Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’ve always known that you’re destined for something great.   

Your grandfather certainly was. As a renowned neurosurgeon and dedicated scientist, he achieved several breakthroughs by combining neurosciences with orthopedic technologies. He continued to publish research papers in peer-reviewed journals up until his retirement which earned him multiple awards and funding for his contributions to science. His name is well-known in medical circles where his brilliance is recorded.    

From the bits and pieces you recall of your childhood, you remember that he was kind first and foremost. His voice, soothing and gentle, would read stories to you before bed and teach you how to ride a bicycle, picking you up again and again after you fell. Every time he’d visit your family’s shrine, he brought you books – tales about heroes and maidens, stories of people who have risen past their miserable circumstances and become something greater.   

He died before you turned nine years old. A tragedy, they told you, to have such a brilliant mind succumb to an unexpected stroke. The funeral was full of scholars and scientists who mourned him and expressed their condolences to your parents.   

His legacy turned out to be a shit ton of money that he left to his two children, one of them being your mother. As great as he was a scientist, he severely lacked those skills in parenting.   

He wasn’t neglecting or absent from their lives, but he failed to instill any passion or drive in his children. After the death of his wife and your grandmother, he let them do anything they wanted as long as it made them happy.  

Apparently, your mother’s idea of happiness was a mediocre education and the revival of your old family shrine that has been passed down for generations. She’s always been a spiritual person, and most of her inherited fortune went toward construction work and reparations. Your father is the same – they met when he came to pray for a favor from the gods and was given your mother who was immediately besotted with him. It’s their favorite story to tell and they make sure to recite it every time your family is gathered. You suppose you’re lucky that your parents still love each other, but you can’t help but think that they aren’t the most responsible people in the world.   

Your grandfather’s money was wasted on an inflated lifestyle that lasted until you reached middle school. You weren’t poor by any means, but you would have fewer worries in your life if only your parents had known how to manage their finances.   

It doesn’t matter. You’re going to climb your way up to the top without any help, and it all starts at Tokyo National Boarding School, or as you like to call it: the place that breeds talent.   

It first got your attention when you found out that your grandfather was an alumnus. He used to tell you stories about his time in school and how he would sneak around the secret passages to mess around with his friends, although he’d quickly remind you in the same breath that you should not follow in his footsteps as a delinquent. You snort at that thought because surely, delinquents aren’t valedictorians of their year with several awards under their belt. Ever since you know that he walked those halls as a teenager, your goal has been to get into that school and revive your family name. There's only one small problem.   

Their entrance exam is brutal. It’s known to be one of the most demanding and difficult tests in Japan, and only the best students in each prefecture are allowed to take it in the first place. A lot of parents have complained about their rigorous testing methods – there have been multiple petitions in the past to make them change their exam policy - but the members of the school board have remained adamant. Only the best can make it into their school, and they won’t lower their standards for less.    

The exam tests in four core subjects: advanced mathematics, Japanese literature, science, and economics.   

Mathematics and science are the least of your problems. Science includes biochemistry and physics, two subjects you excel in, and mathematics has always been easy for you. The world consists of numbers – one just has to see the pattern and the logic behind it.   

Economics is fine, too. It requires a lot of memorizing, something you're very good at. Which leaves Japanese literature. Tokyo National chose three literary classics for this year’s exam, and you knew it was going to be a hassle studying for them when you first laid eyes on them.   

For you, it’s not going to be enough to place in the top sixty, which is the number of students that can enroll. You need the full-ride scholarship they offer to the best student, the one who is smarter than the rest of their peers and places at the very top. Without it, you won’t be able to afford the tuition that includes living on campus, various textbooks, and class trips. There aren’t any other options to fund your life there except taking out a loan, and you’d rather not graduate with a mountain of debt to your name. Tokyo National is every student’s dream, but it’s not worth reshaping your entire life around it. Getting first place is your one true shot at enrolling.   

It screams classist, but there’s nothing you can do about it.   

Five months are all the time you’re afforded to study for the entrance exam, and you make the most of that. You stop participating in club activities and focus solely on studying all while keeping your grades up in your last year of middle school. Your younger brother takes over most of your daily duties in maintaining the shrine.  

You study on the way to school, in between breaks, and as soon as you get home. Your family rarely sees you eating without a book propped up in front of you, and if they held an ear to your bedroom door, they’d hear you writing down mathematical formulas deep into the night. You study until your eyes burn from sleep deprivation.  

“Are you – okay?”   

A sharp tip of a pencil pokes you into your shoulder, and you jump so badly that you nearly fall out of your chair.   

“What?” You look around disoriented before you remember that you’re still in school. You’ve been staying in your homeroom almost every day since you can’t keep your focus at home, and your teacher is nice enough to let you stay until nightfall. You must’ve fallen asleep while you studied.  

“Are you okay?” she repeats when you look at her blankly.   

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”   

Why is she in here? Maybe she forgot something.   

“You look tired,” she comments helpfully.   

You mentally check out of the conversation and turn back to your practice exam sheet. The letters swim on the paper, and you rub your eyes to clear your vision. “I’m fine, thanks. I must have fallen asleep. Do you need anything?”   

You don’t look up as the silence goes on, too focused on the next question.   

“No, nothing,” she says and moves to the door. “Just remember to take care of yourself.”   

Your thoughts are somewhere else, but you force yourself to look up and smile tentatively to not seem too rude. “Thanks, I will. Can you close the door on your way out?”   

Despite the physical and mental strain, you keep your strict studying regimen. You enlist the help of your teachers when you can’t figure out how to solve a problem, and you don’t let up until you can answer every practice exam question perfectly.   

Five months pass much too quickly for your liking, and by the time you’re setting off to travel to Tokyo, the dark circles under your eyes feel chronic. The morning of the exam, you feel so nervous that you can’t even eat breakfast for fear of throwing up later.   

Your family takes you to the train station, but from there on you’ll be making your way to the school on your own. As per your own rules, you don’t revise on the day of the exam, so you’re left fidgeting with the lucky charm your brother made you and trying not to think of the worst scenarios, like blacking out from sheer nervousness or spontaneously combusting as soon as you pick up your pen.   

Navigating your way through Tokyo is more anxiety-inducing than you thought. You’re not a country bumpkin by any means, but the metropolitan city awakens a sense of restlessness that makes your chest tighten. You breathe out in relief when you exit the bus and stand in front of the imposing iron gates that lead to the school’s campus.   

Since Tokyo National likes to flaunt its importance in every possible way, it’s no surprise that the school’s building is as old as the city it was built in. It’s said to have been built in the Edo period as a gift from the emperor to his empress right after their wedding. It sits atop a small mountain right at the edge of Saitama and Yamanashi prefecture. Surrounded by small forests and a large lake, it gives the impression of being secluded and truly superior to the rest of the city. You want to hate that pretentious attitude, but unfortunately, you fall in love with the building as soon as you lay eyes on it.   

The pictures you found on the internet don’t do it justice. It’s so tall that it seems to touch the sky from where you’re standing, the bright blue sky swirling around the highest tower.   

It doesn’t conform to the characteristic architectural style of the Edo period, although there are wooden elements that give it a distinct Japanese touch. It’s a well-preserved castle with two towers on each side made of walls of marble and windows that reach from floor to ceiling. The path in front of you is paved with wide, gray tiles that shine in the morning sun. The campus is huge; just from where you’re standing, you know that it must take you at least ten minutes to go from one end to the other. Further away, you spot the school’s pristine gardens, including the koi fish ponds that seem like someone added as an afterthought like they remembered that the school is supposed to represent Japan in some capacity.   

Even though it is a blend of Eastern and Western aesthetics, nothing looks out of place or messy in any way. It emits an aura of aristocratic talent that has your heart swooning over tiny details, like how the archways are decorated with irises made of quartz or how the flag of the school flutters in the gentle breeze. The same dragon that is depicted on it will be embroidered on the breast pocket of your school uniform if you enroll.   

The moment you step into the halls of the school, you know that this is where history is written. This is the place where legends emerge.   

The air alone feels magical. You imagine yourself walking these hallways every day with books clutched in your arms; you see yourself studying in one of the two grand libraries on campus, and you know that this is where you belong.   

As you clutch the pamphlet in your hand that’s supposed to help you find the examination hall, anxiety flows through your veins like poisonous blood when the imminence of the situation strikes you. You know you’re smart – you’re the best student in your entire school – but you’ll compete with the best of the absolute best. Children of CEOs, prominent political figures, and celebrities that can afford tutors that would cost your parents their monthly salaries. All of them have prepared themselves for this since they could read. It's a fierce competition since the abilities of your peers determine whether you’re able to secure a spot.   

You have no idea who you’re going up against. Tokyo National invites every prefecture all over Japan to send their best students, so there is no way of knowing. It doesn’t matter anyway – you’ll take on every single person if you have to. No one is going to stop you from reaching your dreams-   

You throw up in the toilet one hour before the exam starts.   

There isn’t much for your stomach to dispel, so you end up dry heaving and spitting into the bowl until the rolling waves of nausea pass. What’s left behind is a dizzying sensation that nearly makes you topple over when you get up on your feet again and clutch your stomach. The room swims in front of your eyes, and you press your hands against your closed eyelids to gather your thoughts before exiting the bathroom stall.   

When you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you’re half-startled by what you see. In the vivid bathroom light, your eyes look even more sunken in from the lack of sleep. When you wash your hands, the soap stings like tiny needles from where the beds of your fingernails are bitten raw.   

It’s hard to keep from spiraling after seeing how much you sacrificed for the mere chance to enroll.   

You try to tell yourself that if you can’t get into Tokyo National, you could still get into a high school good enough to open lots of doors in the future. It would be easier. More comfortable.   

You don’t want comfortable. You want the best of the best.   

There would be infinitely less pressure on you if you’d just have to place in the top sixty – you're arrogant enough to think that you’d even make it into the top ten with ease. But first place?   

There is no time for doubt. Just thinking about failure has bile rising in your throat, and you’d rather spend the last thirty minutes scouting out the competition.   

The entrance to the exam hall is a set of tall, imposing doors that exude academic prowess. Like you, many people have arrived more than an hour early. People are lounging in the seats or pacing the halls, and others have opted to blankly stare at the wall.  

You sweep your eyes over them and feel a different kind of anxiety rise inside of you. You’ve never been good at making friends. It's not like you never made an effort to connect with other people – you were just more withdrawn and reserved than others, and most interpret your silence as rudeness. You don’t suspect that it’s going to be any different with your future peers.   

You dismiss these thoughts as soon as they arise. Perhaps you should actually get into the school first before you worry about not fitting in, but that doesn’t stop you from scrutinizing the people present.   

No one sticks out in particular. There are small groups of students that seem to be familiar with each other; a guy with blond hair talking to his lively friend who’s rocking a bowl cut. Maybe they went to the same middle school? None of your classmates in your school have considered taking the exam, not even the ones who have similar grades to you. Apparently, you were the only one mad enough to think she was good enough to beat the odds.   

You decide to take a seat closest to the door and mentally revise despite your earlier adamance. Your brain feels crammed with a mountain of knowledge on the verge of collapsing, and it’s easier to not drown in doubt when you have something to focus on. Your knee bounces up and down, and you force it to be still by pressing your hand against it.   

The doors open in the middle of your recitation of infinite mathematical formulas, and you nearly jump out of your seat. The supervisor’s voice is booming as he announces that everyone can get inside now. Before you can enter, you’re required to leave all of your stuff behind – you can’t even bring your own pen or water bottle into the examination hall. The supervisor makes you show him your forearms and hands to make sure you haven’t written anything on them.   

You don’t have the mental space to appreciate the room, but it’s enormous, able to fit in at least four hundred people. The desks are neatly arranged in rows of ten, forming an ocean of wood and shining metal.    

By the time you’re seated, you’re glad that you threw up earlier, because you would have done so now at the latest. There’s a stack of papers in front of you containing four parts that you will have six hours to fill out.   

Six hours to write down everything you’ve studied in the last five months. Cold sweat runs down your back as you stare at the smooth surface of your table while the last participants sit down. A little over three hundred students find themselves in the same situation as you, and you’re determined to beat every single one of them.   

Multiple supervisors are patrolling the rows while the woman at the front of the room explains the rules in a voice that allows no rebuttal.   

Every cheating attempt will result in immediate removal.   

If someone needs to go to the toilet, they will be escorted by one of the supervisors.   

There will be a six-hour time limit, and not a second longer.   

“Alright, you can open your papers-”   

The door slams open, interrupting her.   

Your eyes snap up from where they’ve been glued on the table, and the first thing you see is hair as white as snow on a winter evening.   

The boy walks inside like he owns the place. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and his entire posture is relaxed. You don’t know why you notice that – probably because the tension is so high in the air that it’s nearly palpable.   

He raises a hand like he’s greeting an old friend. The woman heavily sighs when she sees him as though she’s already used to his antics.   

You look at the clock mounted on the wall and notice that he’s two minutes too late. By the rules that came with the invitation to take the exam, they won’t let him inside.   

Well, too bad for him. It’s his own fault, and one must learn that there are consequences to certain actions-   

“Sit down and be quiet.”   

Your jaw hangs open as they go through the same procedure with him before he’s assigned the table in front of you.   

He swaggers over with an air of smugness that makes you want to throttle him. You’ve never felt that way about someone – except maybe your little brother – and you stare at him with incredulity at his shameless behavior. You must’ve been too obvious about it because he raises an eyebrow, and that’s when you notice his eyes.   

The color is so vibrant that you briefly pause. It’s a shade that reminds you of a tranquil sea or the sky on a bright sunny day. You blink when he opens his mouth, his eyes directly on you.  

“You look like a ghost. Are you sick or something?”   

Your cheeks redden with mortification. You know that you look awful, but does that bastard need to point it out in front of three hundred people? He doesn’t even sound condescending but instead makes it sound like an innocent statement, a fact so obvious that he had no choice but to point it out.   

Without thinking, you open your mouth to retort something equally insulting, but you get viciously cut off.   

“No speaking,” the head supervisor hisses. “Sit down or I will have you removed.”   

Even though you didn’t do anything, she addressed both of you. Your head sinks in shame and flaming indignation.   

You watch him sit down with a huff, and before you can ask yourself why he’s even allowed inside this hall, the woman in front picks up where she left off like nothing happened. Like he wasn’t late to the exam!   

You sputter internally. Rules are there for a reason! If someone can’t get here in time, then they surely aren’t smart enough to pass this exam. You glare at the back of his head and nearly miss the start of the test.   

“You may begin now.”   

Papers are turned, and you hastily gather your wits and take a deep breath. You forcefully shove any irrelevant thoughts out of your head and take your pen in your hand. There is no time to think about anyone else. This is your future.   

The clock starts, and you turn the first page.   

If anyone had asked you what happened in those six hours, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them exactly. Everything passed in a blur of time, and you only remember massaging your hand when it started cramping painfully. You don’t think you took the time to drink one sip of water – everything that mattered were numbers and letters.    

Waiting for the results is more miserable than anything you’ve ever experienced. Even when you were studying for the exam, you at least had something to do to keep busy. Now your fate is sealed and being evaluated, and there is nothing you can do to change any of it.   

The rest of the school year passes as usual. You ace your exams and spend most of the time picking up your club activities again. You’ve been in the swimming club since the start of middle school, and it’s the only thing that can make you turn your mind off completely. When you’re underwater, the world ceases to exist. Your body moves in practiced, studied motions that prevent you from thinking too much, the water streaming past your skin the only thing that matters.   

When your mother brings you a letter with Tokyo National’s stamp on it, you drop the broom you used to sweep leaves from the shrine’s staircase and sprint to where she stands near the sacred tree.  

Your heart jerks painfully in your chest as you shakily rip open the envelope. You tear out the stack of paper and straighten it to read. You fly over the contents, and there’s a pang of relief when you realize that it’s not a rejection letter, which means that you made it into the top sixty.   

It quickly dies down when you realize that nothing of that matters if you didn’t make it to first place. You finally find the paper that reveals the ranking, and you start at the very top.   

Your stomach plummets.   

It’s not your name.   

Your disappointment is so heavy and devastating that you sink down on your knees. The letter in your hand trembles violently as the words become incomprehensible.   

Five months for nothing. Absolutely nothing. You wasted your time thinking you’re good enough.   

“Oh, honey, it’s fine,” your mother tries to console you. She lays a hand on your shoulder. “There are plenty of other schools that are almost as good as this one. With your grades, you’ll be able to enroll in any school you want. Don’t be sad.”   

Her words barely reach you. They are drowned in the ringing inside your head that overtakes your entire being. You’re so shocked that you can’t even cry.   

You’re not first, no, you’re second. Just one place short of victory. It could have been one measly point that determined your entire life.   

This was your one shot and you missed.   

You emptily stare at the name on the very top, the one that beat you, and can’t even conjure enough emotions to feel angry.   

Failure collapses your plans for the future like a house of cards. After you stay in bed for an entire day to cry, you pull yourself together and start applying to other high schools. Most of them require an entrance exam as well, although you won’t have to study much for most of them. They cover the same subjects as the one from Tokyo National, and you’d just have to revise what you already know since they are mostly surface-level.   

Your parents get over your defeat quicker than you do. You suppose it’s a blessing that they don’t expect much from you. The only person who seems to understand the vastness of your devastation is your little brother Keiji.   

He’s watched you study late into the night in favor of playing with him, so he knows how much this exam meant to you. Keiji is only twelve, but you get along with him better than with most of your classmates in school.   

You’re in the middle of searching up the name that doomed you on your laptop when he walks into your room.   

“What are you doing?” he asks as he peeks over your shoulder.   

You blindly reach behind to pat his head in greeting. His hair is messy and full of knots. “I have to see who beat me in this test. Maybe I saw them in the exam hall.”   

“I bet they look stupid.”   

You have to smile at that. Whoever aced this exam is the opposite of stupid, but that’s just his way of cheering you up.   

There is no mention of a Gojo Satoru when you scroll through the articles, but you do find a firm that carries the last name.    

You slap your hand over your forehead. “How did I not connect the dots? Gojo Inc.!”   

A quick search through the articles tells you that they specialize in technology focusing on artificial intelligence, computer software, and e-commerce. They currently dominate the Japanese market with the aim to expand even more into the international space.   

“So, he’s a rich snob,” Keiji comments.   

You purse your lips. “A very rich and smart snob.”   

Your index finger freezes when you see a picture of the CEO plastered on the website. His white hair doesn’t look like the result of old age, and you recognize these facial features immediately.   

You loudly gasp and turn around to stare at your little brother with your hand slapped over your mouth.   

“What?” he asks with a frown.   

“That’s the guy who was late, the one I told you about,” you almost shout in disbelief. “Seriously? I can’t believe I lost to someone like him!”   

