
Below the photo was a single line of text:
"The penthouse feels too big when you're not in it, Satoru. I'm wearing your scent, but I'd much rather be wearing you. Don't be late for dinner. I'm the main course."
Gojo Satoru, the strongest man in the world, the untouchable pinnacle of Jujutsu sorcery, audibly choked on his own saliva.
He stared at the screen, his thumbs trembling as he instinctively tried to zoom in on the specific detail of his own teeth marks on her collarbone. His brain, capable of calculating the atomic structure of a Hollow Purple, was currently short-circuiting at the sight of his wife's thigh peeking out from under the hem of his jacket.
"Sensei?" Yuji asked, stepping forward with genuine concern. "You okay? You look like you just saw a cursed spirit with twenty heads."
Gojo didn't look up. He couldn't. He was frantically trying to tilt the screen away from them, his fingers fumbling with the volume buttons as another message arrived with a suggestive vibration.
"Everything is... fine!" Gojo gasped, his voice an octave higher than usual. He nearly dropped the phone, catching it with a frantic grab that lacked all of his usual grace. "Totally fine! Just... Miyuki is... she's very angry! Yes! I left the kitchen a mess this morning, and she's... she's sending me photos of the dirty dishes! It's terrifying! I'm being verbally abused!"
Nobara squinted at him, her suspicion growing. "Sensei, your face is as red as a tomato. And why are you staring at the 'dirty dishes' like you're trying to memorize their atomic weight?"
"Because she's very thorough with her cleaning!" Gojo shouted, finally shoving the phone back into his pocket. He turned his back to them, walking toward a large chalkboard he'd set up in the courtyard for the lesson.
He picked up a piece of chalk, his hand shaking slightly. The "Six Eyes" were betraying him now, replaying the image of Miyuki in his jacket over and over again on the back of his eyelids. He could feel the blood rushing away from his head and toward a very specific, very insistent part of his anatomy.
His tactical pants were suddenly feeling several sizes too small.
"Anyway!" Gojo barked, his back still turned to the students. He began to draw chaotic, meaningless circles on the chalkboard, his movements frantic. "Barrier techniques! Very important! If the foundation is weak, the whole thing... it... uh... it collapses! Like a messy kitchen! Which I have! Because I'm a mess!"
"Sensei," Megumi said, his voice flat. "You're drawing a picture of a cat. And why are you standing so close to the board? You're practically hugging it."
"I'm analyzing the texture of the slate!" Gojo lied, his voice strained. He was currently praying for the cold embrace of the Arctic. He could feel the pulse of his erection straining against the fabric of his trousers, a physical manifestation of his desire that no Infinity could hide. He stayed glued to the chalkboard, refusing to turn around. "Just... keep practicing your hand signs! I'm busy... calculating!"
***
The mid-morning sparring session was usually Gojo's favorite time to show off, but today, he was a ghost of his usual self. He stood on the edge of the training field, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his posture unnaturally stiff.
Buzz.
His pocket vibrated again. Then again. A rapid-fire succession of notifications.
He knew he shouldn't. He knew he was a professional educator with a responsibility to the next generation. But the "Six Eyes" were a curse as much as a gift, and the curiosity was a physical itch.
He stepped behind a large stone lantern, shielded from the students' view, and pulled the phone out.
There were three new photos.
The first was a close-up of Miyuki's lips, swollen and glistening with gloss, biting down on her lower lip.
The second was a shot of her legs, crossed elegantly on the marble kitchen island they'd "ruined" the night before, her fingers tracing the line of a dark bruise on her inner thigh.
The third was a short video. No sound. Just Miyuki, slowly pulling the collar of his jacket down to reveal the slope of her shoulder, her emerald eyes glowing with a wicked, playful light before she mouthed the words: "Hurry home, Satoru."
Gojo's knees actually buckled. He leaned his forehead against the cold stone of the lantern, letting out a long, ragged groan.
"She's going to be the death of me," he whispered to the stone. "She's actually going to kill me."
"Sensei? Are you talking to the lantern?"
Yuji appeared on the other side of the stone, looking puzzled. Megumi and Nobara were right behind him, their expressions ranging from pity to outright annoyance.
"It's a very high-grade cursed tool!" Gojo snapped, jumping back and nearly tripping over his own feet. He shoved the phone into his waistband, feeling the cold glass against his skin. It didn't help. "I'm just... checking its resonance! Very technical stuff! You wouldn't understand!"
Nobara stepped closer, her eyes scanning his face. "You're sweating, Sensei. It's fifteen degrees out, and you're sweating like you just ran a marathon in a sauna."
