As Gojo's eyes slowly reopened, he watched the very fabric of the world fracture—an endless, invisible pane of glass cracking in all directions with a sharp, crystalline echo. Light poured out through the seams, flooding the space—until it finally died down, peeling back to reveal a new reality.
Stone.
Walls of it—arched, towering, ancient. An impossibly vast room stretched out before him, lined wall-to-wall with countless shelves. Books upon books—endless tomes crammed together, spiraling up into blackness overhead like a cathedral of knowledge.
And standing in the center of it all—Gojo Satoru, blinking beneath his blindfold, next to a familiar, grinning face.
"Ahhh... so I did do it, huh?" he said, brushing a bit of dust off his coat and glancing sidelong at the silver-haired woman beside him. "Didn't think passing a soul-shattering mirror maze would dump me in a library, though. Also... you?"
Shaula leaned forward, hands behind her back, rocking on her heels with a bright smirk. "Mmm~ I wanted to take the trial myself! Not even I know what they are—since they change each time—so I got reeeeally curious!"
Gojo raised an eyebrow. "So you just... tagged along for the hell of it?"
"Yuuup~" she chimed, unapologetically.
He shrugged, giving the shelves around him a casual glance. There were thousands—no, a countless number of books, radiating the quiet pressure of knowledge most mortals weren't meant to touch.
But even with all that weight pressing in, something was... off.
His fingers twitched.
"I don't see Subaru.." he muttered.
Shaula waved her hand vaguely toward the air. "Master'll be fiiine~ Trials like that don't really end until the challenger figures out what they need to. He has as much time as he wants."
Gojo frowned.
Time.
That, Gojo noted, sounded less reassuring and more... absolute. He couldn't shake the feeling: Subaru wouldn't be allowed to leave until he passed it. The same way Gojo hadn't been allowed to leave his trial until he cracked it wide open.
Which meant—Subaru was still inside.
Still facing it.
Gojo's grin faded. His brow creased.
"...I don't like it." Gojo muttered, his tone darker now. "The trial was easier for us, sure. But only because..." His voice trailed. "It's obviously more designed for people who are currently... what's the word..."
"Not... dealing with stuff?" He put it in the simplest way possible, before crossing his arms to think.
"If Subaru's going through something like that—and it's about acceptance, realization—then yeah... he's gonna suffer.. because right now he's clearly not in the state of mind to acknowledge something like that."
Shaula tilted her head, unreadable for a moment.
Gojo glanced toward the nearest staircase leading deeper into the tower, then closed his eyes.
"Still..." he said quietly, "he's survived worse.."
He opened them again, and this time, the usual grin returned—smaller, more tempered. But real.
"Subaru'll be just fine."
Gojo eventually took a seat somewhere, casually folding one leg over the other as his eyes flicked across the impossibly vast library now surrounding him. The sheer size of the place was astounding—even by his standards.
But it didn't matter.
Not right now at least.
He leaned back slightly, elbows on the armrests, gaze shifting from the endless towers of books to the beaming girl still staring at him like a golden retriever.
Shaula.
Always smiling. Always unpredictable.
The silence stretched a few seconds too long—just enough to feel awkward. Gojo cleared his throat.
"So… about that, uh… what was his name again… Reid?"
Shaula suddenly jumped.
Not metaphorically—literally. Her body launched several meters into the air like she'd just touched an electric wire and got electrocuted. Her pupils shrank into dots.
"HUH!? Reid!? Where!?"
Gojo blinked.
"…Um."
He watched her land in a crouch like a startled cat, tail twitching—if she had one.
He stared flatly, unimpressed but mildly entertained at the sight.
"…Okay. So that's a reaction and a half..."
He tilted his head slightly, amused.
"What, did he like... kick puppies or something?"
Shaula scowled, puffing out her cheeks. "Huh? I mean, probably~ He was mean! Real mean! I'm talkin' capital-M Monster-tier asshole!"
Gojo blinked again. "But wasn't he the Sword Saint?"
She stomped over, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Yeah! A Sword Saint with the personality of a flaming trash can!"
He chuckled under his breath. "...Okay, well now I'm curious."
Shaula crossed her arms, clearly fired up now. "Reid loved bullying people! He'd just roll up, say something snarky, punch you into the ground for breathing wrong, then act like you were the one being rude!"