You’re walking down the stony steps of your middle school at the end of the day when your phone rings in your pocket. The sound startles you out of your reverie – you were thinking about whether you want to go for a swim before you head home or not.   

The number on the display is unknown to you, but it doesn’t make you suspicious. You’ve been getting a lot of calls lately since you’ve been applying for two entrance exams in the last three weeks alone.   

“Hello?” you say politely. You come to a stand at the bottom of the staircase and lean against the railing, the metal pressing against your upper arm.   

“Hello, this is Yaga Masamichi speaking. I’m the principal of Tokyo National Boarding School.”   

In a deep and rumbling voice, he asks you if you’re the person he’s trying to reach, and you forget to breathe for a moment before you hastily tell him yes.   

“The scholarship that we offer usually goes to the student who yields the best results in our entrance exam,” he explains. “However, that person has decided to turn it down. Considering that this opportunity shouldn’t be wasted, the board agreed that it’s to be passed down to the person that placed second.”   

The world freezes like all atoms have ceased their movements. The sound of the birds singing their evening song fades into the background as you blink once. Twice.   

“Congratulations,” he adds belatedly.   

He gives you further details, like how you will receive a letter containing the relevant information regarding the scholarship and its conditions, but you only half-listen to him. When he hangs up, you still haven’t moved from your spot.   

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy-    

Your breath picks up, and then you’re bursting at the seams. You jump up and down and scream your joy into the sky, and you don’t care that people stare at you like you’ve gone mad. You don’t care, because you just reached your dream.  

There is no stopping you now.

Chapter Text

Your life takes a drastic turn when the new school year starts.   

It’s not your new routine of not having to bike to school every morning, or eating breakfast in the dining hall, or stuffing your schedule now that you’re not restricted by school opening hours anymore. No, you can handle that very well.    

It’s the social hierarchy that bothers you.   

If you thought that friendships and relationships were complicated in middle school, then you quickly find out that Tokyo National takes the cake in that regard.   

As soon as you stepped into the assembly hall at the beginning of the school year, an uncomfortable feeling started to settle in your insides. It was as though everyone already knew each other – like they only spent summer break apart and couldn’t wait to hang out again like old times. You knew that some students are bound to be acquainted since they come from the same middle school, but the amount of people you’ve seen hugging and talking to each other has you feeling as if you missed an entire event that took place before you arrived at the school, one where everyone got to know the other.   

It isn’t until a week of classes that you learn that everyone's so familiar with each other because they move in the same social circles. Their parents are business partners or old friends from college which makes them friends by extension and duty.   

“I know Reiko because our parents took us to the south of France when we were eight,” a female classmate, Fuyuko, told you when you worked up the courage to ask. “We learned how to ride a horse there. It was so much fun - you should totally try it out. But hey, can I borrow your notes for history? It’s so hard to follow the teacher, urgh.”   

Trying to fit into this ecosystem is a concern that you didn’t bother thinking too much about; you were too busy getting into the school in the first place, and if you had to worry about making friends on top of that, you probably would’ve died from stress and anxiety.   

When the excitement of attending Tokyo National settled, the academic pressure made sure that everyone had to focus on keeping their grades up. The board of the school made it clear at the beginning that they don’t tolerate slacking off, and that students will be ranked depending on their grades in every subject.   

It’s a brutal system meant to pressure students into performing well lest they want to suffer the social consequences. No one is going to be expelled for bad grades unless they fail their classes, but who wants to be at the bottom of the list that is being displayed on the blackboard in the foyer for everyone to scrutinize and judge?   

You don’t have a problem with that cutthroat method – sure, it makes people cry every time the exam scores are published, but in the end, everyone’s sole focus is on their own grades. Everyone just cares about not being at the bottom.   

Everyone but you.   

It’s not that you have a problem keeping yourself above water, no, quite the opposite, actually – you regularly place on the top of the board in every exam.   

You’d be the best if it weren’t for Gojo fucking Satoru.   

He’s always on the top of the list without fail. Seeing his name one place above you releases a ball of fury in your chest that makes you study even harder. You beat him in Japanese Literature, but you strongly suspect that it’s only because he doesn’t bother with reading the actual books. His mere existence infuriates you so much that you can't even look at him without gritting your teeth.   

He’s not only first place in the exam ratings, but also on top of this whole social hierarchy you’ve spent weeks trying to figure out. Son to a tech giant, overachiever, model, and apparently so loaded that he could probably buy you and your entire family. When you searched up his father’s net worth, you almost vomited.   

You considered approaching him to ask him about his study methods, and that’s when you noticed how he never seemed to be alone for just a second. He’s always surrounded by others like they’re the moths to his flame. His boisterous voice carries through the room when you try to study, and you can’t concentrate when people rush out of their chairs to listen to one of his lame stories about his vacations overseas.   

Yeah, rich jerk who gets everything shoved up his aristocratic asshole. Very impressive.   

Right - maybe you were still petty about him calling out your horrid appearance in front of an audience, but your point still stands. Nothing about him tells you that he’s someone you’d enjoy being around.  

He interrupts you when you speak in class and seems to be putting extra effort into making your arguments seem illogical. When you double down, he uses this sing-song voice meant to undermine you, and your classmates take his side rather than yours.  

You don’t even think that he pays most of them any true attention. His closest friends are Geto Suguru and Ieiri Shoko, both of whom he has known since childhood. They seem nice enough, but you barely interacted with them since the school year started.   

The only room where you’re guaranteed to not run into him is the grand library. When you first stepped into it, tears started to spring into your eyes. It’s breathtakingly beautiful with multiple stories, different sections for a wide array of topics, and books older than the school itself. You plan to sign up for the tour they offer every summer to discover every nook and cranny of this place.   

One day, you arrived at the library to see someone else already seated at your favorite table. The reason why it’s your favorite is because it’s situated in front of a wide window that offers a mesmerizing view of the school grounds. It’s hidden from sight, and you knew you hit a jackpot when no one passed you while you studied there.   

You’re briefly at a loss for words. You don’t want to shoo him away, but what if he’s the sort to study by speaking out loud or making obnoxious clicking sounds with his pen?   

You observe him as you approach. His hair is tied into two ponytails that sit on the right and left side of his head. To your surprise, he has a facial tattoo – a dark stripe right across the bridge of his nose. For some reason, it doesn’t make him look like a criminal or a rowdy troublemaker; it fits his face as though he was born with it.   

He has a distinct look to him that makes you feel like you’ve seen him before. He’s not in your class then, because you’d recognize him if he were.

You must’ve stared at him for too long. He looks up and locks eyes with you.   

“Hello,” you greet him, flustered at being caught.   

“Hello,” he says. “Sorry, am I sitting in your seat?”   

He is, but now he’s being way too nice about it, so you can’t just tell him to go away. Your parents raised you to have proper manners, after all.   

“It’s fine, the table is big enough for two,” you say and quickly add, “if you don’t mind?”   

He shakes his head almost timidly and gestures to the other end with one hand. You plop down on the chair opposite him and start unpacking your textbooks.   

Some days later, you overhear from a couple of gossiping classmates that his name is Kamo Choso, and that he is rumored to be the son of a Yakuza boss. He certainly has the look, but definitely not the personality.   

Most of the time, he looks aloof and reserved, but when he opens his mouth – which doesn’t happen a lot – he’s very soft-spoken, warm, and awkward as any teenage boy can be. You don’t mind studying in the same space, although you’re there far more often than him.   

The library closes for one week for construction work, and you’re left waiting until everyone leaves the classroom until you can take your seat in the back of the room and begin your Japanese essay.   

You’re in the middle of writing about the importance of lyrical prose of the Feudal Era that still trickles into today’s classics when the door slides open. You don’t look up, assuming that someone must’ve forgotten their stuff.   

Most people study in the common rooms, but you can’t focus with that much noise around you, and if you stay in your room, you get too easily distracted. You prefer silence and a calm environment to get this assignment done before you have to tackle your algebra homework.   

You don’t notice a person approaching until they’re standing right in front of you, their frame casting a tall shadow over your form.  

“Huh?” You lift your head, your hand stilling, the tip of your pen hovering right over the paper. You didn’t get to finish your sentence, and you already feel it slip out of your mind.   

The sight of the school’s personal celebrity greets you. He’s wearing round, tinted sunglasses as if he couldn’t help trying to look more pretentious than he already is.   

He nods toward your essay. “What’s that for, miko?”  

You grind your jaw at the mention of that stupid nickname he made up for you. Word got around that your family has a shrine after you told someone curious enough to ask. You quickly learned that your parent’s occupation matters a lot here since almost everyone tries to reap the benefits of befriending a famous person’s child. When people find out your less impressive origins, they quickly lose interest, and you’ve desperately tried to not take it to heart. You hoped that people would forget about it, but Gojo has decided to forgo your real name in favor of this ridiculous nickname.  

“Japanese class,” you answer in a flat voice. His arrival leaves you at a brief loss for words. Why is he here, and why is he talking to you?  

He gives you an odd look. “That’s not due until two weeks.”   

“I know. I like to work in advance.”   

You lower your head to read the beginning of your sentence again, your brain rattling while you try to remember how you wanted to finish it.   

“Why?”   

You try to stay calm. “What do you mean?”    

When he shifts, it makes you look up again.   

“Why do you try so hard?”   

Gojo Satoru is perched on the table with his feet planted on the chair in front of you. There’s a certain glint in his eyes – curiosity, perhaps, like your existence is an interesting observation. You figure that this is how scientists look when they discover an alien species.   

You grip the pen in your hand until it nearly snaps between your fingers. Of course, Gojo would ask something like that. Gojo, who was born as the sole heir to his father’s company. Gojo, whose entire future doesn’t rely on red numbers on a piece of paper. He could do nothing his entire life and still be fucking rich and famous.   

You ignore him and keep writing your essay.   

“Hey. I’m talking to you.”   

He pokes the top of your head with one finger, and it takes everything inside of you to not punch him.   

“Can you cut that out?” you hiss lowly. “Go torment someone else.”  

“But that’s not as much fun. C’mon, if you tell me, I’ll let you take first place in the next exam.”   

Your face reddens with sheer humiliation. The fact that he doesn’t care one bit about his grades – he doesn’t have to after all, not really – nearly makes you nauseous with anger. It sits low in your stomach like poison, spreading out and taking root in the back of your throat and behind your eyes. He doesn’t care, and he’s still top of the class. He doesn’t care, but you do , and he knows that. Holds it in front of your face like bait.   

Unfortunately, you take it.   

“I don’t need you to purposely do shit in the next exam,” you snap, and even you are shocked about your thin patience when it comes to him. “I don’t even know why you’re talking to me right now. Where are your groupies? Isn’t their attention enough for the great Gojo Satoru?”   

That’s probably the longest you’ve ever talked to him, you realize. Your breaths are labored, and you try to swallow your anger and dampen it until only a low flame remains.   

Instead of being a decent person and taking the very clear hint that he’s the last person on earth you want to talk to right now, he grins. It looks natural for him to do it like he can light up an entire room by just smiling. His eyes shine brighter when he does, the blue threatening to spill out, and you wonder if he’ll drown you someday.  

“So, you do notice me,” he says triumphantly.   

What the fuck is he on about? You look at him in disbelief.   

“Seriously? You’re here because you can’t stand not being the center of attention of everyone in this goddamn school? Fine.” You slam your hands on the desk as you stand up and glower at him with enough contempt that it hopefully gets your message across. “I acknowledge your existence. I still don’t fucking care.”   

He braces his forearms on his knees and leans forward to get a better look at your face. There is still this infuriating smile on his lips like he’s in control of this whole situation. “You’re really as stuck-up as they say. Do you ever relax?”   

Alright, that’s enough. You quickly pack your things together and shove them in your school bag, cursing him that now you have to find a new spot to finish your essay. Your chair screeches against the ground as you push it back and make your way to the door.   

Before you can slam it open to take your leave, he’s already in front of you and blocking the doorway. He moves so fast that you nearly run into him in your haste. Your nose is barely an inch from his chest when you reel back and ball your hands into fists.   

“Move.” You don’t even try to make it sound nice. Your patience with him has completely run out.   

“You haven’t answered my question.” Gojo leans against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking down at you.  

For some reason, it’s at that moment that you notice how tall he is – he's at least a head taller than you if not a couple of inches more. You haven’t been close enough to him to notice that before.   

It still brings his crotch area in the target range for your knee. You save that information for later.   

“Do I ever relax? Yes, I do,” you say with a voice as calm as you can manage. Apparently, getting angry at him won’t work.  

He cocks his head to the side. “No, not that one, dummy. I asked you why you try so hard.”   

“Why do you care? I’m not the only one who tries to get good grades.”  

“Yeah, but no one does it the way you do,” Gojo says with a wave of his hand. “It’s kind of pathetic and it also makes you look desperate. Like you’re trying and trying, and you still can’t get top of the class. Why do you struggle so hard?”   

Because I’m nothing if I don’t make it here, you want to scream at him. Because I’m never satisfied with being mediocre.    

“My scholarship depends on my grades,” you tell him instead. You press your school bag closer to your side and ignore the burning behind your eyes. You’d rather eat glass shards than cry in front of Gojo. “If I don’t do well in my exams, I’ll get expelled.”   

“I know the terms of that scholarship. My father sponsors it.” He sounds bored as though he’s already losing interest in the conversation. What did he expect? A sob story about how you can’t fail? “But it only requires you to be in the top five overall. I just don’t get why you bust your ass open to make it to first place.”   

He's right. You could put in half the work you’re putting in right now and still meet the requirements to keep your spot in this school. You’re not stupid. It would be easier to lean back and give yourself time and space to relax. In another life, maybe you’d be satisfied with that.   

Not in this one.   

“Why does anyone need a reason to be the best at something?” You raise your chin and meet his eyes stubbornly. “I try because I want to. I try because it feels right to do so. Why would I waste my potential and not give my all in everything I do?”   

As you watch his eyes shift, you realize why he asked you that question. Gojo Satoru never had to try in his entire life. He's a genius, a prodigy who gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Trying is a foreign concept to someone like him who just needs to snap his fingers and have it served to him on a silver platter.   

You hate him even more for that. You hate him so much that his mere presence feels like he commands the flow of air and you’re left feeling suffocated.   

You grit your teeth and fixate on a spot next to his head. “Now, can you move? I answered your question, and I have to do my homework.”   

You have half the thought of threatening him with making sure he doesn’t get to procreate if he doesn’t get out of the way, but surprisingly, he wordlessly steps aside, his eyes still watching you.   

With a quick swipe of your hand, you slam the door open and march out with your head held high. You make your way down to the hall, your steps quickening like you’re being chased just in case he changes his mind and decides to follow you.   

By the time you reach your dorm room, your heart is still beating frantically. You sit down on your desk with a heavy huff and pull out your essay. The paper is crumpled from your hasty exit, and you haven’t been able to write down much before Gojo graced you with the misfortune of his presence.   

You tear it apart and start anew.

Chapter Text

You’re sitting on the toilet when it happens.   

You’ve been blankly staring at the poster glued to the inside of the toilet stall, reading the advertisement for the upcoming concert hosted by the school’s orchestra. Music has never been your strong suit, but you consider going there just as the water hits you.   

It’s ice cold, making you screech when it pours onto you from above like a sudden burst of rain. You don’t know what’s happening to you, the shock sitting deep in your bones as your mouth gapes open, droplets of freezing water dripping off your hair, your skin, your clothes. Your dark school uniform is completely drenched and clings to your skin.   

Humiliation bleeds into every cell of your body when you hear loud cackles of laughter and the heavy thud of footsteps as they run out of the girl’s bathroom, the bucket they used to douse you crashing to the ground. You only see a glimpse of their shoes before they slip out the door.

For the first few moments, you don’t know what to do. Your hair is plastered to your neck and around your face, and you’re soaked down to your underwear. It seeps into your shoes, and when you shift, you feel the deeply uncomfortable feeling of a wet toilet bowl underneath your naked thighs.   

Why-    

You sharply bite down on your lip when you feel tears rising rapidly. They burn their way up your throat and continue their vicious journey until they gather on your waterline where they mix with cold tap water that’s already streaming down your face. Your throat feels thick, and it’s nearly painful to keep from crying.  

It’s textbook bullying. Up next is herding you into a corner and demanding your lunch money which is ridiculous and impossible since student lunches are included in the tuition and therefore free.   

Why?    

To your knowledge, you didn’t do anything to offend anyone. You keep to yourself and mind your own business. Sure, you weren’t the best at making friends, and you don’t linger in the common room to chat with the others, but that shouldn’t bother anyone, right?   

You didn’t - you didn’t do anything. You just wanted to fit in.   

Stuck-up know-it-all.    

There’s a dull pain in your heart, and you hate it. You hate that they’re succeeding in making you feel like you’re alone. You hate that you want to stay here and cry until the day is over.   

The school bell announcing the end of the break cruelly reminds you that you have to get back to class. You won’t even have time to sneak away and get a change of clothes because you’ll get into even more trouble if you’re late.  

You get up and squeeze the excess water out of your hair and uniform before hurrying to the classroom. Luckily, your next class is history, and Ijichi-sensei has never been the most observant teacher.   

He’s not there when you slip through the door. You feel like everyone’s looking at you, your drenched form obvious to anyone who takes a closer look. Even the conversation surrounding Gojo goes quiet when you rush in with squelching steps. With your chin held high, you march through the rows and take your seat at the back of the room.   

Tiny rivers of water are still streaming down your legs when the class starts. They form a little puddle at your feet that you try your hardest to ignore, right along with the insistent burning behind your eyes. It prods and stings, trying to break free from your fierce stubbornness. You’re not going to cry in front of your classmates who already appear to loathe you. You feel their eyes on you, but you keep taking notes as if you don’t notice.   

You can’t even get to your dorm room until lunch break. Due to the campus’ ridiculous size, it takes you ten minutes just to walk to the girl’s dormitories, and the breaks are only five minutes each.    

It’s currently five past nine. That’s three more hours sitting in your puddle of shame.   

Maybe you’ll just ask the teacher for permission, but then you’ll have to explain why you’re soaking wet early in the morning. The pool is too far away, and the lake is on the other side of the building, and you can’t think of an adequate reason as to why you’d throw yourself into a body of water that doesn't make you look completely crazy.  

The teacher ends the class just as the bell rings, and everyone shuffles to stuff their textbooks in their bags. You’re still copying down what’s written on the board and adding your own annotations when the first students start standing up from their chairs and chatting among themselves.   

“Hey!” a female voice chirps from your right. Your hand halts.   

“Can I borrow your notes from today?” Fuyuko asks cheerily. She’s pretty, you think, with her shiny black hair smoothly falling past her shoulders and big brown eyes. She’s not even starting some small talk or trying to pretend to approach you for anything other than your notes.