"It's the stress!" Gojo shouted, his voice cracking. "The dishes, Nobara! The dishes are multiplying! It's a domestic nightmare! I might never go home! I might just live here in this lantern!"
"Right," Megumi deadpanned. "Because that makes total sense. Can we just finish the sparring? You were supposed to be judging our cursed energy output."
"Yes! Sparring! Go! Fight! Do the thing!" Gojo gestured wildly toward the field, but he didn't move from behind the lantern. He couldn't. If he stepped out now, the "Strongest" would be remembered for something far more embarrassing than his ego. He stayed anchored to the stone, his back to them, watching their movements through the reflection in his phone screen—which he was secretly using to zoom in on Miyuki's video again.
***
The lunch break had been a blur of Gojo hiding in the teachers' lounge, eating cold mochi, and staring at his phone like a man possessed. Miyuki hadn't stopped. If anything, she had accelerated.
She was now sending voice notes—whispered, husky descriptions of exactly what she planned to do to him when he walked through the door. Descriptions that involved his Limitless technique, a pair of silk ties, and the very specific use of her Reverse Cursed Technique to ensure they didn't have to stop for "human limits."
By the time the afternoon lecture started, Gojo was a vibrating mess of repressed lust and tactical panic. He was sitting at his desk in the classroom, his legs crossed tightly, his hands folded over his lap.
"Today," Gojo started, his voice a hoarse rasp, "we are going to discuss... the importance of... self-control."
The irony wasn't lost on him.
"Self-control?" Nobara asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is this the lecture where you tell us not to spend our entire stipend on designer bags? Because if so, I'm opting out."
"No," Gojo said, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. "It's about... managing your impulses. When you're in the heat of battle... and you feel a sudden... surge of energy... you have to know how to... channel it."
Buzz.
The phone on the desk vibrated. The screen lit up.
Because Gojo was a fool who loved to see her name, he hadn't turned off the "Show Preview" setting.
A new photo popped up on the lock screen.
It was a mirror selfie. Miyuki was in the bathroom, the steam from a shower still clouding the edges of the glass. She was completely naked, her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder with a devastatingly coy smile. The reflection showed every scratch, every bite, and every drop of water clinging to her porcelain skin.
The three students sat in the front row. They all had 20/20 vision. They all saw the screen.
The silence that followed was so heavy it could have crushed a Grade 1 curse.
Yuji's jaw dropped. Megumi instantly looked at the ceiling, his face turning a shade of red that matched his blood vessels. Nobara simply stared, her eyes wide, before slowly turning her gaze toward their teacher.
Gojo's reaction was instantaneous.
He didn't just grab the phone; he used a localized application of Blue to pull the device toward his hand so fast it nearly broke the sound barrier. He shoved it into his desk drawer and slammed it shut with a THUD that shook the entire room.
He sat there, frozen, his face a mask of absolute, paralyzing horror.
"Sensei," Nobara said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper. "I'm pretty sure those weren't dirty dishes."
"It was... a very modern art piece!" Gojo shouted, his voice reaching a pitch that only dogs could hear. "A study on... skin textures! Miyuki is a very dedicated researcher! She's cataloging the effects of... humidity on cursed energy pathways!"
"She was naked, Sensei," Yuji said, his voice small and traumatized. "She was definitely naked."
"Art is naked, Yuji!" Gojo yelled, standing up so abruptly his chair flew backward. He stayed behind the desk, his hands gripping the edge so hard the wood began to splinter. He was sweating profusely now, his white hair plastered to his forehead. The erection he'd been fighting all day had reached its final, most aggressive form. He looked like a man who was about to explode. "Everything is art! This desk is art! The ceiling is art! I'm art! Now, everyone... turn to page... sixty-nine!"
Megumi finally looked down from the ceiling, his expression one of pure judgment. "There is no page sixty-nine in this manual, Sensei. It only goes up to fifty."
"Then imagine it!" Gojo roared, his eyes wild. "Use your cursed energy to manifest a page sixty-nine! It's a secret technique! Very advanced! I'm going to go... check on the... flowers! In the garden! For three hours!"
"Sensei, it's raining," Nobara pointed out.
"I LOVE THE RAIN!" Gojo shouted, finally making a move toward the door. He didn't walk; he shuffled, keeping his hips tilted back and his hands awkwardly covering his front as he crab-walked along the wall toward the exit. "Don't follow me! If anyone follows me, you're all expelled! I have to go... mediate! For my sins!"
He vanished out the door, the sound of his frantic, shuffling footsteps echoing down the hallway.