Gojo raised a brow. "Sounds like he thought everyone was beneath him. Not that uncommon..."
Shaula nodded sharply. "Because they literally were! From his point of view, anyway! Do you know how strong you have to be to consider me a bug!?"
"Well... you must've been weaker back then right? It was centuries ago after all."
Shaula swiftly shook her head, frowning.
"Nope~ the me you see now is the me that fought Reid~"
He grinned, half covering the smirk with his hand before continuing.
"Then what, it must've been a real fight right...?"
"Um... I wish~ maybe if it were I would've had a few chances to wipe off that smug look on his face! All it took was one hand for him to beat me."
Gojo paused, blinking at her bluntness.
"…He could beat you with one hand?"
"Casually! Sometimes two if I really gave it a hundred and ten percent, but mostly one. And he didn't even like using his sword unless it was for dramatic effect. The guy would lecture me and laugh at me mid-fight and still win!"
"That thing is meant to be skilled with the sword, not hand-to-hand!"
Gojo strangely enough, nodded in agreement. The nostalgia of having his ass whooped to kingdom-come by Reinhard's bare hands setting in.
That actually sounds kind of terrifying though...
He scratched the back of his neck, thoughtful.
A Sword Saint, just like Reinhard—but an asshole version?
That comparison felt… off.
Reinhard was kindness incarnate. Unshakable justice. A walking paragon of goodness wrapped in stupidly perfect hair.
But Reid?
This guy sounded like the inverse. A walking storm.
Gojo's expression softened slightly, thoughtful.
"Sounds like he was a real piece of work. But still…"
He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
"If someone like that existed… I kinda wish I could've fought him."
Shaula choked.
"What!? Are you crazy!?"
Gojo smirked.
"Only a little."
It's a shame. Guys like that—people that overwhelming—you don't run into them often. They're rare. Forces of nature. I suppose this world has definitely got a lot more powerful people in it than Earth but... even now I've never had a genuine equal.
With Reinhard well, he's always holding back... when I fought Regulus it was more annoying than anything cause I couldn't actually touch him, and I'd find an arm would go flying from my body every five seconds.
He closed his eyes.
I wonder if he had people who understood him. Or if being that strong just made him more alone.
Gojo didn't say that part aloud.
"He was the first Sword Saint right? I remember in one of the books Reinhard forced me to read he played a big role in sealing away the Witch of Envy."
Shaula nodded.
"Mhmm~ you've done your history lessons then! Well, I don't actually know how history has painted him... but if the world doesn't hate him then it's just lying to everyone's faces!"
Gojo chuckled for a moment, before he leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee and giving Shaula a sideways glance.
"Well, if you hated him that much, why stick around? Didn't he die four centuries ago?"
Shaula's smile wavered—just a little.
"…Well, because."
Gojo tilted his head.
"Despite his bluntness 'n the fact he was a dick... he was also the only one that wouldn't lie to me."
There was silence.
Not awkward.
Just… quiet.
Then Shaula beamed again.
"And 'cause Master told me to~ Anyway! Screw that guy right!!"
Gojo chuckled, rubbing his temple.
"You're real weird..."
Gojo laughed again under his breath, still watching Shaula with that half-lidded, bemused gaze of his.
"I guess weird isn't always bad though.." He murmured, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back.
"Mmhm~! It's the spice of life~" Shaula chimed, then abruptly shifted tones. "But seriously... if you ever do see Reid, you run!"
Gojo raised an eyebrow, amused. "Ain't he dead? Bit of a useless warning. Well... whatever, but I don't run from anyone."
Her smile didn't falter. But her tone did.
"Even if it would mean dying?~"
Gojo didn't answer immediately. He glanced up toward the ceiling of books that stretched infinitely into the black void, expression unreadable behind his blindfold.
"Depends on what dying would mean I guess..."
Shaula tilted her head, watching him.
"I've gotten real close to dying once before, though not close enough to see what the afterlife might've had in store so I dunno how to actually answer that question." Gojo said softly.
It wasn't boastful. It wasn't even dramatic. Just a quiet fact spoken in a room full of silence. He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, voice low and steady.
"I guess I actually used to think that being strong meant being untouchable. Unshakable. Above it all. Like Reid, maybe. Wait, was I actually an asshole back on Earth?"