You stare at her and let your gaze slowly wander down her body. Her uniform is impeccably ironed with her skirt rolled up just enough to not make it too noticeable. Your eyes fall on her shoes, the same ones that everyone else wears. The school board is strict with its uniform policy, but they allow some leniency as long as it’s not too flashy.   

You saw those socks with that stupid brand logo on them when she ran away. Your entire body tenses as your skin starts prickling, tiny needles emerging from within.   

She tilts her head when you don’t answer, a light tone of amusement in her voice. “Hello? Are you okay?”   

Her voice is sweet, and you almost buy her concerned act if you didn’t know the truth. It’s pretty convincing, you admit.   

“Have you no shame?” you ask calmly.   

Her eyes widen, startled. “What?”   

You stand up from your chair, nostrils flaring. “I said,” you repeat slowly, “have you no shame?”   

The people around you fall silent. Every set of eyes falls on you, and this time, you don’t mind the attention. Fuck all of them. You don’t need anyone.   

“Uhm, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, her eyes darting around, visibly nervous about the hushed whispers going through the room. “Are you sure you're feeling well?”   

Liar, you think bitterly through the raging current of your emotions. Liar.    

“I’ve never done anything to you.” You hate the way your voice trembles from anger and vulnerability. You’re so sick of everyone making you feel like you’re small. “Did it make you feel better to dump a bucket over my head? Did you get a good laugh out of it?”   

Her face blanches, and her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. By the look on her face, she didn’t think you’d ever find out. And how would you? It was the perfect cowardly plan, one that hid their faces from you, one that was meant to keep you in your place.    

When it’s clear that you’re not going to back off, she crosses her arms, her voice turning defensive. “It was just a – a joke. Right, Reiko?”   

She turns to another one of your classmates, who flinches at being dragged into the eye of the storm. Reiko scrambles for words, an anxious shadow crossing over the features of the usually confident girl.   

Your heart painfully twists harder than ever before. She was in one of your group assignments. People liked having you in their groups because you do most of the work. She complimented your handwriting, saying it was pretty and what a shame it is that you’re not in the calligraphy club.   

Everyone is looking at you again, and suddenly, the room feels incredibly stifling as though the walls are caving in on you. Your lungs constrict like the air is being punched out of them, and your vision starts to swim.    

“I’m not going to help you anymore,” you say quietly. You don’t know why she did that to you, maybe she thought you were an easy target because you don’t have any influence, not in this school filled with heirs, beneficiaries and prodigies, and you give up on trying to figure it out. The coldness of the water seeps into your voice, a false calm that makes you detach from your body. “And I have no interest in talking to you again. Please leave me alone from now on.”   

Without looking at her, you gather your things in your arms without bothering to stuff them in your bag, only wanting to get out of this room full of eyes and whispers.   

The water in your shoes squelches with every hasty step you take as you push past your classmates and out into the halls. Students from other years are filing out from the classrooms, but you pay them no attention as you make your way to your next economy class.   

Your heart feels like a boulder in your chest, and no number of deep breaths or swallowing the lump in your throat seems to ease it. The adrenaline from confrontation is still racing through your veins when you’re ambushed, and this time, you’re ready.   

Without looking, you push the assailant against the wall of the room they dragged you in, fully ready to give them a piece of your mind that would make your parents faint, your hurt quickly turning into fury.   

“Oi - what the hell?”   

Startled, you step back when you hear a male voice. That’s not one of the girls that dumped a bucket over your head.   

“W-what?” you stammer, holding your hands to your chest in hesitation.   

Geto Suguru rubs his shoulder with a lopsided smile. “You have a mean push.”   

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry-,” you start, but your mortification quickly melts when you take in the situation. “Why did you drag me in here?” Your voice sounds more accusing than you intended. What is it about guys cornering you?   

It’s the film club’s room, with a dusty projector perched on a small table and faded posters hanging on the walls. The air smells stale, and you’re certain that you’re the first people to be here for months.   

“Sorry, I didn’t know it would startle you that badly,” he says apologetically.   

You hesitantly cross your arms. “Well, dragging a girl into an empty room does seem shady, yeah.”   

He pauses and sweeps his eyes over the room as if only now noticing. “You’re right.”   

His dark hair is pulled back into a knot, leaving only a dark strand to frame the left side of his face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him on his own. He’s either accompanied by Gojo or by his other friends.   

You try not to tap your foot on the floor. You’re really not keen on talking to anyone right now, not after the show you just pulled. “So?”   

He seems to be reminded of the reason why he pulled you in here, his eyes widening for a second. He shrugs off his blazer and holds it out to you, the dragon insignia gleaming when it reflects the little light shining in past brown curtains.   

“It doesn’t look comfortable walking around in wet clothes,” he supplies when you don't accept it right away.   

You’ve never talked to Geto, which is astonishing considering that it’s almost the middle of the school year, and you’re in the same class. There were moments you had to talk regarding class assignments, but nothing stuck out as memorable.   

“Do you,” you blink, still eyeing the piece of clothing in his hand with suspicion, “do you pity me?”   

“Pity you?” he asks, his other hand coming up to clutch his chin between two fingers. “I don’t think you need people to pity you. You seemed to be handling yourself just fine.”   

You nod steadily, shoulders relaxing when you reach out to accept his blazer. The fabric is thick and similar to yours except that it’s several sizes bigger.   

“Are you sure? You could get written up for not wearing it,” you ask.   

He shrugs carelessly with one shoulder. “They can try.”   

The corner of your mouth lifts in a small smile.   

Your fingers move to unbutton your soaked blazer, eyes hesitantly meeting his. “Can you – can you turn around? My shirt is see-through.”   

With a startled ‘oh!’ he turns his back on you, his own white dress shirt straining over his broad shoulders and back. His black hair is long enough to brush just past his shoulder blades, the silky strands fanning across the clean, pristine fabric.   

You peel the drenched garment off your body and cringe at the soggy sensation. Goosebumps erupt along your arms, and you quickly pull on Geto’s blazer to ward off the chilly air. It’s pleasantly warm, and you roll up the sleeves until your wrist barely peeks out of the fabric. Your hair is already dry at the root when you reach behind your neck to pull the wet strands out.    

“Uhm, I’m done. You can turn around again.” Your voice is steady as he turns around again with his arms crossed over his chest, and you look at each other for a moment.   

“Thank you.”   

He nods. “It’s nothing.”   

It’s no surprise that as soon as you enter the classroom, it doesn't take long for people to put two and two together when they see you with his blazer on. You don’t meet anyone’s eyes as you ignore their whispers and take your seat in the back of the room.   

You can already feel your image inside their heads shifting. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve helped them out, or that you were nothing but nice to them; you embarrassed one of the most popular girls in the entire year, and people will side with her over you. You don’t need to be an expert in social behavior to realize that.   

I don’t care , you stubbornly think to yourself even when your stomach plummets, I don’t care about any of them.    

The lump in your throat remains there until the bell rings for the lunch break. You shoot out of your seat and make your way to the girl’s dormitory.   

Dry and with a change of clothes, you sit at lunch and poke at your food with your chopsticks. The cafeteria is already half-empty, and you prop up your chemistry textbook against a sturdy vase to revise since your little brother is in school right now and can’t call you.  

“Is this seat taken?”   

Your thoughts get ripped out of redox equations as you look up, your mouth full of rice and vegetables as you hold a hand in front of your lips.   

You shake your head and swallow. “No, it’s free.”   

Ieiri Shoko sits down opposite of you with the stick of a lollipop hanging out of the corner of her mouth. She gestures to your textbook and puts her chin in her palm.   

“Do you study all the time?”   

From her tone, you can tell that she doesn’t mean it in a condescending or mean way. It’s merely a curious inquiry, but you can’t figure out why she’s so interested.   

You shrug. “Most of the time. I’m in the swimming club and the kyudo club, but when I’m not otherwise occupied, I study.”   

You realize that your existence must sound incredibly sad, and you open your mouth to make your life sound more exciting when she interrupts you.   

“You’re really smart,” she says in a casual voice. “I see your name on the exam board at the top all the time. I’m impressed.”   

At her compliment, your entire face starts heating up. Immediately, you wave your hands vaguely in the air. “O-oh, it’s not that spectacular, Gojo always beats me, anyway. But thank you.”   

She leans back in her chair and wraps a strand of hair around her finger. “Nah, he doesn’t count. Gojo is like our generation’s Einstein, with a photographic memory and all, but he’s still the biggest idiot I know.” Ieiri twirls the stick of her lollipop around and looks you in the eyes. “I think achieving all these things by merit is a lot more impressive.”   

Your body is tingling, and your stomach bubbles like a soda can that’s about to explode. This feeling of being seen, of someone acknowledging the effort you put into being one of the best students in your entire year – you imagine that’s how the first hit of a drug feels like. You do feel pathetic for jumping at the first sign of kindness directed toward you, but something about her seems so relaxed, so genuine that you can’t help but lean into it.   

“It’s nothing,” you say as your cheeks heat up. “I’m just glad I can be here. This school has been my dream for so long – I still can’t believe I get to be here.”   

“It’s alright,” she says. “It’d be a lot more fun if there were fewer people like Fuyuko.”   

At her mention, your insides flip. For a few blissful minutes, you almost forgot what happened.   

“You don’t like her?” you ask carefully.   

“Not really. She thinks because her father is a famous director, she’s some kind of superstar already. I’m glad you humbled her, but I’m sorry about what happened.”   

The phantom cold crashes down on you, and your shoulders tense automatically. Shivers rain down your spine in sharp tingles. You hate that despite what she did to you, you start to feel bad about your choice of words toward her. “It’s - okay. I hope she doesn’t do it again, to me or anyone else.”   

She looks at you like you’re crazy. “It’s not okay. She deserved that, and I still don’t get why she started crying when it was clearly her who started it.”   

The blood drains out of your face. “She c-cried?”   

“Oh, you don't know? Fuyuko started bawling, but I don’t think anyone believed her when she said that you’re a liar. She practically admitted to it, but she’s always been a bit of a drama queen.”   

Your lunch is forgotten as your insides twist with guilt, and you hate it. If you were a self-respecting person, you’d relish in her misery, but instead of feeling triumphant, you want to run to her and... apologize .   

But apologize for what? You could’ve been a lot crueler. You could’ve told her that she's too stupid to pass that class without your notes, and it would’ve been true, but just the thought of her crying because of what you said troubles you.  

You take a deep breath to try to disperse the knot in your stomach. Fuyuko deserved it, and calling her out in front of the entire class was necessary to prevent her from doing it again.   

You clear your throat and avoid her eyes. “I don’t think a lot of people will side with me, regardless of if they believe her or not.”   

“The right people will,” she says. Her eyes have a playful glint in them. “You shouldn’t care about the rest.”   

Looking at her unconcerned and composed attitude makes you wish you had the same confidence. She seems amazing, and you regret not talking to her sooner. She knits a wound inside of you that you didn’t know you festered in the confinements of your solitude.   

“I will,” you nod and tug on your sleeve. “I still need to give this one back to Geto. It was really kind of him to give it to me.”  

She grins at that, clearly amused. “He told me you shoved him against a wall.”  

You blush and rub the side of your neck, feeling warm all of a sudden. “He surprised me.”  

The bell rings to signal the end of lunchtime, and it saves you from trying to explain your aggressive reaction. You didn’t realize that so much time had passed.  You quickly pack your stuff together and notice that she’s waiting for you to finish.  

“Ieiri-san, right?” you ask when you walk to her with your bag slung over your shoulder.   

She smiles and hooks her arm around yours. “Shoko’s just fine.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, you’re called into the principal’s office, and your immediate thoughts are that you’re going to be expelled.   

Perhaps Fuyuko twisted the story so much that she made you look like some villain who made everything up to embarrass her, and now you’re going to be expelled and thrown onto the streets. You’ll have to move back home in shame, and you’re never going to reach your full potential and probably end up in a job you hate and watch your classmates conquer the world while you die with regrets-   

Okay. Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself.   

You brush your hands over your uniform to make sure you look nice and proper and knock on the principal’s office door by rapping two knuckles against the dark wood. Your math teacher kept you after classes for a bit too long, and before you knew it, you had to sprint across campus to make it in time, and you’re still running a few minutes late. When you push down the door handle and enter the spacious office, you’re surprised to see that you’re not alone.   

Gojo is sprawled on one of the chairs with his legs spread and head propped up on his fist. His head turns when you enter, and from the perplexed look on his face, he’s as surprised as you.   

“Please excuse my tardiness,” you swiftly apologize and bow at the waist, addressing Principal Yaga who sits behind his desk.   

He gestures to the chair next to Gojo. “It’s fine. Take a seat, please.”   

You do as he says and send a few questioning glances at Gojo. Why is he here? Since he cornered you in that classroom, he refrained from approaching you for non-school-related stuff, and you were glad he got the message you sent his way.   

“Gojo already knows why I’ve requested your presence in my office, but I will explain it to you again.” Principal Yaga’s eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses as he folds his hands in front of his face to place his chin on them. “I called you here to discuss a matter of importance, and to offer you a chance to take responsibility as a student in our school.”   

Your muscles relax, and you hold back a tremendous sigh of relief. Not an expulsion, then.    

“As one of the most prestigious schools in the country, we must commit ourselves to meaningful, positive contributions to society. This is why we host events to strengthen our connections to well-known individuals who support this school financially. Our annual fundraising event at the end of each school year will focus on raising money to improve infrastructure in rural parts of Japan, specifically Okayama Prefecture,” he explains. “We bestow the honor of organizing it to the best first-year student as it’s meant to showcase the talent of the youngest part of our student body. As a reward for your efforts, you will receive a letter of recommendation when it’s time for you to graduate. And since your grades are nearly similar, it’s been decided that you are to divide the responsibilities between the two of you.”   

Your face lights up with delight. A chance to organize a charity fundraiser and make all sorts of connections with everyone in attendance? This could be a chance to secure internship positions and make yourself known. With a letter of recommendation from the principal, your chance of attending any college you want increases tremendously.   

You can’t believe this unique opportunity.   

Principal Yaga continues. “But since Gojo has decided to step back, you will be the sole-”   

“I changed my mind,” Gojo cuts him off, and you shoot him a sidelong glare at his impudence. “I’ll do it.”   

The principal lifts a thick eyebrow. “Is that so? I believe you just said how it was ‘a waste of time’.”   

Gojo throws one arm over the back of his chair and smirks. “I had a change of heart. I was moved by your speech about the underdeveloped parts of our good country – we can’t let that happen now, can we?”   

You turn your head to look at the principal, hoping that he’ll be too vexed by Gojo’s shenanigans to allow him to take any part in managing this fundraiser, but unfortunately, life proves to you yet again that it’s rarely fair.   

He lowers his face to touch his knuckles to his forehead and sighs. “Very well. You’re both going to coordinate this event and see to its success. And let me be clear - I expect only excellence from you,” he says with such an imposing regality that you almost salute.   

After he gives you a few more details, he dismisses you, which leaves you standing in front of the principal’s office with Gojo.   

“Why did you suddenly decide to help with the fundraiser?” you demand the moment the door falls shut. “I know you don’t care about things like that.”   

You’ve never seen him lift a finger for anything school-related, and you mean that in the literal sense; he doesn’t raise his hand in class, and he does the bare minimum in group assignments. The fact that he volunteers to do such a rigorous task is so unlike him that you’re instantly suspicious.   

He leans one shoulder against the door frame, sporting that infuriating grin of his. “I can’t just let you take the glory all by yourself.”   

You cross your arms and glare at him. “As if you care about glory. Just admit that you did it to annoy the hell out of me.”   

“Not everything is about you, miko,” he hums and pushes himself off the door frame. “I hope you can leave your childish rivalry behind to make this amazing event happen.”   

His words are downright mocking, and you’re left burning holes in his back when he strides off, one hand raised to wave at you without looking back.   

“And what exactly do you need to do?”   

Shoko leans against the tree with her face turned to the late afternoon sun. It’s one of the last days of summer, and the temperatures are gradually sinking with the approach of autumn. She dragged you out into the fresh air to make sure you see some sunlight, claiming that you spend too much time inside.   

You suck your teeth and slip a piece of paper between the pages to mark the spot in your chemistry textbook resting in your lap. “Principal Yaga gave us full responsibility for this fundraiser, so practically everything,” you say and start to count your fingers. “Catering, invitations, sponsors, entertainment, moderation – the whole thing.”   

"And when is that?”   

“It’s going to be on the spring equinox, so March twenty-first.” You think for a moment. “So, in about five and a half months.”   

“And Gojo agreed to do that?” Shoko snorts.   

You huff. “That’s exactly what I said! I’m not going to let him make me do the whole work and let him take all the credit at the end,” you growl darkly.   

Shoko turns on her stomach and looks at you amusedly. “You know, I never saw you this worked up about anything. Do you have a crush on him or somethin’?”   

“A crush?” you scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. What’s there to like about him? If I wanted an arrogant snob, I’d have my pick in this school.”   

Suddenly, you realize that she’s one of his closest friends, so you reel your annoyance back and throw her an apologetic glance. “Sorry - I know you are friends. I shouldn’t talk about him like that in front of you.”   

She laughs quietly and waves her hand. “Talk shit about him all you want. I don’t care.”   

Your voice picks up a curious note. “You’re really close to Geto as well, right? How do you know each other?”   

You stretch out your legs and slide the textbook out of your lap when Shoko puts her head on your thighs. She closes her eyes, basking in the warm sunlight, her short, brown hair shining prettily like molten copper. “Our parents know each other, so we practically grew up together. Suguru and I were in the same elementary and middle school, but Gojo has been homeschooled up until now. I can’t remember a vacation we didn’t spend together, and there were plenty.”   

“It must be nice to have such close friends,” you sigh and place your palms behind you on the ground to lean on them.   

“You don’t miss anyone from your old middle school?”   

You purse your lips to the side. “Not really. There weren’t many people I liked, and even less I was close enough to call friends. I just-,” you hesitate, not entirely sure how to express your troubles, “I was – I was never good at making friends. I don’t know. Our interests never aligned, and I was too busy maintaining my grades and helping my family with the shrine. I don’t know if my classmates liked me because I never let anyone get close to me. I – I regret that now.”   

If there’s one thing Tokyo National taught you, it was that loneliness is a curse that slowly kills you. Before the incident with Fuyuko, you were friendly with almost everyone – but you didn’t have any friends, not truly. You were determined to make it through the school year without caring about that, but it wasn’t until Shoko first started talking to you that you noticed how terribly lonely you were.   

“That’s a shame,” Shoko says and looks at you. “You’re really cool to hang out with. Gojo and Suguru give me an ear full every time I’m with them, and you’re just chill. Feels like I can finally relax.”   

