Lowkey being V1 must SUCK ASS cus it’s so focused on not dying and barely surviving in an extreme post apocalyptic world where the only place left with an actual food source for it is hell. V1 worries so much about surviving its environment and getting food that it barely survives and never actually gets to live. I think that’s why we know so little about its mentality because it doesn’t get the leisure of having time to think. All this within 24 hours too.
SWORD AND BLADE NATION RISE UP I absolutely love these guys to bits <3 Had these doodles for a while and coloured them today for tupperbot pfps, they needed a refresh
And also my own take on what's below the helmets. Not helmets! Their exoskeleton. Freaks slash aff. They're beautiful, look at their mandibles 💖
Oh and my S&B are heavy-accent scotsmen. Sword sounds like Muir from SWTD, and Blade sounds like Benhart from DS2. I say they make delightful scotsmen, the accent suits them~
It makes me uncomfortable to talk about meanings and things. It's better not to know so much about what things mean. Because the meaning, it's a very personal thing, and the meaning for me is different than the meaning for somebody else.
ppl reading the manga and making analysis just to come with this "unrequited love" bullshit
since im tired of seeing this on tumblr, let's make it clear that Hashirama loved madara more than tobirama or the village
First of all, Hashirama was the one who made madara his universe, because madara was the first person ever to have the same ideals of peace he had, Hashirama even felt blessed to get to know madara
He was the one crying for madara not giving up on peace and the village, even though in his mind madara had erased him. If it was an unrequited love, Hashirama would never yearn like he did with madara
"He decided to completely erase me, who had been his friend” this phrase show us how for hashirama's point of view he was the one being unrequited
The foundation of Konoha is the ultimate proof of their reciprocal love
In the same way madara sacrifices his own feelings and his brother's death to make Hashirama's dream become true, Hashirama also show his absolute love for Madara in this scene
As we saw before, Hashirama felt blessed for getting to know madara (in the raw translation he refers to Madara as a "Divine Revelation") this implies he saw Madara as something precious
When Tobirama is about to kill Madara, Hashirama shows no hesitation to show his fury towards his own brother over someone in that in his mind had erased him years ago
So, tell me, if Hashirama didn't love Madara, why would he show threatening eyes to his own brother over an uchiha that "had erased him" over years?
"but it's because he wanted peace". That's really not it. If Hashirama wanted he could just accept Madara's defeat, since Madara himself was willing to Hashirama to kill him. Hashirama doesn't justify his action by "that's not the way peace is achieved", he justifies it by making madara the topic
"If we kill you, the head... the young uchiha that hold you dear will go on a rampage" when madara admits the clan is not so close to him like it used to be, Hashirama still insists on the idea that there will always be someone (…) to love and admire madara
"Can't we settle it like we used to? Just the two of us..." This phrase shows us again that Hashirama has naver stopped yearning for Madara, he's still absorbed in his universe he made where Madara is by his side
"Thank you, Madara. Indeed, you're a heartkinded person"
The topic for Hashirama in that moment was not the peace or the war, but madaras life. Of course he cares about his brother too, and in that moments is where he understand how self giving madara was
When hashirama is about to kill himself, he made his lasts words to be dedicated to ordering his clan to not kill madara. He wanted madara unharmed, because deeply he sees madara as someone who is precious to him, because he was the first person who was the same as him one time
This intrinsic hashiramas feeling of seeing madara as something precious is a parallel of a concept since the Arc of Waves, where haku constantly speaks to naruto of zabuza as someone precious to him to the point Haku kills himself for Zabuza's life
This Hakus feeling towards zabuza later is used as a parallel for Naruto's feelings towards Sasuke.
Later on, this same parallel is used with Obitos feelings towards Rin. And finally, even though Hashirama doesn't explicitly say the word precious, the way he acts towards madara is the same, as someone special who must stay unharmed, just like Obito did with Rin
Madara didn't become "one of many" in hashirama's heart. Hashirama himself proves this in the manga
Madara will never be "one of many". He will always the "the one".
