Chapter Text
He is strong and there's no doubt about it.
Then why does he have an unhealthy amount of still bleeding wounds hidden under a smile?
Nobody seemed to notice, or try to.
Being the strongest amongst all comes with a hefty price… It also means to be the loneliest of all. Gojo Satoru grew up in a bubble where he was untouchable, like a huge diamond in a jewelry store, meant to be shown as symbolism of power, not really meant to fit in a jewel, just a center of attraction. It was worsened by the fact he is an omega, a walking contradiction. The strongest sorcerer alive with the lowest/weakest rank among society.
Nevertheless, society isn’t ruled by secondary genders anymore. It was rendered as an absurd thought almost 100 hundred years ago, secondary genders were just another biological topic to add in books, no difference between female or males, nor alphas, betas or omegas. In the end everyone is just people.
Yet, this is wishful thinking.
In a society like Japan even gender roles were still a thing thanks to the traditional way of how people thought, where elders have the final word and the youth decided to avoid relationships as much as they can. They just pretend to be a modern society. In a clan, to Satoru dismay, he was fated to be just another bargaining chip for them.
His cursed techniques and insanely strong cursed energy were the only things keeping him in a somewhat equal position to them.
They decided to pretend his secondary gender didn’t matter to them as long as it doesn’t represent an issue to his role as the strongest sorcerer. The clan then forced the development of his cursed technique, the Infinity, by themselves since it was hard for a kid Satoru to find curses, since every small curse that would normally linger around banished at his presence or hid, instinctually preserving their lives.
The day the Infinity manifested was etched into Satoru's memory with searing agony. His world shattered in an instant, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the gut-wrenching stench of death. He cried begging for someone to help him, scared of the sudden loneliness. He was playing with his cousins that were somewhat around his age, until he wanted to stop playing, he didn’t like the game, he didn’t want to be undressed as a challenge from his cousins, he didn’t want to be touched.
As if hearing his prayers, his cursed energy exploded and manifested his technique. What once was his cousin, now it was just mashed meat and blood against the wall.
"M-mama," he stammered, his voice trembling just to remember she never was with him. "Father! Someone! Please!" His cries pierced the heavy air. “Help me! Please! Help!” He begged while he held his ruined and tousled kimono with shaking hands. The bitter taste of salty tears mingled with the metallic tang of blood on his lips, a stark reminder of the shattered remains of innocence he could never reclaim.
Nobody came, nobody could.
The wail of his voice, echoing off the walls of the desolate space, highlighting the void that had become his reality. Each sob tore through him, leaving behind a hollow ache that gnawed at his very core. His small, trembling hands clung to the tattered remnants of his kimono, the only semblance of comfort in a world that had turned its back on him.
As the minutes stretched into eternity, his cries devolved into pitiful, breathless whimpers, the ache in his chest constricting his throat until words became mere fragments of broken sound. "Please... someone... anyone..." he murmured, the weight of his loneliness pressing down upon him like an unyielding vice. "Don't leave me here... please..." His voice trailed off, lost in the suffocating silence that enveloped him.
His final, desperate plea hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the shattered innocence that lay scattered around him. Each word bore the weight of a child's desperate yearning, a primal need for the embrace of a love that would forever remain out of reach .
In the aftermath, the adults' whispered discussions became hushed condemnations, their wary glances casting him as an aberration, an omega unfit for the nurturing embrace of family.Then they decided that secluding a four year old Satoru from the younger ones in the family to avoid another tragedy amidst a child’s play was the best course of action. He was an omega and therefore he was seen as less until that day when everyone began to fear and resent him.
He then understood that he had to be stronger and cold, otherwise the world would always take advantage of him.
The same thing happened with other cursed techniques as Falling Blossom Emotion; while Satoru was secluded in the basement of the Gojo State (as punishment for a temper tantrum) one of his uncles tried to teach him the technique but the little one was too stubborn and arrogant, in consequence couldn’t get it right. The omega believed that his Infinity was enough to avoid damage, he was barely seven when his uncle, fed up with his attitude, decided to use his alpha voice on the small omega.
Using an alpha voice on an omega pup was beyond a taboo and a crime, since they couldn’t resist it or escape it. He ordered Satoru to turn off his infinity and then he activated his domain expansión beating the little kid black and blue until the other mastered the technique to free himself from the domain and his uncle grasp.
The so-called "training" sessions with his uncle devolved into a sickening ritual of brutality, each demand an excruciating reminder of his vulnerability. Satoru bore the physical and psychological scars of his uncle's callous teachings. The echoes of his own screams reverberated through the confined space of the basement, the searing pain of his uncle's violent demonstrations etched into his flesh, each blow a stark reminder of his own powerlessness.
That “training” despite being a crime was overlooked by the elders since it helped Satoru to be stronger. It repeated more than once, until the azure-eyed boy learnt to ignore alpha commands by sheer will.
He learned to bury his fear, to mask his vulnerability beneath layers of steely resolve.
Satoru Gojo, 9. Killed his uncle during training with an “accidental” use of blue.
Satoru Gojo, 10. Hospitalized due to a stroke caused by the overuse of his cursed technique without any reversed cursed technique to aid. Technique active time record: 8 days.
Satoru Gojo, 11. Victim of an assassination attempt by a cursed user, hired by someone who knew about his technique (likely a relative). Unscathed, yet he was threatened to be declared as a curse user by the self-defense murder committed.
Satoru Gojo, 13. Escaped home with a bunch of non-sorcerers using his parents black card. Returned home two days later with a blank expression.
Eventually as he grew older they began to treat him as an equal due to his power and cold demeanor.
Nothing in him screamed omega, if anything his rebellious behavior just proved further the point that his secondary gender said nothing about him. He was hardly human for everyone else.
Being the strongest was a curse, and being an omega also was a curse one greater than the other. The only thing Gojo was sure of was that he was overwhelmed, every single attempt he made to have some freedom was cut by his clan or he was so shielded that the real world spat on his face more than once. He had to leave or he was really going to become insane.
Jujutsu high in Tokyo was his freedom card. His family didn’t oppose because it would train him better and how to deal with Jujutsu society.
When he set foot in the campus he expected to have his classmates drowning him with questions about his power or family, instead he was treated normally. At first it shocked him, for someone used to swim in unwanted attention (and spoiled rotten), it was new.
A good kind of new.
Most of his classmates and friends didn’t come from clans, so they treated everyone equally and completely ignored clans or gender roles. It helped that Suguru and him were the strongest amongst everyone, so it developed a sense of normalcy in Satoru. He began to be himself.
He wasn’t alone at the top anymore.
He found a safe place for him at school and in Geto’s Suguru’s embrace.
They were two halves of the same coin. One had a technique that made him untouchable to the darkness of the world and the other one that made him savor that darkness. One came from a powerful clan, and the other was the son of non-sorcerers.
One of them was broken beyond repair but kept taking life as a challenge to prove himself, and the other was solid as a diamond but fragile under pressure.