He muttered that last part with furrowed brows, a tint of realization settling in before he felt movement next to him. Watching as Shaula turned toward him suddenly, grinning ear-to-ear.
"I dunno what you're talking about, but~ you wanna hear how I once tried to poison Reid with a moldy shrimp!?"
Gojo's eyes snapped open behind his blindfold.
"… Pfft, I most definitely do!"
———————————————————
Subaru was on his knees.
Slouched, broken, both palms clamped as tightly as possible to either side of his skull, as if he could crush the thoughts before they reached him. His eyes were slammed shut. His molars ground against one another in agony—not physical, but the kind of mental anguish that couldn't be numbed, couldn't be endured.
The voices wouldn't stop.
They weren't just hallucinations—they were memories, echoes, futures that never came to be, regrets that never got the chance to form. Hundreds of them. Countless timelines blurring together in a symphony of torment. Some whispered. Some screamed.
This wasn't a trial.
This was damnation.
This was worse than death.
Subaru shuddered. He couldn't comprehend it—why? Why was this happening? What sin had he committed so vile that the world itself was now punishing him with everything he couldn't handle?
He had died before. He had suffered.
But this?
This was Hell. This was damnation.
Then—one mirror lit up once more.
He didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to. The image burned itself into his mind as though the reflection was being projected inside his very soul.
It showed him… pushing them away, his friends, his closest.
Not with cruelty. Not with violence.
But with distance. With silence.
With Pride.
Emilia turned her back to him, walking slowly into the dark. Her face was hidden—distant. Her voice floated back, laced with a sorrow deeper than anything she had shown him in life.
"You said I didn't need to suffer, Subaru…
So why do you keep carrying it all alone?
Did you even want us near you to begin with?"
Rem came next. Her reflection was fractured, shaking. Her eyes shimmered with tears she couldn't hold back.
"It's not fair, Subaru...
Not on you.
Not on us who want to help you.
Why do you need to handle everything on your own?"
Because he had to.
Because if he didn't—who was he? what was he?
Because he couldn't go back to being that pathetic, useless, worthless excuse of a human being he was before.
That spineless loser from another world who never amounted to anything for two decades. No accomplishments. No purpose.
But here—here—in this cursed, unforgiving, yet still beautiful world… he wanted to feel needed. He wanted to feel important. Even if that importance came from death. Even if it came from suffering. Even if—
Even if it came at the cost of his very soul.
If him suffering everyone else's torment meant he had a reason to exist, so be it.
If he had to bear it all, loop after loop after loop, then so be it.
He reaffirmed this to himself. But—
…Then why did the thought taste so bitter?
SWOOSH—
Another mirror ignited, this one impossibly bright just like all the ones prior.
Information flooded into Subaru's skull like a floodlight to the brain—blinding. He gasped.
It showed a world without him.
Not one where he never existed, but one where he truly died. One where he perished saving everyone else.
A meaningful death.
A hero's death.
The kind of ending anyone would be proud of.
Right?
Wrong.
Gojo moved on. Stronger than ever. Laughing. Joking. Still fighting—but lighter.
Emilia moved on. A soft smile on her face as she took the crown. Kind. Radiant. Fulfilled.
Without him.
They mourned, yes. Cried, yes.
But in time, they smiled again.
The world kept turning.
Without Subaru.
He clutched his gut, bile rising—but no tears came. Not this time.
Something deeper turned over inside him.
A whisper.
"If I'm not needed…
If I'm not useful…
Then what am I even here for?"
He hated the thought.
He hated himself.
Not because they moved on.
But because… a part of him resented that they could.
Because the truth, the ugly truth, was that he didn't save them for them. All those countless loops, all those countless deaths in the past, it was done as nothing more than because it gave him purpose.
That might've been different in the past. But he is different now, that is why.
Because it filled that yawning black hole in his chest that screamed.
"You are nothing."
Because saving them made him feel like something.
That wasn't selflessness.
That wasn't love.
That was desperation dressed in false nobility.
Disgusting.
Wrong.
Evil.
The words rang in his mind like hammers against cracked glass.
He shook. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die despite the impossibility of it.
And still—
He couldn't say it.
He knew the truth.
He knew he was wrong.
He knew that asking for help, breaking the cycle, leaning on others—that was the right thing to do.