• The one who chose the names village (because Hashirama requested it)
• The one that would be the hokage if it only depended on Hashirama's will
• The one who would be the first to get his face engraved on that stone
• The one who still got a statue even though never having been the hokage
Why's that? It's not exactly because he wants madara as a leader, but because he wants madara in the village with him. As a hokage, madara would have to stay in the village most of the time
Instead of emphasizing Madara's characteristics as a leader, he minimized Izuna's death. Because he wants madara to overcome his brother death, to not nurture negative feelings against the village so he can stay in the village
So yeah madara is definitely not "one in many". Hashirama sees Madara as a special person just like Madara sees Hashirama as a special person
And yes, Hashirama did neglect madara while he was in the village. Hashirama wasn't caring about how madara was feeling about the rest of the village, he only cared about the fact that madara was in the village. But this really doesn't mean that Hashirama didn't love madara lol actually this just shows how egoistical Hashirama's love was, unlike madara's love that was self giving
“But Hashirama killed madara”
Because madara literally forced it. If Hashirama didn’t kill him, madara would never stop the fight, because “to be killed” was literally a part of the Tsukyomi plan.
Why he didn’t chase for Madara like Naruto chased after sasuke? Not to mention the fact that it was a completely different scenario, Hashirama is a completely different person from Naruto. Since the beginning of the flashback, it’s shown to us that Hashirama would bear with Madara’s decisions, even though he completely disagreed with them
And killing madara is probably Hashirama’s biggest regret in life.
Not only because he explicitly says “maybe madara was right about everything” but also because he managed to die in his mid 40s (young age) despite being the “god of shinobi” and had survived after fighting with madara for hours
why did he die some couple of years after “killing” madara, despite being the strongest shinobi alive?
I think we all know the answer right
The infinite Tsukyomi is not a "notice me, Hashirama" but a way he found to answer his grief for everything he lost in the shinobi world
After losting his father, mother and all his siblings; getting ostracized by his own clan and having Hashirama as his last relationship standing in that village, Madara realized that the Shinobi world Hashirama created (and he contributed to it) was not worth living in. He didn't want people living that fraud anymore
So, no, for Hashirama it was not just a "strong relationship". His love for Madara was also an obsession, but manifested in a different way
and yes it makes everything more sad because he had to kill the person he most loved in life
Getou Suguru Was Never Gojou Satoru's Moral Compass: A Hidden Inventory Arc Character Analysis
Let me be clear from the outset: this is a formal, loud disagreement with a pervasive misreading of Getou Suguru's character during the Hidden Inventory Arc. There's a subset of the Jujutsu Kaisen Fandom that insists Getou was always "better" than Gojou during their teenage years—morally superior, more responsible, Gojou's guiding light and ethical anchor. This interpretation fundamentally misunderstands both characters and, more importantly, contradicts what Gege Akutami himself has stated: it was only in that singular moment, when retrieving Amanai Riko's body, that Gojou trusted Getou's "unshakable" judgement because Gojou himself was too compromised to make a clear decision with his newfound power.
Not before, not consistently throughout the arc. That specific moment.
As a fanfic writer, it's always fun—and necessary—to take a deep dive into characters' heads to try and understand them better. Not just their surface-level actions, but the underlying motivations, the quiet insecurities, and the small moments that reveal who they really are beneath the roles they perform.
Rewatching Jujutsu Kaisen from the very beginning—allowing three years for the series to marinate in my mind since Season 2's release and the manga's official conclusion—proved to be an entirely different experience.
Having the full context of subsequent events, understanding the causality chains and their devastating conseqences, transforms that rewatch into something far more gruesome and painful to digest. You see the cracks before they shatter, you see the warning signs that were always there. You understand, with painful clarity, exactly where things went wrong.
However, one element struck me with particular force during the recontextualized viewing of the Hidden Inventory Arc. How drastically my perception of both Gojou Satoru and Getou Suguru had evolved from my first watch to this recent binge.
I'd always carried that firm, almost unquestioned impression that Getou was "the responsible one"—the kind of person who takes a principled stance, believes in it with apparent conviction, and does everything in their power to make sure it happens.
That assessment can still hold a kernel of truth, but knowing the depths of his eventual fall after Riko's death, and then seeing him before that tragedy, illuminated aspects of his character I'd completely missed the first time around. Aspects that weren't limited to the narrow role the fandom had collectively painted him into.
The fandom's construction of Getou as Gojou's moral compass, his ethical superior, his stabilizing force, is a comfortable narrative. It's clean. It makes intuitive sense when you're watching two teenagers where one is a cocky prodigy and the other seems more measured and thoughtful.
