A/N: ahhhhhhhh the hell…. I dint know what the hell was I thinking when I wrote this chapter… I dont know.
Well just answer the question in last after reading this big chapter.
ENJOY:)
(And give your attendance here. If you are reading this.)
….
The air in the GDA's battle room crackled with tension after Gojo's sharp defense of Robot's leadership.
His words had landed like a well-aimed dart, praising Robot's cool-headed logic while subtly jabbing at Black Samson's need for a rah-rah speech to get moving.
Samson stood off to the side, his massive arms crossed, his scowl deepening as Gojo spoke.
Every word, about Robot being a better leader than anyone in the room, felt like a veiled insult, like Gojo was saying Samson needed a pep talk to tie his shoes.
The big man's eyes burned into Gojo, catching the sly smirk behind those sunglasses, and he wasn't about to let it slide.
Samson stepped forward, his boots thumping against the floor, cutting through the murmurs of the new Guardians seated on their cube benches.
"Hold up," he growled, voice low and rough, like gravel crunching. "Who the hell are you to say who's good or not? You think only cold, logical orders matter? If that's the case, why don't we just take orders from a damn computer? Why bother with presidents, generals, or leaders at all if all we need is a machine spitting out ones and zeroes?" His words hit hard, challenging not just Gojo but the whole room, his glare locked on the white-haired guy lounging like he owned the place.
Gojo tilted his head, catching Samson's stare, and for a split second, his smirk faltered, like he was actually stung by the pushback.
Then it snapped back, wider, sharper. He leaned forward, sliding his sunglasses down his nose to meet Samson's eyes.
"Me? I'm Gojo Satoru," he said, voice smooth but with a cocky edge. "Y'know, the strongest. Oh, and I've got an Instagram with 5.5k followers, pretty legit, right?" He flashed a grin, like he'd just dropped the ultimate comeback, and the room went dead quiet.
Monster Girl blinked, confused, whispering to Shrinking Rae, "Did he just… flex his followers?" Rae stifled a giggle, her gloves twisting in her hands. Bulletproof raised an eyebrow, muttering,
"This guy's nuts." Even Atom Eve, perched on her bench, looked baffled, her head tilting like she wasn't sure she'd heard right.
Gojo, undeterred, yanked his phone from his pocket and held it up, screen glowing with his Instagram profile, 5,502 followers, right there in bold.
"See? Not lying," he said, waving it like a trophy, his grin daring anyone to call him out.
Samson wasn't amused. His massive frame loomed closer, each step heavy, his sheer bulk casting a shadow over Gojo.
He stopped inches away, towering over the seated sorcerer, and leaned down, eyes boring into Gojo's black sunglasses.
The room held its breath, Dupli-Kate froze mid-whisper, Eve's hands twitched, Robot's glowing eyes flicked to the scene. Samson's voice dropped, cold and deliberate.
"You've got some audacity, man, calling yourself the strongest," he said, each word sharp. "I'd love to test that claim myself, see if you're as big as your mouth. Speak like an adult, not some brat. You're in the Guardians of the Globe now, not some third-rate hero squad scraping by."
Gojo didn't flinch. He pushed his sunglasses back up, slow and deliberate, and met Samson's stare with a lazy smile, returning the courtesy eye-to-eye, or lens-to-eye, technically.
Gojo then backed off and leaned back on his cube bench, smirking at Black Samson's retreating figure, the tension in the GDA battle room still simmering.
The other Guardians, Dupli-Kate, Atom Eve, Monster Girl, Shrinking Rae, Bulletproof, watched, caught between shock and curiosity, as Gojo didn't just let Samson's challenge slide.
He chuckled, his voice light but sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.
"What's the deal, Samson? You jealous of my 5.5k Instagram followers, or is it my stunning good looks?" He adjusted his sunglasses with a flourish, grinning wide.
"I'd love to throw down with you, but let's be real, if we fight, I'd wipe the floor with you. I heard you don't even have superpowers, just that shiny gold tech suit. What, couldn't pick a cooler color? And if I beat you, by, like, a huge margin, you'd probably just sulk and say it's 'cause you don't have your old powers back from your glory days."
He didn't stop there, leaning forward now, his tone playful but biting.
"Then you'd twist it, right? Say I thrashed you 'cause I'm racist or something. I've seen those YouTube videos, man, guy picks a fight, they scrap under some 'mutual understanding,' one gets smoked, and suddenly it's 'Oh, that was cruel, you're a bigot!' Like, c'mon, you'd pull that card just to save face, wouldn't you?"
Gojo's grin was all teeth, daring Samson to bite back, but he kept going, voice picking up steam, like he was unloading something bigger than this moment.
"And just to be clear," he said, standing now, hands slipping out of his pockets as he faced the whole room, "I'm on the Guardians of the Globe, biggest hero team in the world, sure, but I'm not a hero. That whole 'hero' thing? It's heavy, messy, and I don't get why people with powers slap that label on themselves like it's easy." His voice dropped, serious now, the smirk fading.
