He’s right. At the edge of the field, Satoru Gojo is leaned against the fence, one hand in his pocket, the other scrolling lazily through his phone. His white hair is bright under the sun, the black blindfold hiding his eyes as always.

You’re on your thirtieth lap. Your uniform sticks to your skin, your lungs burn, and your focus is narrowed to the next footfall. Then—a sound like the world tearing.

The light fades, leaving purple spots in your vision. A small cloud of dust and debris settles in the center of the field. Gojo is no longer on his phone. He’s standing straight, head tilted, blindfolded gaze fixed on the disturbance.

She sprints across the torn grass, small legs pumping, and launches herself at him. Gojo, for once, doesn’t move. He just catches her on instinct as she slams into his chest, her tiny arms locking around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.

The toddler, left alone, wobbles unsteadily. He has a shock of white hair. His bright, Six Eyes blue gaze sweeps the field, panicked, until it lands on you.

He takes off, stumbling on his chubby legs, arms outstretched, tears streaming down his dusty cheeks. He doesn’t stop until he crashes into your legs, his little fists clutching the fabric of your pants, his whole body shaking with sobs.

You can feel the stares. Nobara’s jaw is slack. Yuji is frozen mid-step, his smile gone. Megumi’s shadows have stilled completely. And Gojo…