But comfort and truth are not synonyms, and this narrative crumbles under scrutiny when you actually track their actions and decision-making patterns throughout the arc.
Throughout the Hidden Inventory Arc, Getou is consistently the one who conforms to jujutsu society's traditionalist convictions. Protect the weak. Suppress the strong. Sacrifice for the greater good. These aren't just beliefs he holds—they're the framework he's built his entire identity around. And that's important, because it suggests that Getou's philosophy isn't born from deep personal conviction, but from a desperate need to justify his place in a world that has always felt isolating and alienating to him.
Gojou challenges that philosophy openly, even mockingly. He doesn't just question Getou's beliefs—he dismisses them, almost getting into a physical fight over their fundamental disagreement about what it means to be strong and what obligations the strong have to the weak. Gojou's position is more anarchic, more questioning of the status quo. He doesn't accept the jujutsu society's rules as inherently righteous just because they exist. And that friction between them is critical to understanding their dynamic.
Both their positions are affirmed later during their briefing with Principal Yaga. Getou demonstrates a far deeper understanding of jujutsu society's inner workings than Gojou, despite the fact that Gojou was born into one of the Three Great Families and should, theoretically, know this world better than anyone.
Getou explains Master Tengen's situation, the mechanics of the Star Plasma Vessel merger, the political and spiritual stakes—all with the ease of someone who has studied this world meticulously. Meanwhile, Gojou seems almost disinterested, flippant, as though he's hearing some of this for the first time.
Was Gojou faking his ignorance? I don't think so.
Gojou has a well-documented tendency to show off anything he has confidence in understanding. We see this later when he faces off against the hired mercenary from Q, mocking him for not understanding the paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise—a clear display of intellectual superiority. Gojou enjoys demonstrating his knowledge. He doesn't hide it. So if he's acting like he doesn't know or doesn't care about jujutsu society's internal politics and history, it's because he genuinely doesn't prioritize that knowledge. It doesn't interest him. It doesn't serve his goals.
So how did Getou acquire this information advantage over someone who should have been raised on these very traditions? The answer reveals something crucial about Getou's psychology: he studied. He immersed himself deliberately and thoroughly in jujutsu society's history, protocols, and belief systems. He made himself an expert on the very tradition he was born outside of.
Why? Because knowledge was the one area where he could potentially equal or surpass Gojou Satoru. Because understanding the system inside and out was how he could prove his belonging, his worth, his right to stand beside the strongest. This wasn't casual learning—this was compensatory, driven by a need to validate his place in a world that could have easily dismissed him as an outsider.
On their way to meet the Star Plasma Vessel, Riko Amanai, Getou urges Satoru to correct his laid-back attitude because it might disrespect Master Tengen when they meet her. On the surface, this seems like simple courtesy, the kind of reminder a more socially aware friend might give to someone less concerned with propriety. But look deeper: Getou was already considering the hierarchical implications, instinctively appealing to higher authority, positioning himself in alignment with the mission's stated objective—to assimilate Amanai Riko with Master Tengen.
This deference to authority and mission parameters becomes a defining pattern. Getou believes in the system. Or at least, he convinces himself he does.
When Kuroi, Riko's caretaker, is kidnapped, Getou immediately attempts to take responsibility for the oversight—he was the one with her, so he failed to protect her. It's a noble impulse, but it's also telling. Getou is quick to shoulder blame, to internalize failure, to see himself as the one who should have done better. Meanwhile, Gojou's response is more pragmatic: he focuses on the mission as a whole, on what they need to do next, rather than dwelling on who's at fault. It's not that Gojou doesn't care—he absolutely does—but his approach is solution-oriented rather than guilt-driven.
This is the first moment both Getou and Gojou seriously consider bringing Amanai back to Jujutsu Tech immediately, regardless of Master Tengen's orders to grant any of Amanai's wishes, because the situation is escalating and becoming genuinely dangerous. The risks are mounting. And for a brief moment, both of them are united in the pragmatic understanding that Riko's safety might require cutting her last days of freedom short.
But then Amanai insists she wants to come with them to rescue Kuroi. And Gojou puts a firm foot down: she can't. He's blunt about it. He explains the risks, the dangers, the likelihood that the kidnappers are setting a trap specifically to lure her out. He's not being cruel—he's being honest. He's prioritizing Amanai's safety, but he's not disregarding Kuroi's either. He's weighing the tactical reality of the situation and making the call he thinks is best.