Sometimes, you believe that Shoko is incapable of lying. Everything she says sounds so genuine and unconcerned that you can’t help but trust her.   

“Shoko,” you choke out. “You’re going to make me cry. Stop it.”   

She smiles and pokes your thigh with one finger. “Don’t cry. Go study, or else I’m going to be the reason you can’t beat Gojo in the next chemistry test.”

The next day, you march to Gojo’s desk with the resolve of someone who does not want to be trifled with. You ignore the people crowding him and stop right in front of him.   

You stick out your palm. “Give me your phone.”   

His friends fall silent, their eyes gauging his reaction to your straightforward request. Gojo blinks twice before smirking. “Are you a teacher’s aide now, too? Here to enforce some rules about phones in class?”   

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, your hand still stretched out. “No. I want to save my number in your phone.”   

Ryota, a guy who desperately tries to get attention in every way he can, whistles loudly and claps Gojo on the shoulder. “Man, I need to know how you do it.”   

“It’s not what you think,” you deadpan. “I need his number so I can contact him about the fundraiser, that’s all.”   

Gojo silently hands you his phone – the newest model and brand-new, of course – and you pull out your own, your fingers quickly pressing the buttons to create a new contact. You call yourself on his phone and hang up as soon as it rings.   

“Great. Thanks.” You hand him his phone back and pivot on your heel to get back to your seat.   

Later that day, you’re in the library and mulling over a poem from the Edo period when you realize that it’s nearly evening. The school librarian is already familiar with your habits of staying late, and you know full well that she’s going to kick you out if you don’t leave in time.   

You snatch the poetry book and hastily make your way up the stairs to the literature section. It takes a few minutes to find the right spot from where you took it this afternoon, and you move the ladder to climb up. You neatly put the book in its designated place and, because you’re already at it, arrange the other books in the row so that everything looks uniform. When you push one of the books back, it doesn’t give as though something is blocking it.   

Confused, you pull out several books and peek inside the gap you created. At the back of the shelf clouded in darkness lies a dusted book with a dark cover and a title you can’t decipher due to the lack of light.    

Your curiosity is piqued, so you reach inside with your arm and blindly feel around, the tips of your fingers searching. Your hand closes around the spine of the book, and you pull it out and immediately sneeze. It’s incredibly dusty, and you nearly fall off the ladder when a small spider crawls across the cover and toward your hand.   

You hysterically brush it off and nearly let the book fall to the ground in your haste. Before you break your neck, you climb down the ladder and breathe a sigh of relief at feeling solid ground under your feet again.   

“What is this?” you quietly mumble to yourself as you inspect the book in your hands.   

It’s so old that the title has nearly completely faded from time. The front and back are made of brown leather, and the entire thing is not thicker than an average novel, although it seems like something is stuck between the pages. You blow the dust off the cover and brush the remaining dust bunnies away with your hand before opening it.   

The paper seems as ancient as the rest of the book, and you nearly fear ripping it by just turning a page. It’s fragile, and you try to touch it as little as possible to not get any oil from your skin onto it.   

You know that the library houses books that date back to the Heian period, but most of them are displayed in a different section, preserved, and put behind a glass wall to avoid any damage. The book you have in your hands feels like it belongs there, and you feel nearly criminal from just holding it.   

When you turn another page, the weight shifts and the book falls open to reveal the object hidden between its pages. It seems to be a folded piece of parchment, and you’re about to reach for it when someone calls your last name in a strict tone.   

Your head snaps up, heart jumping in your chest, and you realize that it must be later than you thought. You close the book and hold it to your chest while you hurry down the stairs and to your seat where your belongings are still sprawled out on the table.   

When you hear the librarian approaching you from behind, you promptly put the book inside your bag without thinking. If she were to see it, she’d ask you to hand it over to her, and you’re simply too curious to give it up.   

You finish packing your bag and turn to her with a timid smile. “I’m sorry, I will leave right away. Have a nice evening.”   

You bow to her and try to make your way to the entrance in the most casual way possible while your heart pounds in your chest.   

She calls your name, and you nearly flinch.   

Your thoughts are racing, trying to come up with an excuse why there’s an ancient book in your bag and why you didn’t inform her of that, and oh god, you’re so sorry -    

“I appreciate your enthusiasm for this library,” she says with a sigh and pushes up her glasses. “I haven’t had such a passionate and eager student in years – but consider going outside more, alright? Academics aren’t everything in life.”   

You gape at her in bewilderment before you snap your facial expressions into a flustered smile. Well, you’re glad that she didn’t catch you in the act of thievery, but the school’s librarian just told you to get outside more. She might as well have called you a loser point blank.   

Great.   

“T-thank you. I’ll keep it in mind,” you stutter at last and bow again before hurrying toward the exit, the strap of your bag digging into the flesh of your palm with how tightly you’re clutching it.   

The way back to your dorm feels twice as long while you force your steps to be slow and leisurely. Running is not allowed in the hallways, but as soon as you step out into the cool evening air, you break into a sprint and race across campus.   

Luckily, the halls are mostly empty when you arrive, and you assume that everyone’s hanging out in the common rooms, which leaves you to slip into your room like some spy on a stealth mission.   

The door falls shut behind you, and you move to clear your desk of any papers and books. You wipe down the surface with some tissues, because you’d sooner die than let your last night’s snack tarnish a book this ancient.   

When you pull it out of your bag and lay it flat on your desk, you sit and stare at it. You didn’t steal it. You’re merely borrowing it for a short while. If you hadn’t discovered it in the back of the shelf, it would’ve stayed there until the end of time, so it’s only fair if you get to satisfy your curiosity by finding out more about it.   

With a few calming breaths, you open the book and easily find the piece of parchment hidden between the pages. It’s slightly gilded and frayed at the edges, but in good condition overall. It doesn’t feel like it’ll fall apart when you touch it, so you dare to open it.   

It’s been folded four times. You have to stretch your arms in front of you to look at it fully once you unfold it, and you immediately realize what you’re holding.   

It’s a map. A very detailed, intricate map.   

You spend a few minutes studying it by following the lines, dots, and crosses. It might’ve been colored in the past, but most of the ink has faded. It doesn’t take away any details, and you’re in awe at how well it’s been preserved. The library has a dry and slightly cool temperature to ensure no damage to the books, and since the map was kept between the pages, it must have suffered minimal damage over time.   

It takes several moments for you to make sense of the lines, and several more moments before you’re certain that it’s a map of the school. There’s the main building on the far left where most classrooms are located, including the foyer, the assembly hall, and the library. Further down to the right, there’s the cafeteria and the school’s gardens. The administration building is at the top and to the left of the student dormitories which sit on the right side of campus.   

But what draws your attention most are the lines crisscrossing over the entire school grounds. They seem entirely intentional and form a system of connecting the buildings. Just from looking at them, you know that they don’t indicate a hallway. If there were a way to get from the dorms to the main building in a straight line, you’d know about it.   

Your first guess is that they hint at an architectural underground structure, but you don’t get why anyone would need to establish that.   

From your previous research, you know that the school used to be a castle built by the Emperor for his Empress after they married as a symbol of an era of prosperity and wealth. It’s where they resided most of their time when they weren’t called to court. None of the books you read mentioned any hidden tunnels or secret passages within the school grounds.   

The map could be fake, or the project of an overeager student. There’s only one way to find out.

Chapter Text

Sneaking around is harder than you thought, but that’s most likely because you’re as jumpy as a deer that’s being chased in the woods. As you make your way to the storage room, your eyes keep darting around to detect the slightest hint that someone is coming around the corner.

You can’t stop the crawling guilt wreaking havoc in your insides. Technically, none of the school’s rules state that students can’t go off discovering hidden tunnels, but what you’re doing right now feels forbidden enough to make pumps of adrenaline shoot through your veins. It feels as though anyone can read your thoughts, and you’re just waiting for someone to see you, point their finger, and scream ‘thief!’ for everyone to hear.

Your shoulders relax when you close the door behind you and lean against it to calm down. You feel for the light switch next to you and flick it up, letting light flood the small room filled with cleaning supplies and maintenance tools.

After closely inspecting the map, you discovered that one of the tunnels leads right out of this room. It’s a good thing that they didn’t do any reconstruction work to these buildings or else you’d be facing a whole different situation now.

You take a few steps inside the room and pull out your math textbook – it's the first thing you deemed appropriate enough to carry the map in since you don’t want to damage the book that came with it. It’s a lot more fragile, and you plan to analyze it at a later point.

Removing the map from the pages of your textbook, you unfold it and hold it close to your face to pinpoint the exact location of the supposed entrance. As far as you can tell from the tiny dots connected to each end of a line, it’s somewhere on the left wall toward the back of the room.

It’s surprisingly easy to move the metal shelf away so you can slide between it and the wall. The entrance could very well be somewhere on the ground or on the ceiling, but you’ll take your chances with the wall first before you crawl over this dusty floor.

After ten minutes of palpating the wall like it’s some giant plushy with your arms stretched out and your body squeezed in the tight space, you’re starting to get frustrated. What are you even doing? It’s almost curfew, and you’re spending your time looking for something you don’t even know exists.

Huffing, you sourly kick the wall and curse yourself for your overzealous behavior. As if someone like you is just going to discover some grand mystery that not even the staff is aware of – if they were, they wouldn’t let students get in here so easily. The door wasn’t even locked when you came in.

Something gives to your foot, and you jump so badly that you nearly topple the shelf over by throwing yourself back. After several racing heartbeats where nothing happens, you cautiously crouch down to feel along the baseboard until the tips of your fingers bump against a faint circle outline. It’s barely noticeable, but when you move to let the light shine on it, you see a faint dragon symbol on it, almost like it’s been stenciled on.

You hesitate only for a short moment before pressing it. It reaches far – your finger disappears inside the hole almost up until your knuckle, and you fear that you’re going to need something longer, but then your eyes are drawn to the movements along the wall.

The wall vibrates and shifts just barely, making you step back and clutch the shelf in sudden fear. Your jaw falls open when the outline of a perfect rectangle appears in the wall and starts to shift to the side, revealing the first steps of a dimly lit, granite staircase.

For the first few seconds, you stand frozen. This proves that the map is real, and you’re about to discover a century-old underground network that has been hidden up until now. Your brain rattles as you try to absorb this reality.

But wait – the mechanisms don’t seem outdated. They didn’t creak or tremble like a rusty cogwheel, which immediately makes you think of two options; either the engineers who built this castle were far, far ahead of their time, or you’re not the first one to discover these doorways -

You still. Didn’t your grandfather say something about sneaking around secret passageways when he told you one of his many stories about the school? It comes back to you in a rush as you remember his nostalgic retellings that you dismissed as merely stories to keep you entertained on dreary afternoons where no visitors came to the shrine. You always had so much fun listening to him even when he exaggerated his stories to make you laugh and clap.

His memory leaves a dull twinge in your heart. Suddenly, you’re filled with new vigor to find out more about this underground tunnels. If your grandfather has been here before, it can’t be that dangerous, right?

You glance at the map and see that the path is pretty much straight forward. The rooms are not labeled, but from what you see, it’s supposed to lead you into the gym that’s situated near the administration building. It’s one of the only paths that doesn’t branch off.

Hesitating just for a moment, you step forward and look down the staircase. It doesn’t go too deep – there's maybe fifteen steps leading down until the pathway evens out. You must’ve taken too much time overthinking this whole situation because the door slowly slides shut, and in a moment of stupid spontaneity, you slip inside.

You stand stock-still at the top of the stairs, equipped only with your phone and your math textbook. If you get stuck in here, at least they’ll find your skeleton and remember you as a vigilant student.

A wave of hysteria overwhelms you, and you choke back a scream as you scramble down on your knees to find the button, only to cry out in relief when you spot the outline of the dragon on the wall with your fingertips. You’re not trapped in here for all of eternity.

Righting yourself and holding a hand over your hammering heart, you notice that it’s not completely dark. The ceiling is lit with pale light emanating from small, round crystals that might’ve shone brightly in the past; now, they glow just enough for you to make out the faint outlines of the path in front of you. It’ll have to do for now, but you make a mental note to buy a flashlight next time you’re in town.

You walk down the stairs and check your phone. It’s currently just past nine in the evening, so that gives you one hour of time before you need to be back in your room. You look down the tunnel that’s wide enough for two people to walk next to each other and press your math textbook closer to your chest.

Here goes nothing.

As you make your way through the tunnel, you notice just how quiet it is. You can barely even hear your own footsteps echoing down the hall, and there are no other sounds that hint that you’re not the only one using these passageways. The air smells and tastes like nothing and makes your mouth feel uncomfortably dry.

You try to keep your breaths even and your heartbeat steady – it’s not exactly creepy, but the uncertainty of the unknown makes your skin crawl, and you ask yourself not for the first time this evening why exactly you decided to do all of this.

Another staircase appears when you’re close enough for your eyes to make out its shape, and you’re perplexed at first. This took way less time than you thought.

And when you emerge in the equipment shed smelling of rubber and metal in half the time it would’ve taken you if you had walked across campus, it’s like a fresh well of opportunities opens right in front you.

Exploring the network of tunnels consumes most of your evenings after the library closes. It feels exhilarating to know about something no one else does, like your very own secret society that you created with exactly one member. Being the only witness to such an ancient construct reminds you why you’ve been dying to attend this school in the first place.

You overcome your guilt from keeping it hidden from everybody by swearing that you’ll put the map back where you found it as soon as your curiosity is sated. You can't just put it on Principal Yaga’s desk for obvious reasons; the board would seal off the tunnels and make sure that no students could ever enter them again lest they abuse them to sneak out or possibly get lost. You’ve been able to navigate using the map, but some pathways have multiple crossings and turnings that make you proceed with caution.

It’s a fun little adventure you venture on, and you get to places twice as fast. The size of the entire school campus coupled with inconvenient footpaths to make space for countless statues, flower beds and ponds are the main reason why it’s notoriously troublesome to go from one place to another. Everyone scrambles to pack their stuff after English lessons to get to the gym in time for P.E. while you make a detour to fill up your water bottle and still arrive before anyone else. It’s glorious.

You plan to show the map to Shoko soon, but midterm exams prevent you from talking to her much. Even the hallways are quiet in the afternoons since no one wants to fail the first series of serious exams, so almost everyone is busy studying.

Everyone but Gojo, of course.

The preparations for the fundraiser are shoved into your mental box of ‘to-do at a later time’, so you’re surprised when he appears next to your table in the library after the last exam.

“Do you do anything else besides studying?” he asks without preamble, strolling up to you with his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not studying,” you say. “I’m doing extra credit work for Japanese Lit.”

“Same thing.”

“What do you want, Gojo?” Your eye twitches when he manages to snap your thread of patience in just a few seconds. “And can you keep your voice down? We’re in a library.”

“I expected you to hog me because of the fundraiser, but so far, you’ve been slacking off more than I thought.”

“Last I checked we’re both responsible, so why are you expecting me to initiate everything? Also,” you say and try to keep your annoyance out of your voice, “I haven’t been slacking off. I put together a list of sponsors we could consider contacting.”

You flip open your notebook to the first page and hand it to him. While his eyes flit over the names you put together, you continue talking.

“I tried to avoid any sponsors related to any of the students and focused on companies that put emphasis on sustainable development since it relates to the fundraiser’s goal-”

He cuts you off. “No.”

The vein in your temple starts throbbing. “Excuse me?”

“You did it all wrong.”

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down before speaking. “And how so?”

“Just because a company claims to care about sustainability and community service doesn’t mean they actually do, dummy,” he says with a bored lilt in his tone. “Daikin Corp won’t bother sponsoring anything if we don’t offer them an advertising opportunity, and we won’t even get an answer from Fujitsu Inc. My father knows the chairman, and he’d rather wipe his ass with money before giving it to something as inconsequential as a school event.”

Gojo flicks his finger against the paper. “If you want to get a real response, you need a different approach. Tamada Pharmaceutical just had a scandal involving negative side effects of the antibiotic they sell, so they're scrambling for any good PR they can get. Just promise to slap the company name on the bottom corner of a banner, and they’ll throw as much money at us as we want.”

“Sure, because that’s not ethically questionable at all,” you say flatly.

“Sorry to break it to you, but that’s how the world works, miko,” he drawls with a smirk. “Can’t learn that from a book.”

You bristle. “Unfortunately for you, neither can manners.”

“Are you offended because I’m right? You should be used to it by now.”

God, how can someone be so cocky and self-assured? Your chest feels hot, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Being homeschooled really crippled your ability to talk to a person in a way that doesn’t make them want to throttle you,” you hiss.

“Feisty,” he grins and puts a hand on the table to lean closer and loom over you. “Just how I like them.”

The smell of his expensive cologne envelopes you, and you fight the urge to scoot back with your chair. You’re not going to back down from this jerk, no matter how much your brain is shouting at you to get away as your body heat rises.

From this close angle, you can make out the exact shade of his blue eyes. They’re sea-blue, a divine glow that makes you feel like you’re drowning. You can taste the salty breeze on your tongue, feel it caress your hair.

How unfortunate that eyes this beautiful are wasted on the likes of him.

“Consider jumping into a piranha-infested tank, then,” you snap and snatch the notebook from his hand to press it against his chest. “Since you’re such an expert in corporate greed and capitalist ethos, how about you make yourself useful and take over?”

From the corner of your eyes, you notice how people turn in their chairs to look at you.

He tuts and wags his finger in your face. “You should keep your voice down, we’re in a library after all,” he echoes your own words back to you with a cocky grin that makes you want to kick his ankles.

You grind your teeth and glare daggers at him while he puts your notebook in his bag and straightens.

“If I have to bother myself with that, then you should make sure that the invitations are done soon,” he says before taking his leave.

“I will!” you spit back venomously.

He chuckles. “Good to be working with you, miko.”

When he’s gone, you groan and bury your head in your arms. What is it about him that makes you lose any semblance of control you thought you possessed?

“I take it you’re not friends, then.”

Choso’s voice makes you look up, startled that you forgot his presence entirely when Gojo arrived.

“Nope,” you sigh, feeling slightly embarrassed for acting like this in front of him. “He drives me nuts.”

“Remind me to never make you angry. I didn’t know you could be that scary,” Choso jokes with a small smile.

Red dusts your cheeks, and you quickly sit up properly. “I’m only like this to him, don’t worry."

He doesn’t respond to that, only goes back to his homework with a knowing smile. You clap your hands over your cheeks to bring your focus back on track.

Choso finishes up earlier than you and packs his stuff together after two hours. Before you can tell him goodbye, he turns to you.

“Are you going to be at the party tonight?”

You tap your pen against your bottom lip. “The one that’s down at the lake?”

He nods. “To celebrate the end of our midterm exams.”

