Riley** watched in silence from the shadowed corner of the alley.
**Satoru Gojo's** outstretched hand and his desperate shouts could no longer reach **Suguru Geto's** heart. He could only watch helplessly as his best friend vanished into the crowd, leaving him behind.
That night, Satoru didn't return to Jujutsu High. When he finally came back the next morning, no one asked what had happened. **Shoko** merely glanced at him from the infirmary, then lowered her head and resumed writing her report.
Riley sat on a campus stone bench, watching him approach from afar. He was as upright as ever, a faint smile on his lips as if nothing were wrong. But she saw the hollow, dead look in his eyes.
He said nothing; only when he passed her did he murmur, "Senior, I messed up."
Riley lifted her gaze. "You did your best."
"Useless." He smiled, but it was a smile like a torn mask—cracked and ready to shatter.
"...What will you do next?"
"What I have to."
She was quiet for a moment, then simply said, "I'll be here."
He paused. He didn't look back, but he gave a slight nod.
She knew: from this day on, Satoru Gojo became the true "Strongest," and also the loneliest. And she, on this day, realized she could never leave his side again. Because both she and Suguru Geto had once stood beside him. She couldn't let him be "left behind" a second time.
---
The Jujutsu High buildings were eerily quiet at night—no **Cursed Energy** blasts from the training field, no roughhousing in the corridors.
When Satoru returned from the **Night Parade of a Hundred Demons**, not a single drop of blood clung to him. He wore that same cocky smile.
"Ahh—I'm back. Killed him, y'know."
He greeted **Principal Yaga** loudly while the man sorted documents, acting as casually as if he'd just bought juice from a vending machine. Yaga didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the report.
"...Satoru." A quiet voice came from the corner.
Riley stood by the window, her back straight, still in her mission uniform. Satoru grinned. "Senior~ Aren't I ridiculously handsome?"
"...Was it you who killed him?" she asked softly.
He answered with a smile, hands in his pockets, as though telling a joke. "He didn't struggle. He even smiled and said, 'At least say you hate me at the end?'"
His laugh was light, but his eyes were as cold as ice, as empty as a deserted sky. Riley said nothing. She only looked at him, her gaze utterly still.
Meeting her stare, Satoru's smile faded. He watched her, as if waiting for a reaction. But she didn't say "you've worked hard," she didn't say "you did the right thing," and she didn't step forward to hug him.
She only—in every gap between his words—looked at him in silence.
He understood. She knew he was lying. She hadn't been fooled.
Satoru turned and left without another word. But the instant his back passed through the doorway, Riley instinctively raised her hand. Her fingers twitched, as if to grasp something, then froze in mid-air before finally falling quietly to her side.
She didn't call out to him.
---
The night was deep.
The whole school slept, yet a dark silhouette hovered above the rooftop—half-floating, half-crouching, as though refusing to touch the ground. Satoru floated in the night sky, chin on his arms, knees drawn up, his eyes vacant as he gazed down.
He kept **Limitless** deactivated, forcing himself to feel the wind and gravity, reminding himself he was still alive. He had spent nights like this before, but tonight, he truly could not land. He feared returning to his room, where a familiar face would forever be missing; he feared closing his eyes and seeing the one who, even at the end, had smiled and called his name.
Below, Riley stood on a corner of the school roof. She cast no technique and stirred no Cursed Energy. She simply tilted her head, watching the white-haired figure suspended in the sky like moonlight about to shatter.
She didn't go up. She didn't disturb him. She merely stayed there—a motionless star—so his world would not fall into total darkness.
"..."
Satoru's fingertips tightened. Opening his eyes, he glanced toward the corner below and gave a soft laugh. He knew she was there. A sudden urge struck him to ask, "Why won't you come over?"
But he understood: she wasn't refusing him—she was letting him "land on his own." Because she knew Satoru Gojo wasn't someone to be saved; he had to choose to stand up himself.