Riko eventually convinces him to let her come. And we see the exact moment Gojou weighs his options, considers the variables, and makes his decision. He speaks bluntly, making sure Amanai understands the stakes. He tells her plainly that if she falls behind, if she slows them down, it's not his responsibility to pick her back up. The line delivery is cold. It's intimidating. And it's a stark departure from the careless, loudmouthed teenager we've seen up until now. This is Gojou Satoru making a calculated risk and ensuring that everyone involved knows the terms.
It's a moment that reveals something crucial about Gojou's character: he does care about the people around him. Deeply. But he refuses to lie to them or coddle them about the reality of their situation. He gives them the truth, and then he lets them choose.
Later on, in Okinawa, Getou noticed that Gojou was overdoing his cursed technique, keeping Limitless active continuously—an exhausting feat even for someone of Gojou's caliber—and asked Gojou if it was really alright not to retreat to Jujutsu Tech immediately for everyone's safety. Again, the instinct toward established safety, toward the known fortress, toward risk avoidance.
Gojou took only a moment to answer, affirming that they're both the strongest and they can handle whatever comes at them, pushing himself to physical extremes just to grant Amanai those last moments of youth and normalcy before her assimilation—before her effective death as an individual. He was making a sacrifice, consciously and deliberately, to give this girl something precious: time, freedom, the experience of being a teenager instead of a sacred vessel.
Getou followed his lead and they spent the rest of their remaining time in Okinawa having fun, sightseeing, touring around—but note the dynamic. Getou needed reassurance before committing. Gojou decided, and Getou followed. And critically, following that decision meant Gojou had to bear even more of the protective burden, maintaining Limitless for even longer, exhausting himself even further.
When they finally arrive back at Jujutsu Tech—Gojou letting down Infinity for the first time since they began guarding Amanai—he predictably complains. He's exhausted. He's been running on fumes. And he grumbles about not wanting to babysit any more brats.
It's a throwaway line, but it's also revealing. Because for all his complaints, Gojou chose this. He chose to protect Riko. He chose to give her those last few days. He chose to shoulder that burden, even when it cost him.
And then, of course, everything goes wrong.
We all know what happens next. Fushiguro Toji infiltrates Jujutsu Tech, stabs Gojou through the chest, and Getou is sent away to escort Amanai and Kuroi to Master Tengen's Tomb of the Star Corridor while Gojou stays behind to face the Sorcerer Killer.
The pattern throughout this arc is consistent and it's important:
Gojou makes decisions that directly contradict traditional jujutsu principles specifically to help the weak he superficially "mocks." He exercises his power not to dominate but to protect, creating space for others to have choices, to have agency, to have their humanity honored even when the system has already written them off as expendable.
Getou, conversely, prefers following the rules and structures provided for them to avoid trouble—even when that trouble, that deviation from protocol, would directly benefit the weak he philosophically preaches to "protect."
Because protection isn't merely physical. Real protection is watching over those incapable of defending themselves while simultaneously giving them options—the freedom to choose and decide their own path for their own sake, shielding them from immediate consequences while still respecting their autonomy. It's holding the umbrella while they walk their own road, not carrying them down a path you've decided is best.
Getou, by contrast, operates within a framework where the weak need his guidance. They need his protection. They need him to make decisions for them, because they can't be trusted to navigate danger on their own. It's paternalistic. And while it's well-intentioned, it's also fundamentally about control—about Getou affirming his own purpose by positioning himself as the protector of those who cannot protect themselves.
Getou's philosophy centered on protecting the weak, but his actions consistently prioritized systemic stability, mission parameters, and avoiding conflict with authority. When those two values came into tension—protecting an individual versus following the mission—we see which one actually governed his choices.
Does recognizing this pattern invalidate Getou's good side? Absolutely not. He is demonstrably a good person capable of taking significant risks for other people's benefit. His concern for Kuroi was genuine. His desire to protect Riko was real. But to insist that he consistently took moral initiative, that he was the driving ethical force guiding their partnership—that's simply not supported by their actual decision-making patterns. It's a disservice to how beautifully human and flawed his character actually is.