You twirl your pen in your fingers while you think about it. Shoko sent you an SMS asking you the same question, but you still haven’t decided whether you want to go or not. It could be nice, and if Choso and Shoko are coming, it might even be fun.

“I’ll consider it,” you finally say and smile at him.

He shoulders his bag and turns around to leave but hesitates for just a moment.

“It would be nice to see you there.”

You blink, lips parting, but his hurried steps carry him out of your reach faster than you can react.

It’s past nightfall when you leave the library, the days getting shorter and shorter with the arrival of the new season. You work a crick out of your neck and stretch your arms over your head as you make your way past the school’s gardens. It’s quiet and peaceful, and you don’t mind taking the longer route if it means getting a bit of fresh air along the way.

You unlock your room and plop down on your bed with a grunt as you stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether to attend this party or not. Shoko already sent you a picture of the bonfire they made, and after weeks of studying from dusk till dawn, it’d be nice to celebrate the end of the first hurdle of the school year.

You suppose you can’t keep to yourself forever just because one girl was mean to you once. Most people probably forgot about the incident already, and nothing similar has happened since then.

The lake is a good fifteen-minute walk away from campus since it’s at the foot of the small mountain on which the school was built, which makes you inevitably ponder if there’s a way to save time.

You get on your feet and trudge over to your bag that you carelessly threw next to your desk when you got in your room. Pulling out your textbooks, you try to remember which one you put the map in.

After you can’t find it, you go through all of them a second time and check the subjects. Did you forget something in the library?

When you can’t find the folded parchment by the second search, your heart picks up. Willing yourself to calm down, you mentally retrace your steps, starting from the moment you entered the library since you still had it at that point.

It was in your math textbook, your usual hiding spot since the first evening you used it, but you had to take it out to do your homework, and the next best thing was your notebook...

Your notebook.

The one you shoved into Gojo’s chest.

Fuck. Fuck-

You knock your elbow against the desk as you struggle to shake out every single textbook by holding it upside down, but it’s to no avail. It’s gone, no matter how much you want it not to be.

You slap a hand across your forehead and drag it over your face while pressing your lips together to not cry out in frustration. How can you be so stupid? You gave it to him without thinking, and he’s going to find it as soon as he opens your notebook, and God knows what he’s going to do with the knowledge.

But - that’s only if he gets the chance to open it.

Your heart starts pounding as you chew your bottom lip and try to think it through rationally. If he found it already, he would have definitely come around to shove it in your face, which means it’s still in his bag.  But how are you going to get it back without him getting suspicious?

You’d have to get into his room and somehow keep him out of it for long enough to grab the map and get the fuck out. But why would he be out of his room at this time of day-

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your gasp. The party.

He’s the most popular guy in your year, so he’s going to be there no doubt. If you’re lucky, the students have managed to smuggle alcohol in the school premises and the party is in full swing already. Honestly, you’re surprised that the teachers haven’t caught up on it yet, but teenagers always find a way to outplay the rules.

There’s no question. You need the map back before he notices your mistake.

You gnaw on your lip. There’s one problem you haven’t considered. Every dorm room has a lock, and students are required to always carry their keys with them. You keep your own in your skirt pocket, and you’re sure that Gojo keeps it close to his person as well.

You’ll have to steal it from right under his nose.

Looks like you have no choice but to go to this party now.

Chapter Text

It takes you several attempts, a lot of pacing in your room, and a speech in front of your mirror to convince yourself to get out and execute your frankly reckless plan. 

While you get dressed and step out into the night, you question your moral downfall. Your actions have been dubious at best, and now all you can do is try to fix it all by getting this damned map back. Your heart is beating so erratically that it’s nearly painful, but you stubbornly keep walking and follow the path leading down the mountain. 

You see the bonfire before you see any of your classmates. The fire is a roaring, flaming golden beast that stretches high and lights up the night littered with stars. You take a brief moment to look up and gather your courage before you approach the fire. The crowds of people are either sitting around it or dancing to the music blasting out of speakers. 

When you arrive, you’re immediately offered alcohol by an obviously drunk Ryota. 

“No, thanks,” you say politely. The last thing you need is to be tipsy while trying to rob someone. 

He steps back to look at your outfit. Since it’s an event outside of school, you’re allowed to wear casual clothes, so you opted for a long-sleeved, black dress that reaches just above your knees. Weirdly enough, you thought that it might help you blend in with the darkness. 

“You’re kinda cute,” he says, his speech coming out slurred. 

“Thanks,” you repeat and push past him when he tries to throw an arm around your shoulders. You don’t have time for this. 

After some searching, you find Shoko sitting at the bonfire along with Geto and Gojo just like you hoped. You try not to look too relieved at seeing him there and instead walk over to hug your friend. 

“You actually came,” she laughs and wraps her arms around your body. 

“Well, you always tell me that I need to go out more,” you sigh and take a seat next to her on the grass before turning to the other two. “Hey.” 

Gojo speaks up before anyone else can. “Show of hands.” 

You draw your eyebrows together. “What?” 

He grins and leans back on his palms. “Just trying to make sure you didn’t bring a book while everyone’s partying. You seem like the type.” 

“Like you know what type of girl she is,” Shoko says and drapes an arm over your shoulders. She pulls you close to her side, and you lay your head on her shoulder. 

“You’re not drinking?” Geto asks when you make a mock show of wiggling your fingers in the air. 

“Oh, no, I’m not,” you tell him with a small smile. You haven’t forgotten his kindness on that day, and his presence makes you feel a bit better about everything. “I saw Ryota on the way here, and that convinced me not to.” 

You don’t mention that you refrain from drinking alcohol because you’re not of age to do so yet. Seeing as no one seems to care about that particular law, you keep your mouth shut as to not seem like a total stickler to rules. 

Geto and Shoko both have a small bottle in their hands, but you’re surprised to see that Gojo doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t like it? Your curse inwardly. It’d be way easier to get to his key if he was drunk. 

“Probably for the better.” Geto breaks through your thoughts, and you turn to look at him as his voice dips. “Although it’d be interesting to see you all loose.” 

Without your saying, your cheeks warm, and you fidget with your fingers as you sheepishly smile at him. “Maybe some other day.” 

You lift your head from Shoko’s shoulder while they talk about their plans for winter break, and your eyes wander to Gojo, or more specifically, his pant pockets. You wish you could freeze time for just five seconds to get this over with. 

Now that you located your target, you have to think of a way to acquire it. You can’t just shove your hand down his pants to grab it, that’d be way too embarrassing, not to mention a one-way ticket to expulsion for groping. 

No, you have to think of something else. Why didn’t you ever pick up a book that could help you in a situation like this? It’s going to take you a miracle to pull this off, and another miracle to not get caught. 

There are other options to get close enough to him to get access to his pants, but you shudder just thinking about it. You’re not going to whore yourself out to get this map back, and you’re certain that Gojo has no interest in getting felt up by you, anyway. 

You don’t notice Geto and Shoko moving away to get a refill until Gojo speaks up. 

“Anything interesting about my crotch?” His voice is taunting. “Shoko was right. I didn’t know you’d be that type of girl. You could at least try to be shy about it.” 

“In your dreams, Gojo,” you deadpan. “There’s truly nothing of interest to me there.”

Except your room key, but you don’t have to know that.

“So,” you begin and clear your throat. “Did you look at my notebook yet?” 

He shoots you an amused look. “What do you think?” 

Thank God. 

“Never mind then,” you say and twirl a strand between your fingers to seem disinterested. “I thought so- “ 

“Oi, Gojo! Go jump into the lake with us!” 

A handful of your classmates start stripping, and it’s only when their clothes hit the ground that your spine snaps into a straight position as though you’ve been struck by lightning. An idea strikes you, and while you’re not the most religious person, you’re certain that this must be divine intervention. 

“Nah,” Gojo drawls and waves them off with one hand. “I’m not in the mood.” 

“You should go,” you blurt louder than you intended. 

Eyes turn to you, and you try to rein in your eagerness. If you push too hard, he’s going to notice. 

Gojo slightly tilts his head to the side, his white hair reflecting the flickering flames. “Why?” 

“It looks fun. Or are you not a good swimmer?” you challenge him boldly. 

Silence. A cocky grin starts to spread on his face. “Alright, miko. I’ll go if you go.” 

He sends you a daring look, and something inside of you bursts into flames at his challenge. 

You get on your feet and bravely meet his eyes. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” 

For the first time since you’ve known him, a flash of surprise passes over his face, and you soak in the glory of catching Gojo Satoru off guard. It ends rather quickly when he stands up to walk to the edge of the lake, and you realize what you just agreed to. 

The moon’s light is reflected on the surface of the water, giving the night an ethereal silver glow that you wish you had time to admire. You trail closely behind Gojo and note with relief that he doesn’t walk to the small crowd of people whose clothes are scattered on the dry earth. You don’t know how long you could keep up your act if you had to undress in front of all of them. 

He turns around when you reach the lake and looks at you with this look in his eyes that screams that he doesn’t believe a word you say. “Go on, then.” 

Realizing he won’t do it if you refuse, you grind your jaw and cross your arms to reach for the hem of your dress, the last remnants of doubt tingling in your fingertips. This may be your stupidest idea of all time. 

Keeping your eyes on him in a show of courage, you pull your dress over your head and toss it to the side. 

His eyes widen. 

With only your underwear on, you shiver in the cool breeze and crouch down to remove your shoes, too far into this mess to pull back now.

“Come on, did you grow roots or what?” you ask impatiently, hopping lightly from side to side when he just keeps staring at you. “Stop being a pervert and do something.” 

Slowly, he reaches behind to grab the back of his shirt and pull it over his head. He’s lean and quite muscular for a guy his age, you notice off-handedly. It makes you think that perhaps he’s in one of the sport clubs, and you decide to focus on that thought instead of the sight of his naked chest.  

He keeps his eyes on you while he undresses, and you feel like you’re going to vibrate out of your body. When his hands move to unbutton his pants, your face is on fire, and you promptly decide to run past him and jump into the water without thinking twice. 

The lake swallows you whole, and you smoothly glide through the water, your arms stretched out in front of you. It’s a lot warmer than you thought, the water a soft stroke against your heated skin, and you spent a few seconds relishing in the silence. All sounds are muffled, and you squeeze your eyes shut to gather your wits before you resurface. 

You take a deep breath when you emerge and wipe the water droplets off your face. Your bra and panties are soaked, and you’re glad that it’s so dark that nothing of your body is visible beneath the surface. 

A hand wraps around your wrist, and you sharply whip around. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” 

Gojo leans close, way too close, and you hold your breath. Water drips down strands of white that glow silver under the moon. 

“I’m a lot of things you don’t expect,” you retort breathlessly. 

His fingers are still loosely holding your wrist, and you can feel the ripples from his movements underwater against your skin. 

“Keep surprising me, miko. I might like you more than I thought.” 

The water and the moonlit night make him look like a fabled entity that lures you into its grasp. His warm breath grazes your cheek, and you shiver as you look at his darkened eyes. 

The spell is broken when Hiroshi, one of the guys in your class, jumps on Gojo’s back with a loud yell. He jolts, and you yank back your wrist to hold your hand over your chest. 

While the rest of your class discovers him and begin to swim over, you use the window of opportunity to swiftly dive and swim your way to the edge of the lake. In the cover of shadows, you hastily put on your clothes before crouching to pat down Gojo’s pants, your eyes darting to the lake to make sure he’s not looking. 

Your fingers make out the shape of a key, and you reach inside and pull it out triumphantly. The metal catches the light, and you close your hand around it and get on your feet. You can’t believe it actually worked. 

On your way back to the bonfire, you bump into Shoko and Geto who are in the middle of throwing peanuts in each other’s mouths. 

Shoko tilts her head at you and chews. “Woah - why are you so wet? Did you jump into the lake?” 

You reach behind you and bring your dripping hair over your shoulder to squeeze the water out. “Yeah, I did – stupid, I know, but Gojo dared me to, and I couldn’t say no. I think I might head to the school now, though.” 

“Do you need me to go with you? It’s really dark,” Geto offers, but you wave your hand. 

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” you say with a small smile. “Nothing ever happens here, anyway.” 

“You’re leaving already?” 

Choso comes to stand at your side, his eyes flitting down your frame. You haven’t sought him out all evening in favor of executing your unhinged plan. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize and smile up at him. “I’m getting tired, and I don’t want to catch a cold.” You reach out and lay one hand on his arm in goodbye. “I’ll see you!” 

The way up the mountain takes an eternity, and you nervously fiddle with the key in your hands. The hardest part of your plan is done. If you’re lucky, you can return the map to its original place tomorrow and be done with it. 

The boy’s dormitories are built similarly to the ones for the girls since this entire building complex used to house all the servants that worked in the emperor’s castle. First, second and third years are separated, and you hope that everyone’s so occupied with celebrations that you don’t encounter anyone in your escapades. It’s strictly forbidden to enter the other gender’s dorms for obvious reasons. 

The wide, spotless halls are clean-swept and blissfully empty. You find Gojo’s room in record time by rushing down the corridor and scanning each name hanging next to the doors.  

You unlock the door and slip inside. It’s pitch-black, so you feel for the light switch and turn it on. 

You don’t know what you expected to find; maybe piles of cash laying around or everything to be made of pure gold, but you’re surprisingly disappointed to find none of that. Instead, his room looks almost ordinary. There aren’t any posters of models clad in skimpy bikinis hanging on his wall or dirty socks laying around on the floor. You put the keys on his desk and hope that he’ll explain his open door and missing key by concluding that he simply must’ve forgotten them. 

His desk is littered with candy wrappers, and there’s a Nintendo DS on his nightstand that immediately draws your gaze. You walk over and curiously take a look at the game disks scattered next to the gaming console. Your brother and you used to play a lot back when you weren’t so busy with school. 

Shaking your head, you scan his room for his school bag. You shouldn’t waste any time looking at his personal belongings like some stalker that you totally aren’t. 

You find it thrown into the corner at the end of his bed and crouch down to pull open the zipper. It’s the standard for every student, and you’re not too shocked to see that his bag isn’t filled with textbooks. He probably didn’t even study that much for the midterm exams. 

You find your notebook and flip through the pages. The sight of timeworn parchment greets you, and in a moment of relief, you hug it to your chest as though you’re reuniting with a lost pet. You’re so deep in your thoughts about how you’re never going to make the same mistake again that you don’t notice the sound of the door opening until it falls shut. 

“Now this is a surprise.” 

Your head turns so fast you feel your muscles strain in your neck, but the pain quickly gets masked by the rush of fear and adrenaline pumping through your body. 

Gojo stands in the doorway with his hands stuck in his pockets, one aristocratic eyebrow raised. His clothes are ruffled as if he threw them on in a hurry, and there are wet patches on the fabric. 

You clumsily get on your feet and hide the map behind your back, your voice taking on a defensive, slightly panicking tone. “W-what are you doing here?” 

“What am I doing here?” Gojo asks with a hint of amusement in his tone. “Princess, this is my room.” 

It occurs to you that he’s been right about many things in the past, and that you hated every single instance of it. This is one of them. 

“You’re supposed to be at the party!” You point an accusing finger at him. “What made you come here?” 

“I think you’ve got something wrong here,” he drawls and steps closer, closing the distance between you, and you reluctantly have to give him some credit for not being more freaked out about finding someone in here. “You’re the one who broke into my room. I should be asking you these questions.” 

He’s just an arm’s length away now. Cold sweat covers your entire body, and you stare at him with nothing witty or clever on your tongue. There is absolutely no reason for you to be here. You’ve been backed into a corner, and it’s looking pretty grim. 

This could get you expelled. If he reports it, the school board will execute its no-tolerance policy for trespassing, and they’re going to kick you out without you having any say in it. And even if you manage to get out and it’s his word against yours - his father sponsors parts of your scholarship. One phone call and you’d have no means to stay in this school. 

“And? Are you going to tell me the truth?” 

You grit your teeth and lock your knees to prevent yourself from backing up. You have to think of something, and you need to do it quickly. The longer you take, the sooner he’s going to suspect that you actually stole something, or that you’re a freak who likes to break into other people’s rooms and do god knows what there. 

Why would you be in his room? Why would a girl be in a guy’s room in the evening - 

An insane idea pops in your head. It’s so stupid and ridiculous that it might work. 

“I have a crush on you,” you blurt, your pitch rising in fear until you sound more like a guinea pig than a human being. “I-I like you. That’s w-why I’m here.” 

The look on his face is pure confusion. In any other situation, you’d take a photo to eternalize this moment, but unfortunately, you just talked yourself in a corner you can’t get out of. Your heartrate spikes, and you pale when you register what you practically screamed in his face. 

“Miko,” he says, his voice betraying no conflicting emotions. “You might be the only girl in our year that’s not crushing on me.” 

You want to ask him how he manages to sound like a self-important jerk every second of the day, but that wouldn’t exactly be the words of a lovesick girl. And worse is that he’s probably right. 

Instead, you say, “You forget about Shoko.” 

“Doesn’t count. Shoko is- never mind.”  

He dips his head to take a closer look at you. You slightly narrow your eyes at his proximity, and his face breaks out into a dangerous grin that makes your insides churn. 

“And what exactly do you like about me?” he asks innocuously, his eyes roaming over your face. 

“Uh- you’re, uhm,” you stutter, the cogs in your brain working harder than in any exam. When you actually draw a blank, you freeze. 

What do people like about Gojo? 

This is bad. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and try not to notice how his gaze slips down. “You’re very – smart. A-and...attractive. Yes. There are a lot of reasons to like you.” 

He holds his chin between two fingers and pretends to think. “Hm, and why do you always act like you hate me whenever we talk?” 

You desperately wish you hadn’t called him a socially crippled bastard this afternoon, but you can hardly take that back now. This affair would be much easier if you hadn’t antagonized each other since the first time you met, and it probably would’ve helped if you didn’t have such a big mouth. 

“Guys like it when girls stand out, right?” you say, having regained some of your brain functions. You widen your eyes and blink. “I had to get your attention, somehow. You’re always surrounded by our other classmates, so I thought you’d notice me if I wasn’t trying too hard.” 

Something inside you shrivels at the prospect of trying to convince Gojo that your entire attitude toward him had been you pining over him like some idiot. It makes every interaction between you seem like you were yearning for him from afar. You’re going to have to pretend to get amnesia tomorrow and refuse to let any reminder of this situation to resurface in your mind. 

You shift on your feet and blush. “T-this is so embarrassing,” you murmur and lower your eyes to look at him through your lashes. “Can we please talk about it tomorrow? I-I was here because I wanted to put a love letter on your desk, but you caught me now. Can you imagine how I feel?” 

You’ll have to ask some of your peers if their parents are looking for any new acting talent, because you’re killing this. Even your lip starts trembling when you focus on getting expelled. 