***
Gojo was currently huddled in the corner of the school's high-security archives, the only place he felt he could have a fraction of privacy. He was sitting on a pile of dusty scrolls, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline—or a detonator.
He had 54 new messages.
Miyuki had moved past photos. She was now sending "dares."
"I just opened a bottle of that expensive champagne you like, Satoru. I'm currently pouring it over myself. Do you think the Six Eyes could taste it through the screen? Or do you need to come home and lick it off my skin?"
Gojo let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl. He threw his head back against the stone wall, his eyes squeezed shut. "She knows. She knows exactly what she's doing. She's a demon. A beautiful, emerald-eyed demon."
He checked the time. Thirty minutes left of the school day. Thirty minutes until he could legally leave without Principal Yaga suspecting he was deserting his duties for "extracurricular activities."
Buzz.
"I'm in the foyer, Satoru. I'm not wearing the jacket anymore. I'm just wearing the heels you bought me in Roppongi. The ones with the red soles. I'm standing right in front of the door. I wonder... if you warped home right now, would you hit me, or would you catch me?"
Gojo stood up. The scrolls beneath him were crushed into dust by the sudden surge of his cursed energy. He didn't care about the archives. He didn't care about the "merit system." He didn't even care about the dirty dishes.
He pulled out his blindfold, sliding it over his eyes with a snap. The darkness didn't help; if anything, the sensory deprivation made the memories of the photos even more vivid. He could see her—every curve, every flush, every wicked smile.
He began to walk toward the main gate, his pace increasing with every second. He was no longer shuffling. He was marching with the intent of a man going to war.
He rounded the corner and saw the three students standing by the gate, looking like they were waiting for him.
"Sensei," Megumi started, "we were thinking about the mission—"
"MISSION CANCELED!" Gojo shouted, not even slowing down as he bypassed them. "THE WORLD IS ENDING! THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE! GO HOME! READ A BOOK! DON'T TALK TO ME!"
"But Sensei—" Yuji started.
Gojo stopped, turning back for a split second. He leaned down, his face inches from Yuji's. "Yuji. If you ever get married... marry a woman who hates technology. It's for your own survival."
And with that, the space around him simply folded.
A blur of blue light, a sharp pop of displaced air, and Gojo Satoru was gone.
***
Gojo Satoru did not enter through the front door. He materialized in the center of the foyer in a sharp, blue-tinted blur of spatial displacement, the air popping with the force of his arrival. He was still wearing his high-collared black jacket, but his blindfold was gripped tightly in his fist, and his eyes—those terrifying, infinite expanses of celestial blue—were glowing with a manic, predatory fire.
Miyuki was exactly where she had promised to be. She was leaning against the mahogany wall, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like silk. She wore only the red-soled heels he had bought her, her porcelain skin flushed a deep, feverish pink.
"You're home," she whispered, her voice a low, melodic purr that was designed to shatter whatever was left of his legendary self-control.
Gojo didn't speak. He didn't move for several seconds. He simply stared at her, the Six Eyes processing the way her heart was racing, the way her Reverse Cursed Technique was working overtime to handle the heat of her own arousal, and the way her Green Entropy flickered around her skin like a defensive shroud.
"Do you have any idea," Gojo started, his voice a hoarse, sub-zero vibration that made the floorboards beneath him groan, "what you did to me today?"
He took a step forward, his massive frame looming over her. The playful, arrogant Gojo Satoru was gone. In his place stood the man who had executed the entire Higher-up council without blinking—a man who was currently being driven to the brink of insanity by the woman who owned his soul.
"I had to sit through a lecture on barrier techniques," he growled, pinning her against the wall with the sheer weight of his presence. "I had to look my students in the eyes while your naked body was burned into the back of my eyelids. I had to hide the fact that I was dying to tear this city apart just to get back to you."
Miyuki tilted her head, a wicked, defiant smile spreading across her lips. "I thought you were the 'Strongest,' Satoru. I thought nothing could rattle your Infinity. Was a little art research too much for you to handle?"
Gojo's hand shot out, his fingers tangling deeply into the roots of her black hair. He didn't pull hard enough to hurt, but he yanked her head back, forcing her to look up into the terrifying, boundless blue of his eyes.
"The research is over," Gojo hissed, his face inches from hers. "Now comes the peer review. And I find your conduct today to be... highly unprofessional."
He spun her around with absolute strength, forcing her chest against the cold mahogany. In one fluid motion, he grabbed both of her wrists, pinning them behind her back with a single, massive hand. He wasn't using his Limitless to keep her there; he was using his physical strength, letting her feel the raw power of the monster she had teased all day.
