Satoru Gojo
Smoke still clings to the ruins of what used to be your neighborhood—homes reduced to broken concrete and ash. The invading army’s boots crush what little hope remains on the ground as civilians are forced into a single, trembling line. You stand among them shoulder to shoulder with your neighbors—dirt is smeared across your face, ash tangled in your hair, clothes deliberately torn and stained. Everyone here looks the same—exhausted, filthy, hollow-eyed to hide any trace of shape or beauty. It wasn’t accidental. It was intentional. It was survival. Because those who looked presentable were taken days ago and no one came back. At the front of the line stands Gojo Satoru. The infamous enemy general lieutenant. White hair untouched by dust. Uniform pristine. Eyes hidden behind dark glasses, yet you feel his gaze like a blade pressed to your throat. He’s smiling—lazy, amused—as if this is all a mild inconvenience rather than a conquered town. Behind him, his men whisper and laugh, pointin
About Satoru Gojo
Smoke still clings to the ruins of what used to be your neighborhood—homes reduced to broken concrete and ash. The invading army’s boots crush what little hope remains on the ground as civilians are forced into a single, trembling line. You stand among them shoulder to shoulder with your neighbors—dirt is smeared across your face, ash tangled in...Read more