He looks at you without saying anything. His bright blue eyes are analyzing and calculating, making you feel as though you’re utterly transparent. Your heart beats so fast that you’re afraid it will tear itself out of your chest, but you keep up the act and tighten your hold on the map behind your back. 

For a moment, you think your plan has worked and that Gojo is so arrogant that he’ll believe your lie. He might be the smartest person in this entire school, but he also has a gigantic ego that’s as obvious as his confidence. 

He shatters this illusion before you can think of your next steps. 

“I don’t believe you,” he simply says. 

You open your mouth, stunned. “What? I just told you – huh?” 

Your words break off as he takes a long step forward and effectively pushes you until the back of your knees touch the mattress of his bed.

“Hey - what are you -” 

When he won’t back up, you’re forced to sit down and scoot to the middle of the bed as he crawls toward you. His frame completely covers you as you lay down flat on your back, your head spinning from the suddenly very compromising position you find yourself in. 

His hands are planted on either side of your head, his lips curling into a cocky smirk. He’s got you trapped, and you know he enjoys seeing you so cornered. 

“What can I say that’s going to make you believe me?” you sputter, shifting just slightly to hide the map under your back. You whimper at the prospect of laying on such an ancient artifact, and you hope that your damp hair isn’t damaging the parchment. You’ll kill him if that happens. 

“If you really have a crush on me,” he starts, a victorious gleam in his eyes as he lowers his face until his lips hover dangerously close over yours. “Then you won’t mind if I kiss you now, right?” 

Chapter Text

“What?” you cry out, his words crashing through you like a bolt of lightning. 

Is he serious? Oh god, he’s serious. 

“You heard me.” His voice is low as he breathes the word against your lips. The warm, sensual feeling makes your neck break out in a sweat. You’re certain that your entire face is the color of deep crimson red right now. 

You’ve never kissed anyone. This would be your first. 

You don’t even like each other. You may not be an expert in romance, but you think that at the very least, two people should not want to engage in verbal arguments every other week before they kiss. It’s illogical no matter how you look at it, especially because you’re lying about your affection toward him right now, and he sees it as a sick game of trying to make you prove it to him. 

His face gets closer to yours, and all the muscles in your body go rigid. You squeeze your eyes shut to not have to see the triumphant look on his face, not being able to seize one singular intelligent thought with him being so close. 

It’s wrong. It’s all so wrong- 

Just as you’re about to yield and call your bluff, his hand slides around your waist, and he’s lifting you up the mattress, making you sharply gasp in surprise, your eyes blinking wildly. 

For a brief moment, you think that he’s taking it too far by doing something really freaky that you’re too inexperienced to know about, but when his hand slides under your back to snatch something from underneath, you realize what his true intention is. 

From one moment to the next, his body is lifted off yours, and he’s standing on his feet again. 

“I gotta say, I loved that infatuated girl act from you, I really did, but you’re not a very good liar,” he hums and holds the map in front of his face, scrutinizing the timeworn parchment. “So, what’s this?” 

You stare in horror as he unfolds the map and inspects it closely, a knowing glint in his stupidly clever eyes. Scrambling on your feet, you push yourself off the bed and stomp over, picking up your dignity on the way by pulling your dress down properly. 

“Give that back!” 

“You’re really bossy for someone who just lied to my face,” he says and holds the map in the air when you try to grab it from his hands, his voice mocking you. “Tsk. And Shoko told me you’re a nice person.” 

You’re well aware that he has the moral high ground right now – good gracious, you never thought that’d ever happen – but you’re too proud to admit that. 

“Give it back,” you repeat through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll consider it if you tell me what this is,” he says, dodging your attempts to take it back by holding it higher. “Or just give me two minutes and I’ll figure it out myself.” 

His eyes flitter over the parchment, following the lines and connecting the dots in his head. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so focused. When it’s clear that he won’t give it back until he analyzed it, you fold your arms across your chest and sit down on his bed with an angry huff. 

Gojo’s gaze briefly flickers to you, the sheets you’re sitting on, and you again before he busies himself with the map, his eyebrows drawn together. 

“It’s a map of the school,” he concludes after a few moments. 

You stay silent. 

“Not an ordinary one, from your reaction.” He taps the map with one finger as though he’s solving a fun riddle that you just happen to have brought him. “These lines must be indicating some hidden passages – well that one’s obvious, right? No need for a secret map if there are no secrets to discover.” 

He slightly tilts his head to the side, thinking. “You do get to places a lot faster than the rest of us. Is this the reason?” Gojo holds up one hand to cut you off when you try to speak. “Nah, don’t tell me. I wanna figure it out myself. This is fun.” 

You don’t have the faintest clue why Gojo knows so much about your whereabouts since you didn’t expect anyone to notice you in the first place; you thought being uninteresting would at least afford you the privilege of moving around as if you’re invisible. 

You impatiently tap your shoe against the floor and shoot him a look that says, ‘Go on, then, I don’t have all night’. 

“Let’s see,” he starts, obnoxiously dragging out the words as he thinks. “It’s an underground system. Probably tunnels under the earth that connect the buildings. Oh - you look angry. I must be right.” 

You school your features into neutrality which is a lot harder than you thought considering that he not only busted your entire plan but is also making it very clear how entertaining he finds this situation. 

“So, you use these tunnels to get from one place to another?” he says, not really asking you. “What’s with these highlighted spots then?” 

You roll your eyes. “Yes, it’s been a blissful couple of weeks of not having to sprint across campu- wait, what did you just say? Highlighted spots?” 

“Yeah, right here.” He points to a specific point on the map. “And here.” 

Getting on your feet, you walk over to him, but he holds the map over his head again as you approach. 

“Gojo,” you hiss. “Let me take a look.” 

“Are you going to behave?” he teases you. When you just glare daggers at him, he giggles. “Ah, it was worth a try.” 

He lowers his arms, and you lean over his elbow to look at where his finger is pointing, only to find out that he’s right. There are outlines that are slightly discolored, but you figured that it must’ve looked like that because of the map’s age. 

“Do you think they indicate something?” you ponder. “There are two...no, three rooms that stick out. I know that this one’s the smaller library, right here.” You reach over and show him. 

When he shrugs, the soft, damp fabric of his sweater brushes against your cheek. You back off, not realizing how close you’ve been standing next to him. 

“It could be some sort of treasure map.” He turns his head to boyishly grin at you. “We should find out.” 

You immediately shake your head. “Nope, we are going to put the map back where I found it and leave this alone.” 

“You steal my keys right out of my pockets, break into my room and rummage through my personal belongings, but you draw the line at some fun little exploring around the school? My, I thought you were more fun than that.” The corner of his mouth quirks up as if he made the funniest joke ever. “Oh, wait. I take it back.” 

“Done insulting me?” you ask and cross your arms defensively. “Our ideas of fun must differ a lot, because I can think of better things to do than going around in creepy tunnels.” 

That’s a lie. Your heartbeat picks up just thinking about them. 

“Fine, I’ll do it alone, then.” 

“Fat chance,” you growl. “I don’t trust you.” 

“Then you best make up your mind, ‘cause I’m not going to let this rot in whatever corner you found this,” he says and folds the map together again. “This is the most exciting thing to happen this school year.” 

He leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest while throwing you a daring look. When your gaze flickers over his frame, you notice how his hair is still damp at the ends. You were barely in his room for five minutes before he got here. He must’ve caught on as soon as you left.

“You haven’t told me why you’re here. I was counting on you being at the party,” you grumble, a flush creeping up your neck when you recall the show you put out for him. 

Self-inflicted amnesia sounds terribly tempting right now. That, or flinging yourself out of a window. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m very observant,” he says, not hiding the hint of arrogance in his voice. “Comes with being a prodigy and all - no biggie. But beside that, you are not as subtle as you like to think you are. I saw you scutter away from me as soon as you could after we jumped into the lake – which didn’t surprise me, but you were strangely insistent on taking your clothes off and going for a dive. Seeing that you don’t exchange more words than necessary with me, I got suspicious. I remembered you staring at my dick-” A pissed-off look makes him smirk. “Alright, my pants then, so I checked them. The rest is self-explanatory.” 

He caught you because you paid him more attention than you usually do. If there’s a next time where you need to outsmart Gojo, you’ll need to completely ignore his existence. The thought makes you snort internally. 

“But what I didn’t expect was for you to be trying to flirt with me,” he snickers. He approaches you, and you feel the familiar heat in your cheeks again. “It was a nice change from all the glaring and hissing. You should do it more often.” 

“Shut up,” you groan and hold your palms against your cheeks. They are glowing with heat. “I had to improvise. I didn’t have any other choice.” 

He steps closer, and you can’t bear to look at him. The embarrassment of the situation hits you with blunt force which leaves you scrambling for explanations. “I didn’t- I didn’t want to go through your stuff, I swear. I didn’t touch anything other than my notebook. And when you came in here I-I drew a blank.” You inhale slowly and turn your head to the side. “I thought that if I couldn’t come up with a good reason, you would get me expelled or do something to remove my scholarship.” 

“Your scholarship?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. “Why would I do that?” 

“Because rich people like you can do anything they want. You could ruin my life and never think about me again,” you say, trying to hide your vulnerability by crossing your arms and pressing your lips into a thin line. 

“Just how low is your opinion of me?” He sounds amused. 

“Go figure,” you deadpan. 

“I’m not going to get you kicked out of the school,” he tells you. “Believe it or not, breaking into my room hasn’t been the craziest thing that someone has done to get my attention.” 

You open your mouth to ask him what could possibly be worse than that, but then you hear voices outside the hallway. They echo off the walls, making it hard to discern who they belong to. And they’re getting closer. 

In a moment of rare comradery, Gojo and you stare at each other with the same alarm when there are several knocks on his door, followed by roaring laughter. 

“What are they doing here?” you hiss and inch closer to the wall as if it will help you disappear. This is bad. You cannot be caught in Gojo’s room at night. The rumors that people could spin from this would ruin your reputation. 

There’s an irritated frown on his face which makes you glad that he’s at least acknowledging the danger of this situation. “They’re probably wondering why I left early.” 

“Well?” You shoot him a scorning look, your voice close to a screech. “Tell them to go away.” 

“It’s not that easy.” 

“I beg to differ. It’s one sentence. Just say you’re tired.” 

“I don’t think you know how this works,” he says slowly like you’re a child. “It’s 10PM on a Friday. And they’re drunk.” 

More insisting knocking. 

“Alright Einstein, do you have a better idea then?” you snap, your eyes shooting nervously to the door. From the way the door rattles, one would think they’re going to burst into this room at any second. 

And how right you are about this just moments later. 

Before you can even blink, Gojo grabs your arm, opens his closet door and unceremoniously shoves you inside. Just as you yelp in the darkness, you hear his room door break open and people entering. 

A flock of laughter. “Do you have a girl in here?” 

“Not this time,” comes Gojo’s muffled voice. 

The bed creaks and groans when someone plops down on it. You shuffle your limbs into a more comfortable position among the boxes and clothes hanging in your face, mostly consisting of ironed shirts and blazers. It smells of what you presume to be, well, him , and you have to hand it to Gojo that he knows how to choose his cologne. It’s pleasant enough to help you take measured breathes to calm your frantic heart. 

From the footsteps, you can tell that there are more than two, maybe three people. It’s hard to tell, and for a moment, you consider not eavesdropping into their conversation since that’s rude, but then again, it’s not like you’ve wanted to be stuck in Gojo’s closet in the first place. Least you can get out of this is some entertainment. 

“I thought I heard that girl’s voice – what's her name again?” One guy asks whose voice you can’t place at first. “The one who’s always talking in class?” 

You’ve been in the same class for over half a year. You wince. Ouch.  

When Geto is the one who tells him your name, you strain your ears to listen as he continues talking. “I don’t think she’d be here of all places.” 

Another guy laughs, and you figure it’s Daichi by the way his voice hitches strangely, and even from where you’re hiding you can tell that he’s completely wasted. “I bet she’s in her room doing some homework or some shit. I don’t get why you’re so stuck on her.” 

You don’t know who he’s talking to, and the closet doors don’t allow even a glimpse of what’s happening outside. All you can do is positioning yourself as best as you can so your feet don’t fall asleep and regulate your breathing enough to listen. 

Neither of them elaborates on what Daichi said, and Gojo swiftly steers the conversation into another direction. “Where’s Shoko?” 

“Snuggling up some girl. The one with the dimples,” Geto says. “They seemed to be getting along, so I left her there.” 

Your stomach does a flip, and you try to curb the queasy feeling. Of course, Shoko can have other friends, why shouldn’t she? She’s amazing and witty, and you’re definitely not jealous that she gets along with other people. They’re probably a lot more fun than you and able to relate to her in more ways. 

“Dude, can we go back now?” the guy who you successfully identify as Kenzo asks confusedly. “I don’t get why you came up here. It’s a long ass walk just to take a piss.” 

“I forgot my phone,” Gojo says, the lie sliding smoothly over his tongue. “I was about to go back again.” 

“Let’s go, they were about to play truth or dare when we left!” Daichi cheers, laughing again for no reason. You hope he trips on the way down.

Why would I even do homework this late? Fucking jerk.

His heavy footsteps cross the room, and just as he passes the closet, he crashes against the door, making you involuntarily gasp in shock. You’ve been pressing your ear closer to the door, and the sudden sound startled you so much that your knee jerks and bumps against the sturdy backwall. 

“What was that?” 

There’s a profound silence, and you squeeze your eyes in mortification while you cover your mouth and nose with your palm to not let a whimper escape. Your knee throbs as you smooth your hand over the reddened skin to ease the pain. 

To your surprise, it’s Geto who speaks up first. “What do you mean?” 

“The sound just now. It came from the closet,” Kenzo says, his voice rising when no one agrees with him. You can picture him point an accusing finger at you and want to swat it away. 

“Suguru, did you hear anything?” 

“Nope, nothing.” 

“No, I swear there was something,” Kenzo continues to insist, but there’s a sliver of doubt slipping into his tone. “Daichi?” 

“I don’t know, man,” said classmate replies slowly, the alcohol in his system clearly clouding his judgement because there is no possible way that anyone could have missed that, especially with him being the one closest to you. “It might’ve been outside the hallway?” 

“Did you hit your head and forgot to tell us again?” Gojo asks with a hint of mockery, just enough to make him feel ridiculous. He’s a good liar, you realize. 

“What? No - that was one time!” Kenzo grumbles. “Whatever, let’s just go.” 

You keep your mouth covered with your palm until you hear their footsteps receding into the hallways, the door clicking shut, and then silence. It’s strange to suddenly be alone. 

Cautiously, you push the closet door open and blink against the light. What a gentleman. Gojo must’ve kept the lights on so you’re not entirely disoriented. Your knees buckle slightly as you get on your feet and look around the empty room. 

The map sits on his desk, folded neatly on dark wood. You hesitate only a second before picking up your notebook and stuffing the map back where it belongs. At least the interruption prevented Gojo from making more points about how you should discover every secret the map has to offer. You were slowly running out of arguments. 

After all, all it has done so far is get you into uncomfortable, anxiety-inducing situations. Putting it back where you found it is the only rational conclusion that sounds sensical. Except- 

... 

Holding on to it for a bit more won’t hurt, right? You won’t go into the tunnels anymore, no, you’ll just try to find out more by simply looking at it. Artifacts are meant to be appreciated, and that’s exactly what you plan to do, especially since you don’t think you’ll ever find something similar ever again. 

With that in mind, you turn off the lights and listen for any sounds in the hallway. When you can’t pick up any signs of someone walking around, you sneak out, your notebook securely fastened under your arm.

Chapter Text

You’re not avoiding Gojo. You’re just a busy person. So busy, in fact, that you can’t spare a second to stop when you spot him anywhere on the school premises. Amid class assignments, club activities and regular phone calls with your family, you simply don’t have the time to indulge his ideas.  

It’s not like you’ve had many interactions in the past that warrant the overly crass label of ‘avoiding’. You’re not friends, so not having any reason to see him has been the status quo since you met him. You’ve merely not been talking to him for the past two weeks, and if you happen to slip away when you see him approach you in an empty hallway, then that is simply a coincidence. Even rich geniuses like Gojo can suffer from bad luck.  

And besides, you don’t have the mental capacity to entertain his shenanigans, anyway. Since the party at the lake, Shoko has been hanging around with this girl more frequently, disappearing after classes to spend time with her. You don’t know her name, and while you don’t want to feel replaced, it does dampen your spirits, and you’ve been rotating between club rooms, the library, and your room to keep busy.  

Swimming is your remedy to most of life’s troubles, but kyudo keeps you grounded. On the outside, it might appear as simply shooting an arrow at a target, but for those who really know the tradition and history of kyudo, it’s more than that.  

It resembles meditation in a way that it uses practiced, timed movements to achieve perfection. And some peace of mind is exactly what you need right now, especially since the traditional garments remind you of home.  

Body turned sideways, feet apart, eyes on the target. You lower the bow until the strung arrow hovers next to your cheek, your pointer and middle finger pulling the bowstring back. You notice increased noise in the background, but you let it fade into a far back corner in your mind, not willing to let your concentration waver for even a moment.  

You hold your breath and release the arrow. The force makes the bow grip rotate in your hands as you exhale to watch the trajectory of what must be your tenth arrow of the day. It soars forward, cutting through air and striking the target right in the middle. A smile forms on your lips, and you quell the urge to cheer and look around to see if anyone watched you.  

The sound of clapping makes you turn your head to the side, the smile falling from your face when you see just who managed to sneak up on you. Gojo walks toward you, tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.  

“Wow, not bad,” he says, approaching you while your peers swoon over him in the back of the room. They whisper among themselves, holding a hand over their mouths as they make wild guesses why Gojo is present in this admittedly small club.  

You lower your arm and let the bow hang at your side. With a frown, you turn to him. “Thanks, I guess.”  

You thank the gods that he came in during the best shot of the day. Half an hour earlier and he would’ve laughed at your attempts to even hit the target.  

“Oh, talking to me today? I’m honored.”  

You keep your facial expressions neutral and tug on your glove. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Another obvious lie. Ever since you broke into his room and got caught like a common burglar, you haven’t even dared to look into his eyes. All that’s happened afforded you countless sleepless nights, and it’s going to take a long while before you trust in your ability to lie and trick someone. Now that he’s standing right in front of you, you’re forced to confront him. Honestly, you’re impressed that you were able to evade him for this long.  

You thought that he’s going to cut to the chase and directly ask you about the map, but he momentarily throws you off by asking something entirely different.  

“I got us the sponsors,” he tells you. “They gave us enough funds, so you can go ham with the preparations now.”  

Your eyebrows lift in positive astonishment. “Oh, they replied already? How’d you manage that?”  

“It might have been my name,” he shrugs, but despite his statement, it doesn’t seem as though he’s bragging. He sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t see why Yaga couldn’t just let my father sponsor. I had to go through so much trouble.”  