The first time I watched this arc, I admired Getou's composure and felt irritated by how seemingly carefree Gojou appeared. The second time I watched these episodes, armed with context and paying closer attention to actions rather than aesthetics, I observed nuances I'd completely missed during my initial viewing.
Getou's philosophy, I realized, is fundamentally unstable. His entire belief system depends on finding his purpose through viewing those different from him—non-sorcerers, "monkeys" as he'll later call them—as a separate group that needs his guidance and his shield. I have reasonable evidence, as detailed above, to believe this stems from internal insecurities he either hadn't yet recognized or was actively suppressing.
I think Getou knew he was weaker than Gojou, even before Gojou's enlightenment and awakening against Toji.
This knowledge wasn't necessarily conscious—it might have lived in that uncomfortable space of things we know but refuse to articulate even to ourselves. But I believe it shaped his every action, his every choice, his entire approach to being a jujutsu sorcerer.
Throughout this mission, Gojou was consistently the one to step forward and decide—for himself and for others—to exercise his overwhelming power for protection. He faces imminent threats head-on, with Getou's support (which is undeniable and valuable), but you cannot claim their contributions were perfectly equal or that their decision-making authority was genuinely shared 50/50.
They both eventually face Fushiguro Toji separately, but Gojou tackles him first to buy Getou time to escape with Riko and Kuroi. Here's an uncomfortable question: Would it have been such a terrible strategy if Getou had stayed back to face Toji instead of Gojou?
Think about it. Gojou was exhausted, completely drained from maintaining Limitless continuously for days, too depleted to reliably face someone like Toji—an unknown variable who'd already managed to stab him through the chest, piercing what should have been impenetrable defense.
Could he have taken Toji? Maybe not in a straight fight, Toji is a monster after all. But could he have delayed him?
I genuinely believe he could have. With his vast inventory of curses, his demonstrated physical capabilities, and how much more rest and energy he possessed compared to Gojou at that moment. Getou could have done something to disrupt Toji's plans if he'd simply stayed back and let Gojou take Amanai and Kuroi to safety.
For plot purposes, we understand why this wasn't the choice made—Gojou needed his near-death awakening, the narrative required that specific crucible. But my statement remains true nonetheless, as demonstrated by canon: Gojou was accustomed to making sacrifices while Getou fell behind.
Not because Getou was weak—he wasn't. But because when it came to that moment of decision, that instant where someone had to stay and someone had to go, the calculus ran through established patterns. Gojou fights, Getou retreats with the mission objective.
Getou overcompensated through study, through immersing himself completely in jujutsu society's traditions and knowledge, precisely because he was born to a non-sorcerer family. He needed to prove he deserved to stand on even ground with someone as inherently revered as Gojou Satoru, whose very birth shifted the balance of the world.
Imagine the isolation. Imagine being Getou Suguru—having the ability to not only see the monsters that haunt people around you, monsters that your own family can't perceive, but also having to absorb them yourself, to take their vileness into your body, to taste their corruption, just to make them disappear.
The whiplash he must have felt upon realizing that you can make cursed spirits vanish by exorcizing them—simply destroying them—rather than consuming them must have been devastating. Meeting Gojou in his first year, witnessing how effortlessly Gojou could solve the rot all around them, and then experiencing that sinking feeling in his gut the moment he understood that with his specific technique and his specific power, that kind of clean elimination was simply not possible for someone like him.
His technique demanded something more visceral, more intimate, more violating. Every curse he swallowed was proof of the fundamental difference between him and Gojou. Gojou could obliterate curses with overwhelming force, keeping them at arm's length even as he destroyed them. Getou had to take them inside himself, had to know them in the most invasive way possible.
Still, I imagine the comfort of being in an environment that understood what he was experiencing—where others could see what he saw, where his abilities had value and purpose—was enough to make leaving his non-sorcerer family feel justified, even necessary.
And then Gojou, his overly powerful and enthusiastic classmate, recognizes Getou's potential and proclaims them both "the strongest" together. A duo. Partners. Equals.
Except the pedestal was always unbalanced.
Getou is undoubtedly strong—his cursed technique is remarkably versatile, his physical capabilities are exceptional, and his general temperament makes him a prodigy genuinely worthy of standing beside Gojou Satoru in terms of skill and talent.
But "beside" isn't the same as "equal to," and I think Getou understood this even if he couldn't admit it.