"You call yourselves heroes, but what's the deal? You chase villains after they've wrecked lives, torn up cities, hurt people. You let them run wild, lock them up, and then, surprise, they break out and do it again. Rinse, repeat. That's not fixing anything."
The room went dead silent. Dupli-Kate's jaw dropped, Monster Girl's eyes widened, and even Robot's steady gaze flickered, like he was processing Gojo's words.
Samson froze, his scowl twitching, caught off guard by the shift.
Gojo was on fire now, venting frustrations he'd kept bottled up, his voice steady but raw. "I'm not like that," he continued, pointing a thumb at himself.
"When I see a villain, someone who's taken innocent lives, I don't play catch-and-release. I stop them. For good. Forever. And I'm not a hero, never will be. You're not either, Samson, standing there acting like you're the big leader, the 'real' hero, while you gripe about Robot's logic."
He stepped forward, his sunglasses glinting as he faced Samson head-on, but his words were for everyone.
"Somewhere out there, a kid's crying 'cause their parents just got shot, not by some cackling villain, but by regular people with guns. Somewhere, folks are dying 'cause they can't get food or clean water."
"And somewhere, there's a kid being sold in a trafficking ring, real, ugly stuff. Not cape-and-mask nonsense. That's the world, and you're here arguing about who's the best leader? If you're such a hero, why aren't you out there fixing that?"
"Again… I'm not a hero material and can never be, And by your standards saving the world most probably would be like saving your own country and nothing else, And don't I mean if you really go o."
Gojo wasn't done. He leaned forward, sunglasses glinting, his tone sharp but steady, like he was peeling back a truth nobody wanted to face. "Again, I'm not a hero, never will be," he said, his words cutting through the room.
"And by your standards, Samson, 'saving the world' probably just means saving your own country, your own turf, and calling it a day. But let's say you go all out, cross a border, stop a trafficking ring in some other nation, take down their soldiers running the show. You know what happens? You get slapped with a fine, maybe worse, 'cause it's 'not your authority.' They'll chew you out for stepping on their toes, hero or not."
He paused, letting that sink in, his smirk gone, replaced by a hard edge. Eve shifted uncomfortably, her hands twisting together, while Monster Girl's eyes flicked to the floor.
Gojo's mind churned as he spoke, a quiet thought bubbling up: 'I don't really care what's happening halfway across the globe, not 'cause I'm cold, but 'cause I can't see it all.'
Even with his Six Eyes, those glowing eyes that caught every detail, every detail of energy, he couldn't watch the whole world at once. 'I'm strong, sure, but I'm not everywhere.'
No matter how much power he had, he couldn't fix every corner of the planet by himself, not all at the same time. It wasn't about apathy; it was about limits, even for him.
He pressed on, thoughts, almost heavy. 'Everyone thinks being a hero's this shiny, awesome thing, capes, cheers, saving the day.
But while you're out there celebrating, posing for cameras, someone's suffering somewhere else.
A kid's starving, a family's homeless, a village is getting bombed, not by villains in masks, but by regular people with power.
Heroes don't see that, or don't want to. They fight the big, loud bad guys, lock 'em up, and call it victory. But me?" He pointed a thumb at himself, eyes narrowing.
'When I see a villain, someone who's hurt innocents, taken lives, I don't play that game. I stop them for good. No jail, no second chances. That's not hero stuff. That's just what needs doing.'
The room was dead silent. Dupli-Kate's mouth hung open, Shrinking Rae clutched her gloves, and Bulletproof's jaw tightened. Eve looked like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Samson's fists clenched, but he didn't fire back, maybe he saw the truth in it, maybe he was just too mad to speak.
Robot stood still, his glowing eyes steady, processing every word like data, but even he seemed to feel the weight.
Gojo eased back, slipping his hands into his pockets, his point made.
Then his happy kid-like personality came back and said, "So, who is ready for a… Newteam assemble party… because I AM."
Then Just for a moment his eyes went to the side as he saw something even while not looking directly at the source while his glasses still givered his eyes.
A small smile formed on his face.
….
High above, in a quiet corner of the GDA's facility, Omni-Man stood by a wide glass window on a high floor, his arms crossed, his red-and-white suit pristine.
He gazed down at the team below, but his eyes weren't on the room, they were locked on the faint figures of the new Guardians of the Globe, visible in the training facility across the compound.
His face twisted, a flicker of disgust curling his lip, his mustache twitching with it. He said nothing for a long moment, then muttered a single word under his breath, low and venomous: "Pathetic."
His voice carried no warmth, no respect, just raw contempt. Or maybe it was something else, something deeper, tied to the secrets he buried beneath his wounds.
Whatever it was, he turned away from the glass, his cape swaying, and walked back into the sterile halls, leaving the word to linger like a stain.
Down below, the Guardians had no idea he was watching, no clue… except Gojo that is.
….
A/N: Yeah yeah I know it isn't like Gojo perosnality, i dont know what psychological or logical way i went in this.
Question: Should I rewrite this chapter or it was okay?
-Yes (it was not okay)
-No (it was okay)