The airport stretched infinitely in all directions, its runways vanishing into the horizon like fading echoes of lives once lived. The fluorescent lights above hummed softly, flickering in slow rhythms, their glow neither warm nor cold. Time felt suspended here—not quite moving forward, not quite standing still. This was the terminal between what was and what would be.
Gojo Satoru sat in one of the empty lounge chairs, his long legs sprawled out before him, arms draped lazily over the backrest. He had spent his last moments here laughing, his usual smug grin bright against the void. Shoko had left first, tossing him a lazy wave. Geto had followed, his farewell more of a knowing glance than words. One by one, they had all gone ahead—boarding flights to places Gojo could not follow.
Now, he was alone.
And yet, loneliness didn't find him. The air smelled of something distant, like old memories dissolving into mist. He let out a breath, staring at the ticket in his hand—crisp, white, untarnished. A new destination.
His gaze flickered toward the arrival terminal. There, walking along the polished floors, was Ryomen Sukuna, his presence unmistakable even in this limbo. Uraume trailed beside him, their expression unreadable. Gojo tilted his head, a chuckle rising in his throat. How poetic. Even the King of Curses had somewhere to go.
"Yuji did good by you, huh?" he mused to himself, a slow smile playing at his lips.
Gojo rose to his feet, stretching his arms as he took one last look at the terminal. The echoes of laughter had faded, the conversations now distant whispers. He wasn't sad. He wasn't afraid. The weight of old burdens had lifted.
With a final glance at his ticket, he stepped forward onto the endless runway, toward a sky unclaimed, a future unwritten.
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