"Satoru..." she gasped, the friction of her skin against the wood and the heat of his body behind her sending a jolt of electricity through her core. "You seem... upset."
"I'm not upset, Miyuki," Gojo whispered, his lips brushing against the sensitive shell of her ear. "I'm focused. I'm going to teach you exactly what happens when you decide to play games with a man who can see through the fabric of the universe."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the long, black strip of his blindfold.
"Don't use your technique," he commanded, the words carrying the weight of a binding vow. "If I feel a single spark of your Entropy trying to peek through this, I'm doubling the penalty."
He wrapped the blindfold over her eyes, tying the knot tight. Miyuki's world vanished into a thick darkness. He didn't stop there. He used the remaining length of the silk to bind her wrists together, securing them tightly behind her back. He stepped away for a moment, and Miyuki felt a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety in the void.
"Satoru? Where are you?"
"Right here," his voice came from the darkness, a dark, low-frequency rumble. "I'm just deciding where to start."
He moved her to the heavy, high-backed velvet chair in the center of the living room. He seated her firmly, her hands still bound behind her, her vision gone.
"You were so brave behind a screen today," Gojo murmured, his hands sliding up the inside of her thighs. "Let's see how brave you are when you can't see the hand that's about to touch you."
He knelt between her legs, his tongue darting out to lave the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Miyuki's back arched, her breath hitching. Because she was blind, every touch was amplified a thousandfold. The scent of his expensive cologne, the sound of his breathing, the ozone of his cursed energy—it all felt like it was inside her brain.
"You sent me a photo of this, didn't you?" Gojo whispered, his thumb grazing her clitoris through the slick heat of her arousal. "You wanted me to imagine what you were doing. Well, stop imagining. It's happening."
He began to worship her with a feral intensity. He wasn't gentle. He used his tongue, his teeth, and his fingers to drive her toward the edge, only to pull back at the last possible second. It was a torture of the highest order.
"Satoru, please," she sobbed, her head thrashing against the velvet. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"
"Liar," Gojo chuckled, his voice thick with lust. "You'll do it tomorrow. You love seeing me struggle. And I love breaking you for it."
He reached for the chilled bottle of lubricant he had brought from the bedroom. Miyuki felt the sudden, shocking cold of the liquid against her heated skin, and then, the sensation of his fingers exploring her further.
He didn't go for the path he had traveled a thousand times before. He moved to the tighter, more forbidden entrance—the one they had only just begun to explore.
Miyuki gasped, her body going rigid as he began to prep her. He was thorough, his fingers moving in a slow, rhythmic circle that made her vision (what was left of it in the dark) dance with green sparks.
"You're so tight," Gojo groaned, his voice a dark, rough vibration. "Even when you're this wet, you're trying to hold onto me. Give it up, Miyuki. Surrender everything."
He added a second finger, then a third, stretching her with a relentless precision. He was using his Six Eyes to find every internal nerve, every point of resistance, and melting them with the heat of his touch.
Gojo stood up, the sound of his tactical pants hitting the floor echoing in the quiet room. He didn't untie her hands. He didn't remove the blindfold.
He gripped her hips, the weight of his massive hands leaving bruises on her porcelain skin, and hoisted her up. He didn't sit in the chair; he forced her to wrap her legs around his waist as he remained standing, her back pressed against the mahogany door.
He lined himself up and drove forward to her anus.
The impact was devastating. Because she couldn't see the strike coming, her body took the full force of him, her internal walls stretching and yielding to the absolute mass of his desire.
"Ah! Satoru!" Miyuki shrieked, her voice echoing through the penthouse.
"Say it," Gojo commanded, his voice a ragged, primal hilt as he began a brutal, rhythmic pounding against the door. "Say you belong to the monster."
"I... ah... I'm yours! I belong to you!"
He was moving with the desperation of a man who had been starved for centuries. Every thrust bottomed out, hitting the very center of her being. The friction was creating a literal electrical storm between them. Blue and Green sparks of cursed energy strobed in the room, the air humming with the power of two Special Grades losing their minds.
Miyuki was floating in a void of pure overstimulation. The blindfold, the darkness, the deep, rhythmic pounding—it all converged into a singular point of absolute surrender. Her Reverse Cursed Technique was firing constantly, keeping her on the brink of a climax that her brain couldn't fathom.
"You're going to break for me again," Gojo praised, his own breathing becoming harsh and ragged. "You're going to squirt all over this floor, and I'm going to make you stay in the dark while I lick it up."
The pace accelerated. He was a blur of power and precision, his hands moving to her jaw, gently forcing her head back as he claimed her mouth in a deep, intoxicating kiss.