So she made no sound, offered no comfort, and extended no hand. Yet she never left. Riley remained standing there, gazing quietly; not even the wind dared disturb her vigil.
---
In the first year after Suguru Geto's death, Satoru Gojo smiled more than ever before.
On missions, he deliberately detonated excess Cursed Energy, using Limitless to crush opponents with overwhelming pressure. He kept his tone light with students, showed up late, skipped meetings, and bickered with Shoko and **Utahime** to kill time.
Everything looked unchanged. But Riley knew it wasn't. It was Satoru Gojo working desperately to keep everything *looking* unchanged.
When a mission ended, he would hang alone in the night sky. At meetings about force deployment and resource reallocation, he always sat at the far end of the table, chin propped on his left hand, right fingers drumming—a habit when he was thinking, or perhaps a self-hypnosis to scatter his attention.
She never took the initiative to disturb him. He never said anything to her, either. But she would appear whenever he was on the verge of losing control.
Once, during a heated clash with the elders over student assignments, his eyes turned cold to the point of lifelessness. She simply walked up and placed a new file before him. "Calm down, then decide whether to throw a punch."
Satoru glanced down at her without a word—and reined in his Cursed Energy. She was a silent blade that never needed to leave its sheath; her presence at his side reminded him he still possessed human reason.
And he, from some point on, grew used to that presence.
---
Gradually, he realized he was waiting for her to appear.
Though she never said "I'll come," whenever that familiar silhouette appeared at a corridor corner, the mission-report office, or the back row after a briefing—his shoulders would relax and his grin would grow wilder.
He knew it was dangerous. He was "The Strongest," a man without weakness—that was the unspoken rule of the Jujutsu world. Once he showed favoritism, that favor would become a target. He also knew that if he stepped any closer to her, she would bear a weight ordinary people couldn't carry.
So he did nothing. Yet, he did a great deal.
He stopped provoking her with "Let's spar, Senpai," and instead asked, "Next time, want to help me test a new technique?" He no longer made a scene demanding she keep him in line; when a mission looked thorny, he simply added one more name to the assignment sheet.
She never asked why, but she was always where she needed to be—until, after one mission, he noticed her right wrist was slightly torn from overcasting her technique.
"When did you get hurt?"
She merely glanced at him. "During the mission. It's taken care of."
"Why didn't you come to me?"
"Weren't you on leave?"
He shut up instantly. That was how she was—ten years fighting back-to-back, never once asking him to spare her a thought. He once thought that kind of distance would reassure him; now, he found he was starting to hate it. Because she never expected him to come closer, he felt that any step nearer would cross a forbidden line.
---
In the days leading up to the **Shibuya Incident**, life at Jujutsu High was unexpectedly calm.
**Yuji Itadori** gradually earned recognition, and meetings between the branches proceeded without friction. Riley taught classes as usual and scheduled missions on time. Satoru remained the noisy teacher who also happened to be the strongest sorcerer in the world. They brushed past each other countless afternoons, trading glances in the corridor after mission briefings.
One noon, Satoru lay half-reclined on the faculty rooftop, his eyes narrowed lazily. "Senior, if I suddenly said I wanted to quit, what would you do?"
Riley stopped and looked at him. "...You wouldn't say that."
"Hey, how can you be so sure?"
"Because you already tried," she spoke evenly. "And you came back."
Satoru blinked, then gave a soft laugh. She was always like that—cutting straight to the point yet never forcing him to admit weakness. She also never said "I'll stay with you."
They were like two blades—each razor-sharp, yet able to mesh with perfect precision. He had thought himself incapable of love, yet without noticing, he had fallen for the one who never expected him to turn around, yet always stood behind him.
He knew she was always there. And he decided: as long as she was willing, he would keep walking ahead of her.
This silent companionship lasted ten years. Until the night of Shibuya fell, tearing everything apart and forging a new story.
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