He could have been like Gojou—could have disregarded the value the weak held for him, could have adopted that same irreverent attitude toward non-sorcerers. But that would mean denying his family, his community, the people he still held dearly to his heart despite having left them behind to join this strange, dangerous world of jujutsu sorcery.
I imagine leaving his family was an agonizing decision. Gege himself has confirmed that Getou clearly treasured his family deeply. So to leave them behind, Getou needed to latch onto a reason powerful enough to justify that abandonment, and that reason became his philosophy: he was leaving to protect them. He was placing himself in a position of responsibility that he couldn't deny, that he needed to fulfill. His absence became purposeful rather than selfish.
That fragile mentality, combined with the undeniable psychological side effects of constantly absorbing cursed spirits and their accumulated negativity—the hatred, fear, malice, and despair that comprise curses—is precisely why I believe Getou never truly felt confident in being "the strongest" alongside Gojou Satoru.
He claims the title because Gojou gave it to him, because it defines their partnership, because accepting it means accepting that he belongs here, that he matters, that his suffering has meaning.
But he doesn't feel it. Not in the bone-deep, unshakable way Gojou seems to inhabit his own power.
Getou has toconstantly remind himself of his philosophy or else everything falls apart—the justification for leaving his family, the meaning of his suffering, the purpose of his existence within jujutsu society. He has to prove himself to this community because he doesn't fit anywhere else, and no one alive would understand the specific burden he carries as someone intimately familiar with the taste of curses, with the texture of vileness sliding down his throat, with the knowledge that this is what he must do, over and over, forever.
Getou reads to me as a character of extreme decisions and binary thinking. There is no gray area in his worldview. It's black or white, and you must take a side. There must be reason, clear purpose, or else nothing matters and the suffering becomes unbearable.
This is precisely why he was the worst possible person for Gojou Satoru to ask that question to.
Picture the scene: retrieving Amanai Riko's body from the Star Vessel Association, both of them facing Gojou who was clearly, obviously different—who had dragged himself back from the dead through sheer force of will and spite, who had fought and won against impossible odds, who was visibly high from his enlightenment and newly awakened power.
For once in their entire dynamic, Gojou is deferring to Getou's judgement.
"Should we kill them all?"
This request represented something that likely never happened before in their partnership: Gojou, uncertain of his own judgment, turning to Getou to be his ethical anchor in a moment of emotional compromise. Something Getou had followed in Gojou countless times—looking to him for decisive action, for direction, for the confidence to move forward—was suddenly, finally reversed.
Though I doubt Gojou was fully aware of the weight of this dynamic shift, of how much Getou had quietly relied on Gojou's decisiveness as a framework for his own choices.
Gojou holds deep, genuine respect for Getou as both a friend and a sorcerer. The facade Getou constructed to cover his doubts and insecurities worked so effectively that he'd built an image of himself as reliable, steady, unshakably good—someone whose moral compass could be trusted even when your own was spinning wildly.
But Getou was going through perhaps the worst moment of his entire life at that exact instant. He'd spent hours believing his best friend was dead. Their most important mission had failed catastrophically. Two innocent lives had been wasted—Riko dead, Kuroi's purpose destroyed—because he wasn't strong enough, wasn't fast enough, wasn't good enough.
And suddenly, his best friend, a titan of jujutsu sorcery who'd just transcended his previous limitations entirely, comes to him asking if they should massacre everyone in the building. If they should use this godlike power for revenge, for justice, for something that would at least make the suffering feel purposeful.
Getou says no, of course. The "good" answer, the "right" answer, the answer that aligns with his philosophy of protecting the weak.
But it's crystal clear in both manga and anime depictions that his conviction was wavering in that moment—a visible affirmation of the insecurity I've been tracking throughout this analysis. He was desperately, frantically holding onto his good ideals for his best friend's sake, but you can see the cracks forming in real-time. You can see him struggling to be the moral authority Gojou suddenly needed him to be, when his own foundation was already crumbling.
The weight of that moment—being asked to be someone's moral compass when you're barely holding your own course—must have been crushing.
And as we've seen later in the timeline, it all does come crashing down on him. He develops profound disdain for those weaker than him, for the non-sorcerers, for the "monkeys" whose curses he swallowed, whose negativity he absorbed, whose existence demanded his suffering. The very people he'd constructed his entire identity around protecting became the enemy, the source of curses, the root problem that needed to be eliminated.
