Gojo dreamed in silence.
Not of basketball courts or laughter or the crisp swish of nets—but of screams, rubble, and the unbearable stillness after battle.
The night was heavy. Outside, Teiko slept.
Inside the dorms, Gojo sat upright in his bed, drenched in sweat. The dream had returned. Always the same.
Shibuya.
The blood. The helplessness. The feeling of his soul unraveling when Geto died—when he realized that power wasn't protection, not really.
He stood, grabbed his jacket, and walked out into the hallway.
The gym was empty—again. His refuge.
He sat beneath the basket and leaned back, staring up at the metal rim above him. It looked like a halo from this angle. Ironic.
"I couldn't save them," he thought. "Not Riko. Not Suguru. Not Nanami."
He pressed his palms to his face, breathing in.
"Maybe that's why I'm here."
The world of basketball was quieter. Kinder. But Gojo wasn't fooled. He could see the same patterns forming—the cracks in connection, the hunger for dominance, the loneliness that came from power left unchecked.
And now he had a second chance.
Not to be a god.
But to be a teammate.
A friend.
A protector, even without a battlefield.
Suddenly, the doors creaked.
Kuroko stood there again, quiet and observant.
"You always come here when you can't sleep," Kuroko said.
Gojo laughed softly, a little hoarse. "Caught me."
"Do you miss it?" Kuroko asked, stepping onto the court.
Gojo didn't ask how he knew. He just nodded.
"Every day. I left too much behind. Lost too much."
Kuroko sat beside him on the hardwood. "But you're here now."
Gojo looked over at him. "Yeah. And for once, I don't want to lose anyone."
Kuroko held his gaze. "Then play with us. Not above us. Not ahead of us."
Gojo smiled faintly. "You're wise beyond your years, Tetsu."
Kuroko looked up at the rim. "No. I've just seen what loneliness does to great people."
The gym stayed quiet for a long time.
And Gojo realized—he hadn't really been running from his past.
He'd just been waiting for someone to understand it.