(THO) CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The cameras started clicking before he even stepped out.

Gojo pushed through the curtain with his usual loose gait, hands stuffed in his pockets, and blindfold in place. The PRT had offered him a dozen ways to ‘look official’: a formal uniform, a speech written by a professional, or the option to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with costumed heroes for added legitimacy. 

He’d declined all of it with the same smile he always wore, and strolled across the stage like he owned it, ignoring the podium until the last second. The room was packed with rows of reporters holding recorders, cameras, and notepads, and the chatter of whispered speculation filled the air, barely muted by the background sounds of live feeds.

He leaned against the podium with one elbow, tilted his head slightly, and smiled just a tad too brighter.

“Morning, Brockton Bay,” he said, voice carrying across the room as casually as if he were addressing a classroom. “I’ll keep this quick. I don’t like wasting people’s time, especially mine.”

A ripple of laughter broke out. Some were hesitant, others confused, but it was laughter all the same.

“Here’s the deal,” Gojo continued, straightening slightly. “You’ve got gangs running around this city claiming they’re your protectors. They call themselves the Empire Eighty-Eight. Fancy name, right? Sounds big, important, and historic. But strip away the theatrics and what do you actually have?”

He raised a hand, counting on his fingers.

“Some thugs with bad tattoos. A guy who thinks wearing pointy metal and having a few subordinates makes him a king. A couple of capes who love starting fights they can’t win. Oh… and the world’s worst family reunion.”

The laughter came stronger this time, some reporters struggling to keep their cameras steady.

Gojo smiled wider in response. “They’ve spent years telling you they’re the only ones who can keep you safe. That without them, you’d be at the mercy of everyone else. But let’s be honest, are you safer now than you were a month ago? Two months ago?”

He let the question hang. The silence stretched, and even the most skeptical reporters shifted uncomfortably, because the answer was obvious.

“Crime’s down because attacks are down. You can walk three blocks without worrying someone’s going to put a knife in your ribs. Did the Empire do that?”

He waited a beat before shaking his head.

“Nope. That was me.”

The room erupted with shouted questions, camera flashes, and the scramble of raised voices. Gojo waited, hands back in his pockets, and expression faintly amused, until the noise died enough for him to cut through again.

“I’m not saying this to brag, though let’s be real, I am pretty great,” he added with a grin, earning another round of chuckles. “I’m saying it because you deserve to know the truth. The Empire isn’t protecting you. They never were. Funnily enough, though most of you wouldn't get the joke, they’re parasites. They feed on fear, and they want you to believe you can’t live without them.”

He leaned forward, resting both hands on the podium now. His tone shifted, the playfulness falling away just enough to let the weight of his words sink in.

“But here’s the truth: you don’t need them anymore. You have someone stronger standing in their way. And more importantly, they’re already losing ground day by day, because the story they built—the story that kept them powerful—is collapsing.”

Another camera flash, brighter this time.

“So here’s my promise: as long as I’m here, you don’t need the Empire. You don’t need their protection, their lies, or their fear. You don't need any gang. You’ve got me, and unlike them, I don’t need your money, or your loyalty, or your worship, or even your thanks. All I need is for you to stop believing in the lie.”

He straightened, grin sliding back into place. “Questions?”

Hands shot up immediately.

“Are you joining the Protectorate?” someone shouted.

“Nope,” Gojo said.

“Are you declaring war on the Empire Eighty-Eight?”

“Not declaring,” he replied. “Just clarifying my stance on them. They’ve been at war with this city for years, and I'm honestly tired of their presence.”

“What about collateral damage? How will you—”

He waved a hand lazily. “I can keep things neat if I feel like it.”

“Are you saying the PRT is incapable of—”

“Yep,” Gojo said cheerfully, ignoring the way half the room gasped. Piggot would hate him for that one, but hey, she’d known and accepted the risks when she agreed to this.

The questions came harder as a dozen voices vied for his attention, but Gojo raised one hand and the room fell silent almost instantly.

“One last thing before I go.” 

He tugged his blindfold down just far enough to reveal a sliver of crystalline blue eye. The room went dead quiet, flashes seemingly stopping mid-click.

“Kaiser, Purity, Krieg, and all the others…” Despite its calmness, there was an edge to his voice that was previously missing. “You’re welcome to come find me. I’ll be waiting.”

He tugged the blindfold back into place, turned on his heel, and walked off the stage without another word.

The room erupted behind him, but Gojo didn’t so much as glance back. He had dropped the match. Now he was curious to see how fast the fire would spread.