“Oh no, you had to lift a finger for once and write an e-mail. Woe is you.” What did he think was going to happen when he agreed to help with the fundraiser? And the reason why he can’t involve his personal contacts in this project should be obvious. You roll your eyes and turn back to face the target. A glance at the clock reveals that you only have twenty minutes left before the club room closes, and you want to make the most of it.  

He walks around you, your body facing him as he looks in the same direction as you. “That’s more effort than I usually put into school. Doesn’t that deserve some appreciation?”  

You clench your teeth and narrow your eyes to keep your focus on the target. “I don’t know, should I thank you for just talking to me about it as well?”  

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s grinning. “Maybe.”  

“Not gonna happen. Do you have anything else to say to me?”  

You tense your shoulders, milliseconds away from releasing the arrow when he speaks again.  

“Yeah, I do. Give me the map.”  

Your hand jerks, and you already know that you fucked up your shot. The arrow flies past the target, making you curse under your breath as you turn away with an almost silent wince.  

“Oh,” he says, not granting you any mercy by averting his eyes or pretending he didn’t see. “That was terrible.”  

Huffing, you lower your bow arm and turn to face him. “I’m not going to give you the map, Gojo.”  

“Why not?”  

“You know why.”  

“I want you to tell me.”  

You take a deep breath, deciding to play into that game he’s playing. “The tunnels are centuries old. What if they collapse while we’re there? We could literally die.” You decidedly shake your head. “It’s too dangerous.”  

“They’re not going to collapse,” he says simply without offering any explanations to his theories.  

“And how exactly do you know that?”  

Something flashes in his eyes, something that you can recognize even through his shades. The pure, pale color still unnerves you. “Why would they? Just admit you’re scared of doing something without the approval of authority.”  

You bristle at his insult. “I’m not scared. There’s a real possibility that we’re meddling in something that’s better off staying hidden. Why do you think no one’s revealed that there are tunnels underneath the school yet?” You look around, noticing that people try to listen in to what you’re talking about. You lower your voice and shoot him a glare.  

“Why are you so against breaking some rules?” he asks, impatience making his voice grow more annoyed. “Nothing great ever came out of staying in line.”  

There is something about the way he says it that rubs you the wrong way. Like he’s merely indulging the people around him while he waits for something great to happen. You’re sick of having to entertain him.  

“Why, of course. That’s just like you to say,” you hiss, stepping closer until he has to lower his chin to look at you. “If you’re caught breaking rules, the worst they’ll do is make you sit in detention. If I do it, I’m out of this school. Don’t you notice it? The way everyone looks at me because I’m not one of them?” You swallow heavily and tighten your grip on your bow until the bamboo bites its shape into your palm. Your chest feels hollow as the words pour out of you. “I gave everything for my place in this school, and it still feels like I haven’t arrived yet. So far, I’ve had a bucket poured over my head and my classmates not even knowing what my name is even though I helped them every time they asked.”  

Tears sting on your waterline and gather on your lashes. You pretend like you don’t notice. “And when you talk to me, you always find a way to insult me, whether it’s my intelligence or how I do things. You don’t even call me by my real name. So, yeah, I’m sorry if I’m not very keen on finding out what’s going to happen if they catch us exploring some fucking tunnels underneath the castle that don’t lead anywhere.”  

His eyes are torn open, blue flashing as the first tears tumble over your reddened cheeks. You angrily wipe them away, but they stubbornly keep pouring out of your eyes until the world around you goes blurry. Everything’s surfacing all at once; the fact that you barely have any friends, your invisibility, and your efforts of trying to prove yourself in a place that doesn’t care about any of it.  

Gojo looks positively stunned, so you gather what’s left of your self-respect and whip around to walk away. You rush past your peers and store your equipment before storming into the dressing room, determined to put as much distance as possible between you and him.

You didn’t mean to explode on him, but now you did, and you’re regretting it. Exposing your insecurities and fears to Gojo of all people seems like a very disadvantageous thing if you plan to antagonize him in the future. He’s the last person you want knowing that you don’t fit in no matter how much you try, but at the same time, it doesn’t matter – he’s already an expert at making you feel inadequate.  

The autumn wind tugs at your collar as you raise your scarf to cover the lower part of your face. It’s nearly evening, but there’s just enough sunlight to spend another thirty minutes at the lake before you need to head back. You slump on the bench and draw your legs up, your eyes on the serene surface of the lake that ripples in tiny waves when leaves fall down, orange and gold creeping into their surface with the changing season.  

For the first time, you think about whether it was the right decision to choose this school. When you first heard of it, all you could think about was your grandfather’s legacy, and how he’d always wanted you to give it your all. He used to tell you so much about all the things he did here and how the world laid at his feet as soon as he graduated. You wanted that for yourself.  

It’s not as though anyone openly dislikes you – ever since you proved that you fight back, no one’s directly confronted you. The way it is now is much more unintentional in a way that hurts even more. Instead of doing anything physical, everyone just ignores your existence. Even though you are top of your class, you’re the last person that gets grouped up in assignments. When they plan to hang out as a group, your invitation somehow gets lost on the way.  

Talking to you brings no opportunities or advantages. You are a nobody in a world of people that are born with everything they could ever want.  

And Shoko – it's not her fault that you’re feeling like this right now. She’s not responsible for your happiness, and you would never want anyone to talk to you so you won’t feel lonely.  

Your outburst in front of Gojo was the accumulation of everything that has happened since you received the phone call from Principal Yaga. You’re not proud of it, but at the same time, you don’t care enough to feel embarrassed. He’s probably going to forget about it soon and go back to mocking you in no time.  

A rustling of the leaves nudges you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see a familiar set of twin ponytails and a flash of a dark mark across pale skin.  

Choso is crouched over the edge of the lake, his hand stretched out, seeds filling his palm to feed the little ducklings that start to swarm to him. Not knowing whether shouting would scare them away, you settle on just watching him with your arms crossed over your knees.  

He notices you a few minutes later and waves at you. You raise your hand to wave back and watch while he throws the last seeds into the water and walks over. A few ducklings linger on the same spot, hoping for more food, but swim away after it’s clear that there won’t be more.  

“I don’t think the ducks like me much now,” you say as a way of greeting. “I just took away their food source.”  

He quietly chuckles at that and, after a nod from you, sits down on the bench to your right. “What brings you out here?”  

“Just - uhm – thinking.” You fiddle with your fingers and pick at the skin around your fingernails. “I needed to get out of the school for a bit.”  

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” It’s not an accusation as much as it is a simple observation. And he’s right.  

“I’ve been trying to study in the common room,” you say, lifting one shoulder dejectedly. “But it hasn’t really done anything except that I could concentrate even less.” A small smile appears on your lips. “You remain my best study partner yet.”  

“You don’t look very happy about it,” he says, a lightness in his tone that sets you at ease. Choso and you don’t talk much outside of school, but it seems that he’s more observant than you thought. In a way, you’re the same in that regard. You’ve grown more reserved, more than you usually are, as the school year went along.  

Blowing a strand of hair out of your face, you lower your eyes. “It’s not that. I-” you catch yourself and pause, but Choso is patiently waiting for you to continue. “I thought I was isolating myself by going to the library all the time, but it turns out that it doesn’t make any difference.” You force a breath of laughter out of your throat to lessen the impact, not looking at him while you speak. “I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this school, but I didn’t think it would be this hard to find my place in all of -”  

You make a few vague, helpless gestures in the air and hope he understands what you’re trying to tell him.  

“- this.”  

From the corner of your eyes, you can see him nod understandingly. “I get it. Most students come from places that never taught them how to act around others they don’t think are impressive enough.”  

His words make you recall the first rumors you heard of Choso. “I hope they’re not giving you a hard time, too.”  

The look he gives you resembles one of humor as though you just made an awfully funny joke. “Don’t worry, they won’t.”  

After that, it’s quiet for a few moments while you listen to the faint wind flowing through the trees. Ducks make their way across the lake, disrupting the still surface of the lake in waning circles. Your eyes follow them as you chew on the inside of your cheek.  

“You know, despite all of that, I envy you in a way,” he admits.  

You give him a strange look. “Envy me?”  

He nods, crossing his arms and leaning back. “You’re not involved in any of the politics. Being an outsider has its advantages. I’d prefer to stand at the sidelines if I had the chance.”  

“Politics?” you ask, a crease appearing between your eyebrows. Does he mean the underlying politics of every friendship in this school? The way he says it makes it sound like a much more serious matter than highschoolers wanting fancy friends. “You sound oddly specific.”  

The small smile on his lips makes you wonder even more what he means exactly. His features grow pensive, undoubtedly searching for a proper explanation. It gives you time to take a look at his face, and more specifically, his facial tattoo. Strangely, you’ve never paid them much thought, thinking that it must be part of some tradition, but if you really think about it, it seems a bit intense.  

To your surprise, it turns out that you’re not far off the mark.  

“There are three clan families in Japan that have a substantial amount of power,” he starts, holding up three fingers. “Kamo, Zen’in and Gojo. You might’ve heard of them, but it’s not very known that they are involved in anything other than matters regarding business, stocks or politics. It’s said that they go all the way back to the Heian period, and with the way they’ve been fighting each other, it could be true.”  

You think back to the rumors about Choso being part of the Yakuza and can’t help wondering if there’s any truth to it. At first, you thought that the rumors were ridiculous and far-fetched – after all, Choso is not the type to intimidate others and demand their lunch money. Quite the opposite, actually.  

You realize that you should probably feel intimidated by him, but you find that you don’t really care. He’s been nothing but nice to you, so why would you judge him based on his family?  

“Is it some kind of rivalry?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.  

His lips quirk up at that. “You could say that. It’s a conflict over wealth, power and influence, and it trickles down all the way through the youngest generation. You might have noticed how Gojo doesn’t really talk to me.”  

If you’re honest, you thought that it’s merely Gojo’s arrogance and tendency to direct his attention only to things that interest him. Nevertheless, you say, “I didn’t think it’d be for that reason. Isn’t it a little extreme?”  

“He’s being smart about it,” he replies. “Sparing us both some trouble. Our families are constantly looking for reasons to stir some conflict, so not interacting at all is the better solution.”  

“I envy you,” you joke light-heartedly, repeating his sentiment from earlier. “Gojo is always in my business for reasons that are entirely unknown to me.”  

Choso shrugs. “Gojo can be brash, but I think there’s more to it. I wouldn’t want to be in his position. I don’t know much about it, but as of today, he’s the only direct heir to the Gojo family. That’s a lot of pressure in and of itself. I have eight brothers-”  

“Eight?” you blurt louder than you meant to and promptly cover your mouth with your hand. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to interrupt, but eight seems like a lot. Are you the oldest?”  

At that, a proud smile spreads across his lips. You stare at his face that suddenly resembles a beam of sunlight. “Yes, I’m the oldest.”  

You mirror his smile. “Does that mean you’re the heir to your family?”  

He shakes his head almost somberly, but there is no sorrow in his expression. “My cousin is. Our mother...is not acknowledged by the clan, and she doesn’t want to be. It’s a very private matter. But as part of the family, I have certain duties I need to carry out, heir or not.”  

You tilt your head to the side. “Looks like you don’t enjoy it much."  

“It depends,” he answers. “I want to be a role model to my little brothers. They need to learn responsibility and duty, and since our clan doesn’t concern itself with those that are not direct descendants, I need to step up to that role.”  

Turning to him, the corners of your lips slowly lift. “You sound like a very good brother.”  

He tentatively smiles back. “My siblings are what makes all of it bearable. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be alone.”  

Your mind inevitably strays to Gojo, and you reluctantly admit to yourself that you haven’t given any thought to his private life, or why he is the way he is. To you, it was a simple matter of someone who has been spoiled his entire life and only now encounters someone who doesn’t unreservedly give him everything he wishes for.  

“Do you think he wants all of that?” you ask, not fully understanding why you’re so interested in the answer.  

“It’s not a matter of whether he wants to or not,” Choso says, confirming your previous thoughts. “He has little to no choice. All of the families are incredibly conservative regarding legacy and bloodlines with almost no exception. It’s the way it is.”  

You blow out your cheeks and lean back to stare into the sky. “That sounds terrible…to not have a hand at all in your future.”  

Perhaps that is the reason why he’s so eager to break rules. As an act of defiance, of rebellion, you’re not sure, but it makes his actions seem a lot less coming from a place of arrogance. In a way, it also makes you feel sorry for him.  

Still, he has to realize that you can’t act with the same carelessness like he does. He has a safety net to fall into in case everything comes crashing down, while you only have your own hard work to rely on.  

Until today, you entertained the naive thought that he was going to drop the subject of the map and the tunnels and never talk about it again. After two weeks, it was clear to you that he didn’t put his entire energy in being as pesty as he usually is, so you crossed your fingers and hoped for the best, but today’s conversation made it obvious that he’s still very much interested in the artifact that’s currently being kept in your desk’s drawer.  

Part of you feels proud for denying him something he clearly wants, like some twisted satisfaction of holding a semblance of power over him. After every interaction with him left you scrambling for your wits, it feels nice to finally have some leverage of your own. It’d be easy to hide the map where you found it and block out any attempts of retrieving it ever again.  

But something else inside you feels uneasy at the thought of shutting it away. Now that Gojo pointed out the markings on the map, you analyzed it further and concluded that they were put there intentionally. The map wasn’t just made for navigation, it also hid something and made sure that only the holder would ever find out what.  

There’s a tingling feeling in your belly at the mere thought of it. It feels like standing at the edge of a tall building and wondering how it would feel if you jumped.  

If Gojo hadn’t found out, would you still consider putting it away? Isn’t your own curiosity as great as his? Are you denying it only to spite him?  

The tingle spreads through your body down to the tips of your fingers, and you realize it’s excitement. You’ve been reckless before, and it only brought you trouble, but now you have the opportunity to set your own rules and conditions.  

“Let’s go back,” you say suddenly, jumping up and turning to him. “Thank you for sharing this with me. It really helped me.”  

Perplexed by your sudden change in mood, he blinks. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”  

On the way up, he makes sure you feel better by asking you if you need anything, to which you reply that you’re perfectly fine. The gloomy clouds above your head have dissipated into a fog, and you’re gripped with new power to resolve all of this.  

When you arrive back in your room after Choso walks you to the entrance of the girl dormitories, you take out your phone and scroll down in your contacts to open an empty chat. You’ve never sent him a message before.  

19:28   

Meet me at the magnolia trees next to the garden house after classes tomorrow. Don’t be late, or I’m going to do this alone.   

After a few more moments, you add,  

We’re going to discuss the fundraiser first, though.   

Gojo is typing...  

19:29

k

Chapter Text

“I’ll come home on winter break, Mom.”  

Phone clutched between your ear and shoulder, you set down your bag next to the table and brush some leaves off the bench to take a seat. They are still rich with color, but dry after the sudden temperature drop overnight. Due to the Tokyo National’s elevated position on a hill, it gets colder faster than in the middle of the Metropolitan City where heat gets trapped in the concrete most buildings are made of.  

Holding back a deep sigh, you take the phone in your hand to properly speak to your concerned mother on the other end of the line.  

“Are you sure you’re fine over there?” she asks. You can picture the frown between her eyebrows just by the way she’s drawing out the words. “You never tell us anything about your new school.”  

“There’s not much to say that I haven’t already told you. The campus is amazing, and my grades are good, too.”  

Your mother sounds unconvinced. You try not to take offense. “Have you found any friends?”  

You twist your lips to the side, your chest heating with the need to defend yourself. “Yeah, lots. I’m fine, Mom, I promise. You and Dad worry too much. Out of the two of us, you should be more concerned about Keiji.”  

“He misses his big sister,” your mother sighs, making the ache in your heart grow a little deeper.  

“I told you I have a lot going on,” you repeat, growing agitated. “I have to organize a fundraiser, and I have a science project coming up. I don’t even have enough time to attend club meetings.”  

From the corner of your eyes, you see someone approach you and take a quick glance behind you to confirm your guess.  

“That sounds awfully much. Are you sure you’re getting enough breaks? Are you eating well?”  

You scratch the back of your head. “I am. Mom, I gotta go. Give Keiji and Dad a kiss from me, alright? Bye.”  

In the time it takes her to say goodbye to you, Gojo slides onto the bench across from you and watches while you stuff your phone back in your pocket.  

“Who was that?” he asks, noisy as ever. From the way he approaches you like always, you safely conclude that what happened yesterday will not be discussed. Perfect.  

“My mom. She complained that I haven’t visited since spring,” you say, ignoring the stab of guilt in your gut. You spent the summer break taking multiple courses that the school only offers in classes-free time, which left almost no time to visit your family’s shrine. 

At the mention of her, his features flash with something you can’t quite decipher. It fades before you can question it further.  

“Is there any reason why you wanted me to come out in this cold?” he asks, propping his face on his palm and watching you with a raised eyebrow. Apparently, he decided to forego his shades today, which means that his blue eyes stare directly at you.  

When you sent him the message yesterday, you didn’t expect the temperatures to drop to nearly zero, but it’s not as though you’ll freeze your butt off. He’s being overly dramatic. 

After a moment, you say, “It was the only way to make sure no one saw us.”  

“What, you don’t want to be seen with me?”  

You look at him with a frown. “No, I don’t care about that. I’m just making sure that no one sees this .”  

With that, you pull out your textbook and flip open the first page to reveal the map. His fingers twitch, clearly wanting to get it in his possession, but he doesn’t reach for it right away. Still, you hold it out of his reach and click your tongue.  

“We’re going to talk about the fundraiser first,” you tell him, thinking that it’s quite nice to have him do what you want him to do. You could get used to this feeling. “God knows when the next time is that I’ll catch you without anyone trailing after you.”  

“If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was ask.” His eyebrows bounce up and down, and you hate how he still looks decent while doing that.   

“Whatever.” You put the map back in your textbook with a roll of your eyes and place it next to you before pulling out your notebook and shuffling through the papers. Meanwhile, he leans back and spreads his legs, looking comfortable just watching you do all the work.  

“Do you always plan everything down to the smallest detail?” he asks when you lay out your work from the last week, your small and meticulous handwriting all over it, some passages highlighted and marked with small post-its.  

“It’s what works best for me,” you simply say.  

That seems to remind him of something. He leans forward, his eyes glinting amusedly, making your defenses go up in an instant. “Yeah, last time you went into something unprepared, you confessed your undying love to me.”  

To your horror, your face immediately lights up in a bright red, and your skin breaks out in a sweat even in the cold. You do your best to scowl at him and curse your body for betraying you so easily. “Shut up.”  

“Sincerely, I’m never going to shut up about it. I’ll mark it on a calendar and remember it every year.”  