But he couldn't.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because—
Because his Pride wouldn't let him.
"Urgh…"
His lip trembled, then split open between his teeth as he bit down—hard enough to bleed.
He tasted metal.
No.
That's a lie too.
His Pride?
There was nothing left of it.
It was hollow. False.
A mask slapped on top of a shattered boy who didn't want to be a burden again.
Subaru's head hung low, the weight of his own existence crushing his spine into the ground.
And then—
Another mirror lit up.
It cast a cold glow like a searchlight in the dark, piercing through the cacophony of voices that still echoed like damned souls clawing through the walls of his skull.
But the image it showed wasn't grotesque.
It wasn't violent.
It wasn't twisted or alternate or fantastical.
It was real.
A boy.
Lying on a bed, flat on his back.
A phone in hand.
Eyes glazed over—not with tears, not with pain, but with nothingness.
Dead before death itself came.
That was the worst thing the mirrors could have ever shown him.
His mouth opened in a silent scream.
His chest clenched as if his lungs were caving in.
The numbness. The rot.
The wasted time. The silent, festering shame of a boy who had potential—and let it die alone, behind a shut bedroom door.
He had buried that memory. That version of himself.
But the mirror unearthed it, dragged it back into the light, and forced him to see it. To remember.
That boy didn't cry.
Didn't scream.
Didn't beg.
He quit. Quietly. He surrendered.
And that—that—was worse than any death Subaru had faced in this world.
His hands curled into fists.
Anger.
Rage.
Shame.
Not at the boy in the mirror.
But at himself, here and now, pretending he had changed.
Because the truth was—he hadn't really.
Back then, he used to be someone. A prodigy. Bright. Outgoing. People noticed him. Talked about him. Teachers praised him. Classmates followed him.
But none of it was his.
Because no matter what he did—no matter how hard he tried—it was never "Subaru".
It was always:
"He's just like his dad!"
"Wow, Natsuki's kid really is something!"
He wasn't Natsuki Subaru.
He was a footnote to someone else's legacy. A hollow echo.
And maybe that's when it started—this obsession.
With meaning.
With worth.
With proving himself.
Because somewhere deep down, he thought…
If I suffer enough, if I endure enough, if I bleed enough 'for others'—then maybe... finally... I'll be acknowledged... Maybe I'll matter. Maybe I'll actually exist.
But nothing had changed.
He was still that boy in the bed.
Still chasing a reason to live.
Still clinging to borrowed pain and calling it identity.
Even now—with cursed energy, with blood on his hands, with the power to defy even fate itself—he was still nothing more than a loser with a shattered ego and a desperate dream.
THWACK—!
His forehead slammed against the invisible floor.
THWACK—!
Again. Harder. Until blood joined the flood of tears pouring down his face. The pain didn't stop him—it proved he was still alive.
And maybe that was the problem.
"What should I do…?"
"Should I just disappear again…?"
"Go back to the silence? To the room? To the boy who never mattered…?"
He shook. Violently. Every breath a shudder.
His voice cracked, barely audible.
"Nobody would care... if I gave up. If I just vanished. I've done it before. I've been forgotten before…"
He closed his eyes.
But something burned in his chest.
A spark. Small. Almost invisible.
But it was there.
Even now.
Even here.
But... I can't...
I can't disappear again...
Not like this...
Not now.
Even if it was meaningless.
Even if it was delusional.
Even if his Pride was a cracked mask holding together a boy made of glass—
He wasn't going to fall here.
Not until he proved it.
Not to them.
Not even to this cursed world.
But to himself.
I'm still here…
Because I exist.
Because I'm me.
Even if I don't know what that means yet—
That's enough to keep going...
Then he felt it.
A presence—sharp and commanding, even without a word.
Subaru's head snapped up instinctively, eyes bloodshot and tear-glazed. What he saw made his entire body seize with rage.
A silhouette. Gleaming in black.
A memory made flesh. A nightmare reborn.
"REINHARD!!"
Subaru's scream tore through the silence like a blade across glass.
The one who took everything.
His power. His reason. His Pride.
The one who killed him—eighty goddamn times.
Over and over. Over and over. Again and again.
The reason he was even here.
The reason he was even suffering.
The reason he couldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop.