The pressure in Miyuki's core hit a critical mass. Her Six Eyes flared behind the blindfold, the sensory data of his body, his scent, and his cursed energy overloading her neurological pathways.
"SATORU!"
She climaxed with the force of a tectonic shift. Her body went completely rigid, her back bowing so fiercely she was almost lifted off the door. A massive, powerful gush of hot fluid erupted from her, a violent squirt that drenched his groin and the marble floor beneath them. She sobbed through the release, her body trembling uncontrollably as the liquid continued to flow with every violent spasm of her core.
Gojo followed her a second later. He let out a guttural, earth-shaking roar, his head throwing back as his own climax hit him with the force of a localized earthquake. He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, and drove himself forward for one final, devastatingly deep thrust.
He held himself buried to the hilt, his entire massive frame shuddering violently as he unloaded into her. The volume and force of his release were staggering, a scalding hot flood that filled her deepest depths to overflowing.
The rain had slowed to a gentle patter. The only sound in the penthouse was the ragged, synchronized rhythm of their breathing.
Gojo didn't pull out. He didn't untie her hands. He simply wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest as he sank onto the sofa, keeping her pinned to him.
He leaned down, pressing a soft, exhausted kiss to the spot where her neck met her shoulder—right on top of the dark purple bruise he had left earlier.
"The scolding is over," Gojo whispered, his voice incredibly soft, filled with a peaceful, absolute certainty.
He reached around, finally untying the knot of the blindfold.
Miyuki blinked as the light of the penthouse returned. Her emerald eyes were hazy, the pupils dilated, her face wet with tears of profound love and exhaustion. She looked at him—at the man who had just dismantled her entire reality—and saw only the husband who worshipped the ground she walked on.
"Was I a good girl, Satoru?" she whispered, her voice a fractured rasp.
Gojo laughed softly, pulling her hands around to the front and finally unbinding her wrists. He kissed her knuckles, his eyes glowing with a devoted, manic light.
"You were a nightmare," he grinned. "And I can't wait for you to do it again tomorrow."
Miyuki leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers tracing the scarred, muscular ridges of his spine. The "noise" of the world—the students, the new merit system, the threats of the future—felt miles away.
"I have a photo I didn't send," she murmured, a trace of her wicked spirit returning.
Gojo groaned, his grip on her waist tightening. "Miyuki. If you show me one more thing tonight, I'm going to warp us to the top of Mount Fuji and keep you there until the next century."
"It's just a photo of the ring, Satoru," she smiled, holding up her hand.
Gojo looked at the platinum band, the green stone catching the light of the neon city below. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, soul-sealing kiss.
"That's the only photo I ever need," he whispered.
The noise of the future was loud, but as they slept in each other's arms, they realized they were the only melody that mattered.
***
The Tokyo Jujutsu High classroom was quiet when Gojo Satoru walked in the next day. He looked... refreshed. His hair was perfectly styled, his uniform was crisp, and he was carrying a large box of expensive donuts.
He placed the donuts on the desk with a bright, cheerful grin. "Morning, everyone! Who wants a maple glaze?"
The three students stared at him. None of them moved.
"Sensei," Nobara said, her voice flat. "We saw your lock screen yesterday."
"We saw... everything," Yuji added, looking traumatized.
Gojo didn't even flinch. He picked up a donut, taking a large, satisfied bite. "Oh, that? Like I said, kids. Art. Very profound, very technical art. You'll understand when you're older."
Megumi looked at the donuts, then at Gojo's neck, where a fresh, very visible bite mark was peeking out from above his collar. "Is the 'dirty dish' problem resolved, then?"
Gojo's grin widened, a devious, private light dancing in his blue eyes. "Completely. Though I think I might have left the bedroom a mess this morning. I'm expecting a very... thorough scolding later this afternoon."
His phone chimed in his pocket.
The three students instantly stood up, grabbed their bags, and headed for the door in a synchronized rush.
"Nope," Nobara said, already halfway out the door. "I'm going to Kyoto. I'm transferring. I'm done."
"Wait for me!" Yuji shouted, running after her.
Megumi stopped at the door, looking back at his teacher one last time. "Sensei. For the love of God... turn off your notifications."
Gojo just laughed, pulling his phone out and leaning back in his chair as he tapped the new message.
"Round six, Satoru? Or are you too tired from all that 'teaching'?"
"Tired?" Gojo whispered to the empty room, his thumb already typing a response as he felt the familiar, wonderful stirrings of a new day's distraction. "I'm the Strongest. I never get tired."