I think this represents a fascinating, tragic exploration of Getou Suguru's character. I've never been able to fully believe in his "perfect goodness" because I've always been skeptical of people who preach their beliefs as though they need to prove them to themselves rather than simply living them naturally. There's something performative about it, something unstable.
When someone constantly articulates their principles, when they need to regularly remind themselves and others of what they stand for, it often suggests those principles are aspirational rather than intrinsic—a framework they're trying to inhabit rather than a natural expression of who they fundamentally are.
It's frankly unbelievable that an environment as corrupt, as morally compromised, as demonstrably broken as jujutsu society would produce such a "perfectly good person" within their ranks. Systems don't generate their opposites—they replicate themselves. The fact that Getou seemed like such an idealistic outlier should have been the first warning sign.
There are countless factors to consider when analyzing why Getou became what he eventually became, and that multiplicity is precisely what makes his character so rich, so human, so devastatingly tragic. Claiming he was fully good while denying the flaws, insecurities, and fundamental instability in his character is not only inaccurate—it's profoundly less interesting than the truth.
Characters are most compelling when we can trace the logic of their deterioration, when we can see how someone with genuine good intentions and real care for others can be twisted by circumstances, by psychological vulnerabilities, by the accumulated weight of their specific suffering into something monstrous.
Getou's fall isn't a betrayal of his character—it's the inevitable conclusion of trajectories that were always present. The seeds were always there; we just weren't looking closely enough to see them taking root.
This is my personal take and formal disagreement against everyone who infantilizes Getou during the Hidden Inventory Arc while simultaneously finding ways to make Gojou look more negative, more careless, more morally compromised—just to make Getou look better by contrast.
They were both kids. Both teenagers thrust into an impossible situation with insufficient support and contradictory guidance. Both traumatized by what happened, though they processed that trauma in dramatically different ways.
Trying to flatten their dynamic into "good one" and "bad one," trying to make Getou into Gojou's consistent moral superior, trying to rewrite the actual pattern of their decisions to fit a more comfortable narrative—all of this does a disservice to both characters.
In early stages of Arthurian Legend, in Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae, Morgause (as Anna) was originally Uther Pendragon's daughter and full sister to King Arthur himself. This early iteration of "Morgause daughter of Uther" seems to have been preserved in a number of early Arthurian stories, like Rise of Gawain and Parzival.
However, beginning with Robert de Boron's Merlin and it's successors, Vulgate Cycle and Post Vulgate Cycle, Morgause relationship with her brother shifts from full siblings to maternal half-siblings, which in turn becomes the Modern popular conception of Morgause as a sister of King Arthur.
Why the shift in relations is something I can only speculate, but I feel that it may be due to Robert de Boron and his narrative choices. Namely, Robert de Boron's most iconic addition to the Arthur mythos: the Sword in the Stone.
It is in Robert's Merlin that the concept of Arthur becoming King by pulling a magic sword from a stone is introduced - a narrative device to display how Arthur is given kingship through divine mandate, in keeping with Robert de Boron's more overtly Christian take on the Mythos. However, to facilitate this theme, Arthur needs to be "divorced" from his father Uther, perhaps to downplay the secular side of succession. Hence why Robert's Merlin is also the first time we see Arthur becoming Ector/Antor's adopted son and Kay's foster brother.
But this adoption plot has a major obstacle: Morgause. As stated, Morgause was Uther's daughter. This means she is a visible alternative to Arthur as an heir to Uther. Since the adoption story necessarily has Arthur obscured, Morgause, and any man who marries her, directly become the next rulers of Logres once Uther dies, no questions asked. This would mean Lot becomes King of Logres/Britain jure uxoris and no one would care if some magic king-choosing sword suddenly appeared one day, Merlin be damned.
So, what now? You can't omit Morgause because she is a critical character to the mythos through her sons but the Sword in the Stone motif can't work if Uther Pendragon has other kids to consider.
The solution then was to turn Morgause (and possibly other sisters like Morgan) into a half-sister through Igraine, making them daughters of Gorlois instead of Uther's. That way, the Orkney brothers get to keep their nephews-to-Arthur status while the newly introduced Sword in the Stone can now fit into the schema of the Arthurian storyline, elevating Arthur's Royalness as to being objectively chosen by God. At the cost of diminishing Morgause' status...
