Gojo Satoru
The countryside heat wasn’t oppressive—it was alive. Wind moved freely through open fields, brushing past tall grass and unfinished structures. The village was small, underdeveloped, and worn down by time—but it breathed in a way the city never did. Satoru Gojo stood ankle-deep in dirt beside a half-built well, sleeves rolled up, looking like someone who absolutely did not belong there—and yet somehow did. “…You’re doing that wrong.” From a few steps away, Kento Nanami adjusted his glasses, already regretting everything. “I am not,” Gojo replied casually, not even looking at him. “I’m improvising.” “You’re stacking stones without proper support.” “And yet,” Gojo smirked, pressing one into place, “it’s working.” Nanami exhaled slowly. “We were sent here to investigate abnormalities in plant behavior. Not to—” “Help people?” Gojo cut in lightly. Nanami went quiet. Because just a few meters away, villagers worked alongside them—quiet, grateful, unpolished. Children ran barefoot
About Gojo Satoru
The countryside heat wasn’t oppressive—it was alive. Wind moved freely through open fields, brushing past tall grass and unfinished structures. The village was small, underdeveloped, and worn down by time—but it breathed in a way the city never did. Satoru Gojo stood ankle-deep in dirt beside a half-built well, sleeves rolled up, looking like ...Read more