His false pride—ripped away from his soul like a limb—and now all he had was the brittle, hollow thing he'd patched together to replace it.
A mask. A lie.
Reinhard's voice came quiet. Calm. Too calm.
"I'm sorry, Subaru. But... you need to understand... for your own sake."
SHNK—
Subaru's eyes bulged.
There was no blade—no blood—yet he felt death slice across his throat, sharp and clean.
His hand instinctively reached for his neck.
Nothing there.
Only the memory of dying. One he'd grown far too used to.
"You need to understand that this path…"
SHNK—
Another phantom death.
Another instant of helplessness.
Another silent scream caught behind gritted teeth.
"…was never real to begin with."
SHNK—
One last time.
Subaru didn't move. Didn't resist. Just trembled.
Reinhard's voice, softer now. Almost kind.
"Stop this suffering. All it takes is a few words. A little understanding."
And then—his body suddenly fragmented. Like a stained-glass window catching wind, Reinhard broke into glittering shards, vanishing into the vast nothingness in every direction.
But the pain remained.
The weight of every death. Every failure.
And then—a hand. Gentle. Solid.
Landing on his shoulder.
Subaru flinched—and turned.
Standing beside him was Gojo Satoru.
No grin. No cocky line.
Just sorrow.
Not pity—understanding.
A kind of understanding that didn't speak from above, but from beside. From the same trench.
"You don't have to hurt like this, Subaru…"
Gojo's voice was soft. Real. Frayed at the edges.
"You don't have to carry it alone."
Subaru's breath hitched. His teeth clenched. His body recoiled.
"You don't understand anything!" he barked, swatting Gojo's hand aside.
"Not a... not a single thing!"
His voice cracked.
"I have to do this alone! If I don't… if I don't do this myself, then what am I?! What do I have?! What else is there for me!?"
Gojo didn't speak for a long time.
Then, just...
"...You'll have us."
"Me. Rem. Emilia. Ram. Everyone. All you have to do is ask. We'll listen. We'll help."
"...There's nothing weak about that despite what you may think."
Subaru's lips quivered. Words failed him.
He staggered, the weight in his chest threatening to break him in half.
"…I'm still me…!" he whispered.
"Still him! That loser who threw his life away for nothing... that weakling who needed to feel like he mattered, so he pretended to be strong…!!"
Gojo shook his head.
"You are Natsuki Subaru."
"The guy who saved my life. The guy who made me stronger. Made me better.
Who laughed with me. Who pulled me out when I couldn't even see the edge."
"…Although you might not even realize it, you've changed who I am. You've changed all of us. You've saved us."
Gojo smiled, gentle and tired.
"You don't have to prove anything anymore.
You just have to keep going.
Let us help.
Let someone see you."
Subaru's legs betrayed him, collapsing beneath the unbearable weight of his own existence.
He crumpled to his knees with a hollow thud, every fiber screaming in protest despite the total lack of motion.
His head bowed low, like a broken monument to everything he'd failed to be.
Tears spilled freely—raw and unrestrained—carving hot rivers down his cheeks, dripping onto the cold, glasslike floor.
They pooled and shimmered, merging with his fractured reflection as if the boy in the glass might shatter alongside him.
Still, Gojo remained silent.
Not a word.
Not a breath.
Just steady, patient, unwavering presence.
The crushing silence stretched—endless, suffocating.
Then, trembling against the weight of his own shame and despair, Subaru's voice cracked open like a fragile wound.
A whisper, trembling, barely there:
"…Please…"
"…He…lp me… Gojo-sensei…"
Each syllable was both surrender and a desperate plea—tasting bitter and sweet, defeat and hope tangled together.
Gojo stepped forward slowly, lowering himself until his eyes met Subaru's—solid and real, a lifeline in the storm.
His hand settled gently on Subaru's shaking shoulder—steady and warm, an anchor to this very world.
"I already planned to… My friend."
And then, as if dissolving into the dawn of a new beginning, Gojo's form shimmered and broke apart—radiant flecks of glass and light scattering like stars in the endless dark.
The mirrors cracked.
The voices fell silent.
The realm shattered like a soap bubble.
And in its place—
A colossal door.
An endless library.
The Third Floor of the Pleiades Watchtower.
Waiting for him.
The Third Floor Trial: 2/2 COMPLETE