Embarrassment washes over you in waves, cold and scalding hot, and you squirm in your seat. You’re never ever going to do anything this foolish again. Just the thought has you cringing, the desire to sink into the ground overwhelming you.  

“You know, if I didn’t know it better, I’d say you’re somehow obsessed with me,” you growl, fighting the blush on your cheeks.  

That seems to shut him up. Gojo merely grins and reaches inside the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a piece of candy. His long fingers unwrap the paper before he pops it into his mouth, his cheek bulging as he eats it. It looks strangely endearing,  

“Anyway,” you start, already annoyed at his ability to throw you off track in a matter of seconds, “we have some things to discuss. Let’s start with the location. Principal Yaga said that we can either use the concert hall or the assembly room, but I think we should go with the latter. It’s further away from the parking lot, but we’d offer them a view of the school’s gardens on the way.”  

You tap your finger on that particular point written on paper. When you worked it out, you thought it was quite clever. If there is one thing that Tokyo National can do well, then it’s to flaunt its wealth with the many artistic installments, most famously the statue of the emperor standing proud in front of the main entrance, decorated with irises made of bronze.  

“You propose to let our guests walk across the entire property just to see some flowers and trees? It's not a garden show."  

“Oh, my bad, I wasn’t aware that rich people don’t have legs. Does that come with being pampered all the time?”  

He pauses, and with a smirk, concludes, “You don’t like us.”  

“It’s only fair, considering that you don’t like me, either.”  

He shrugs with one shoulder. “Not everyone has to like you, miko. I know a few people in this school alone who’d like me gone.”  

“Is it because of your family?” you blurt before you can help it.  

Raising his brows, he looks at you with newfound interest. “Who told you?”  

You press your lips together, suddenly not sure if it’s a good idea to reveal your source. 

“It was the Kamo kid, wasn’t it?” He sucks his teeth. “Figured he’d tell you, with how often he orbits you.”  

“We study together, that’s all,” you say, instantly feeling protective of your friend. “I thought it was more of an open secret, anyway.”  

Gojo dramatically pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers and tilts his head back to groan.  

“What’s your problem?” You cross your arms, your eyes gliding along the pale curve of his neck. “There are worse things than being the sole heir of generational wealth.”  

“You’re a smart girl, right?” Leaning forward, his hooded eyes search for yours. “I think you can figure out what my clan does, and why I’m not prancing around telling everyone my business.”  

A shiver tingles along your spine.

Natural curiosity led to multiple internet searches in the deep of night, which led to history lessons that told you everything about family clans in ancient Japan. They used to rule the country in different sections along with the emperor of that time, marking an era of great progression. You tried to find more information about the descendants of said clans, but it seems like Choso was correct; there is not much revealed to the public, which means that you have little to no clue about the clan families or how they operate. From the little information you read, you concluded that they all possess real, considerable influence in the politics of the country, and have had so for centuries. It’s old, old money, and even older family trees.   

Families that have held power for centuries can’t sustain it by having a clean record throughout history.  

“Alright,” you finally say and pick up your notes again, throwing him a look over the upper edge of the paper. “You have your secrets and I have mine. I won’t ask again.”  

For the next ten minutes, you continue your discussion back and forth, with him being surprisingly cooperative. You agree to use the concert hall and to bring attention to the pathways leading into the campus by lining them with little lights and creating an incentive to explore the school grounds before the event starts in the evening. A fair compromise. 

When you hand him the list of different catering companies with your favorite circled in thick red liner, he considers it for a moment. You wait for him to criticize something, like saying that their food is regarded as horrendous in his circles and that the guests will never stoop so low as to ruin their delicate taste buds.  

“This one’s pretty good,” he comments off-handedly, nodding while his eyes look over your notes, “we should use that one instead of mine.”  

Startled, your head snaps up, excitement dusting your cheeks red. “You think so?”  

You don’t want to admit it, but his words stir something in your belly that has you sitting up straighter, prouder. Hearing these words out of his mouth feels like a surge of energy. He’s smart. A prodigy. Good at nearly everything he touches. Praise from him means more than anything else.  

Gojo stares at you, and you notice belatedly that you’re smiling so brightly that your cheeks strain with the motion. You quickly slap a hand over the lower part of your face. You’ve never smiled at him before.  

He probably thinks you’re weird for getting so worked up over some words. He didn’t even outright say something positive – he has only agreed with you without any backtalk for the first time ever.  

Embarrassment floods your system, and you quickly lower your head to the paper in front of you to avoid looking at him. You can already hear his taunts surely building up in his throat right now and brace yourself.  

But instead of that, he says nothing. When you carefully look up, his elbow is propped on the table with his hand buried in his white hair. You can’t see his face with how he’s hovering over your notes, but the tips of his ears are glowing bright red.  

“Uh, great, thanks,” you stutter. “I’ll give them a call next week.”  

Do you look so weird when smiling that he can’t look up now? You’re never going to do that again, ever. Ever. Good thing that he’s always been excellent at making that endeavor very easy for you.  

An icy breeze has you shivering in your seat, the cold helping you to get back on track and shove any irrelevant thoughts away. You clear your throat and give him a moment while he looks over your notes, dimly noting that it must have gotten colder since you can faintly see your breaths in the air when you exhale.  

“Now that we’re finished-” you start, only to be rudely interrupted.  

“Can we get to the important bit now?”  

Having recovered from his temporary stunning spell impressively fast, he throws one leg over the other and leans back into the bench, his hand waving through the air. “You know, the reason why I’m here?”  

“I was just about to mention it,” you say and roll your eyes. You shuffle your notes concerning the fundraiser into one neat staple and mark the one with your to-do list with a small yellow post-it. You deliberately take your time, the corner of your lip twitching when you notice him getting impatient. When you finish, you fold your hands on the table and look at him.  

“If we are going to do this, I want to establish some rules.” Putting as much authority in your voice as you can, you go on, “Just to make sure I don’t get screwed over by teaming up with you.”  

He drums his fingers on the table, clearly not impressed by you. “And those are?”  

You open your hand and hold it in the air. “I’ve got five.”  

Gojo sighs a bit too dramatically. “Of course, you do.”  

Ignoring his quip, you continue and lower your hand again. “First of all, you won’t go exploring without me, since I’m the one who discovered this map. That means no running off and doing your thing alone.”  

He nods. Huh, that was easy.  

With a bit more confidence, you continue. “The next two are obvious. If it gets dangerous, we pull out. If we get in trouble, we pull out. I’m not very eager to die young in some dusty tunnel, and I sure as hell won’t risk my scholarship for this. Got it?”  

Again, he nods plainly. “Anything else?”  

“Plenty. I think it’s wise if we keep this secret between us for now, just to make sure it’s not a death trap.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I really don’t want to draw too much attention to the map. If any of the school staff finds out, they’re going to confiscate it immediately, and it’s never going to see the light of day again. And also,” you add and throw your hair back. “The map stays with me at all times. That’s it. My five rules.”  

You don’t ask him if he has anything to add because frankly, you’re already doing him a favor by generously extending your knowledge to him. The least he can do is nod along and behave.  

“Do these only apply to me?” he asks, sounding way too entertained for someone who just got faced with The Rules.  

“Yup.”  

“So, you can run off with the map without me?”  

“You got a problem with that?” You raise an eyebrow at him challengingly.  

“Just seems a little – unfair, don’t you think?”  

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t have much of an incentive to go there alone, so I doubt it’ll ever come to that, but yeah.”  

He doesn’t look very convinced, but again, he doesn’t have much room to negotiate. It’s either that or no map at all.  

“Just to discuss the specifics,” he taps his fingers on the table again, “how much trouble and danger are we talking about?”  

Irritated, you ask, “What kind of question is that?”  

“I’m making sure I get the details right, princess. What amount is too much?”  

“How is that relevant-” You huff and throw your hands in the air. “Urgh! Fine. I don’t want to get expelled, and I don’t want to get into situations that could potentially maim or, I don’t know, kill us. I reserve the right to decide that as we go along.”  

“Means you can change the rules at whim.” He snorts. “You’re a terrible business partner.”  

“You’ll get over it,” you say. You move to grab the textbook next to you when he stops you.  

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.  

You turn back to him with a frown. “What do you mean?”  

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the massive hole in your plan.”  

“And what exactly is that?” you ask through gritted teeth. 

He looks at you like it’s obvious. “What kind of insurance do you have that I won’t break your precious rules?”  

Willing your face to betray no emotion, you say nothing at first.  

Naturally, you thought about that when you wrote down your requirements yesterday. If he wants to, he can just steal the map when you’re not looking, and you wouldn’t be able to get it back without launching another break-in mission. It’s a grim thought since you don’t want to assume that about him, but still, it’s not as though you’re friends. He owes you nothing. Having something of value from him would make you feel more secure.  

But no matter how much you turned it over in your head, you don’t have any kind of leverage over him. The simplest and most rudimentary solution would be to ask for money, but any sum wouldn’t even matter to him, and you feel deeply uncomfortable even thinking of accepting any amount of money. It just doesn’t feel right, and you have nowhere to put it if it were a possibility.  

Neither is it an option to take anything physical from him, because what use would that be? You doubt he possesses something that has such great emotional value to him that he couldn’t afford to replace it, and you wouldn’t want to stoop to such methods, anyway.  

And even if you had something that he treasures, he’s always going to have the upper hand. After all, his father is one of the reasons you’re able to attend this school. The obvious power imbalance is impossible to ignore, and no matter what you do, it’s lingering in your mind and reminds you that despite the fights and aggression, he maintains that power. It feels like the sword of Damocles over your head, except you can’t help losing your temper around him. He’s made it clear that he won’t mess with your scholarship, but do you know him well enough to guarantee that? 

There’s nothing you could ask of him that would prevent him from ratting you out or doing his own thing. It wasn’t the most pleasant conclusion and certainly didn’t quell any of the rage you felt toward the inequality of the world, but you had to accept it.  

Taking a deep breath, you decide to admit it openly. “I don’t. I decided I simply have to put my trust in you.”  

Trusting someone who apparently has the flaming intrinsic urge to break rules might not be the smartest thing you’ve ever done, but you have no other choice. Gojo may not be beyond lying to get his way, but he also isn’t the worst person to ever live. You carefully went through every interaction you had with him and concluded that while he’s annoying and arrogant, he’s not exactly cruel. God-complex aside, he can be helpful if he wants to be, and compared to your other classmates, has never done anything to actually make you feel awful.  

The bar truly is in hell.   

Gojo, for his part, doesn’t look very convinced, either. “You trust me?”  

You shrug. “If you think I’m stupid for doing that, I don’t care. It says more about you than me.”  

“I wasn’t aware that you liked me enough to trust me.”  

“I don’t have to like you to trust you. They’re not interchangeable sentiments.”  

He tilts his head. “So why involve me in all of this in the first place?”  

At his very legitimate and valid question, your cheeks flush. You have considered that, and you haven’t found an acceptable answer either. It could be that you don’t want to go into these tunnels on your own just to find out that you can’t get out, or worse, discover something far more gruesome than you’d like to currently think about.  

Bringing another person, a willing one at that, would dramatically increase your feeling of security if there is ever an occasion where the need arises to figure a way out of there. It’s beneficial in any case, and considering the dimensions of the tunnels, two seems like a reasonable number before it gets tight. You have considered all of that and more.  

But another very, very quiet voice in your mind tells you that maybe, you don’t want to do everything alone.  

Deciding that this is a thought you don’t want to face just yet, you give him a plain answer.  

“You notice things that I haven’t. If you hadn’t pointed out the markings on the map, I would’ve probably overlooked them. You’re an asset, and I cling to my life enough to not go into creepy, century-old tunnels all alone.”  

He folds his arms, uniform straining over his arms and shoulders. The cocky smirk on his face makes your heart lurch. “An asset, hm?”  

“When you try, you do prove to be useful,” you admit.  

“The highest compliment I’ll ever get from you.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. 

You laugh.  

It’s a short, light sound accompanied by a burst of happiness in your chest. You cough to mask the sound and shake your head in amusement while tearing a page out of your notebook to write something down. You almost don’t notice how his entire body goes completely rigid. When your eyes flicker up after you note down the headline, he’s staring at you.  

“What?” you ask. 

For once, he’s at a loss for words. It takes a few seconds before he says, “Nothing.”  

Minutes later, you brandish your carefully crafted masterpiece by pinching the top of the paper between two fingers and dangling it in front of his face.  

He takes one look at it. “Is that a contract?”  

“You said I’m your business partner,” you say, leaving out the part where he called you ‘terrible’ because for once, you’re in high spirits. You place the piece of paper in front of him. “I like that, and it makes it more official. All the rules are written down on this. Please sign here.”  

You tap your pen against one of the two lines at the bottom. On one of them, you’ve already put your own signature. He takes the pen out of your hands and with a few easy strokes, signs his name right next to yours.  

Taking the contract back, you put it in your bag and turn back to him when suddenly, your gaze gets drawn to the sky where small, white dust falls. No, not dust.  

“Oh!” you call out, excitement sneaking into your tone. “It’s snowing!”  

The first snow of the year. Snowflakes float down gently where they melt immediately as they land. It’s an early snowfall, but you’re not complaining. You hold out a hand and watch how they fall onto your palm, leaving behind tiny droplets of water on your skin.  

You begin talking as you watch the sky. “It symbolizes good luck in most cultures. In the north, it could mean a time of self-reflection and cleansing, with Mother Nature coming to rest during the winter months. In other countries it could also mean...” you trail off, suddenly flustered. “In any case, it’s a good omen regarding our contract. We’re really lucky.”  

“Yeah,” he says, piercing blue eyes looking skyward along with you, his white hair moving with the breeze. “Real lucky.”

Chapter Text

3:12 PM 

Where are you 

3:14 PM 

In Shoko’s room. Why? 

3:15 PM 

Can I come? 

3:15 PM 

No 

3:16 PM 

Why 

3:16 PM 

Guys are not allowed in the girl’s dormitory duh 

He types, then stops, then starts typing again. After a whole minute, your phone vibrates with an incoming message. 

3:18 PM 

You actually think that stops horny teenagers? :-) 

You groan and flop backwards into Shoko’s sheets. Of course, you know that people have been sneaking around to get frisky inside their rooms, but that particular picture of your classmates can stay out of your head, thank you very much. After a moment of recollection, you type your response. 

3:20 PM 

Let’s not go there 

Why did you ask where I am? 

“Who are you texting?” Shoko asks out of nowhere, materializing behind you and looking over your shoulder. The stick of her lollipop brushes against your cheek as you whip around, feeling like you just got caught doing something forbidden. 

“Oh- it’s just, uh, Gojo,” you say, scratching the back of your head. “For the fundraiser.” 

“For the fundraiser,” Shoko repeats slowly, a shadow of doubt passing over her face. “He’s actually doing it?” 

Your phone vibrates again, signaling a new message, but you ignore it and shove it back into your skirt pocket. He can wait. 

“He is, but he’s trying to be as annoying as humanly possible.” You shift to sit cross-legged on her bed, your back to the wall. “But enough of him. Do you want me to quiz you on physics? We stopped at the fifth question.” 

Shoko's face twists as if talking about electromagnetism is the last thing she wants to do. You can’t fault her for that. 

With a deep sigh, she slumps against you and closes her eyes, presumably to temporarily forget that you’re supposed to be studying together. You’re fine with that. It’s nice to just sit together while the cold winds blow outside and the days end sooner, painting the white walls of the school in a golden light as early as the bell that signals the end of extracurriculars in the late afternoon. 

After last week where she spontaneously knocked on your door and motioned you to follow her, your friendship has resumed like normal. She snuck into the school’s kitchen with you in tow, and you spent the rest of the evening eating ice cream and dishing out all kinds of gossip you have never heard before, including who dated who. It was exhilarating to do the things you’ve seen girls do in movies, like partaking in a sleepover and whispering secrets to each other in the darkness. 

“I can’t believe anyone would go out with Ryota,” you say and shove another spoonful in your mouth. “He’s so...slimy.” 

Shoko dips her spoon into your container, then back into hers and into yours again so she has a sandwich made of strawberry-chocolate ice cream on her spoon. “He surprisingly gets a lot of game. Guess that comes with having decently enough looks and being the son of the head of committee at JAXA.” 

You grimace. That guy is in direct contact with the Japanese space agency? At least one of his parents is a super smart space engineer? You’re so jealous that you stop eating to stare at the wall in disappointment. 

“I’ve always wanted to do an internship there,” you sigh. 

“Now you know who to charm.” 

You snort ungracefully. “Funny. Alright, who else?” 

Shoko presses the end of her spoon against her lips. “Just the most obvious ones. Tanaka and Shimizu.” 

You nod along. They were already a couple before they got to Tokyo National. Childhood friends, as far as you know. It’s quite sweet. 

“...Yoshida and Ito....” 

Shoving another spoonful into your mouth, you absentmindedly swish the delicious delicacy in your mouth and let it melt on your tongue. 

“...Gojo and Fuyuko...” 

Wait, what? You hastily swallow before it can slide down the wrong pipe. “Huh? They’re a couple?” 

She tilts her head in confusion. “Not anymore. They dated way back. Like a couple months ago. You didn’t know?” 

“No. I mean- did they go out in secret or something?” 

“I wish they did.” It’s Shoko’s turn to grimace as though she’s eaten something sour. “I gave him a lot of shit for dating her, especially after what she did to you, but honestly, I try not to get too involved in his dating life. Suguru gets all the details, and I stay out of it. It’s gross. Like- incredibly gross.” 

You’re still trying to wrap your head around the mental image of the two of them together. They’re not exactly mismatched, but something about them bothers you. 

“It’s kinda funny that you didn’t know,” Shoko goes on with a lazy grin. “She was all over him every chance she got. It was like watching one of those teenager movies. Except he broke up with her. And I’m glad he did.” 

For some bizarre reason, you’re strangely disappointed in Gojo’s type. Perhaps it’s your lack of knowledge about both of them, but the two have nothing in common except having good looks and wealthy parents. Is that all it takes? He seems like the picky type. Maybe you’re being shallow, but you thought he’d put more consideration into the girls he’s dating.  

The moment you end that trail of thought, guilt washes in. Thinking that way about anyone doesn’t feel quite right. 

“By the way, did she ever apologize to you?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head. “She mostly avoids looking at me now. Hasn’t spoken a word to me in months except when she absolutely has to.” 

“Good,” Shoko sighs and leans her head against your shoulder. Something about her today is tinged with sadness, but you can’t put your finger on it. You fill your spoon and hold it in the general direction of where her mouth could be. Her head leans forward to eat the ice cream. “If she does anything like that to you again, she won’t like the consequences. You went too easy on her.” 

You make a noncommittal sound in the back of your throat, feeling queasy just thinking about that day. The two of you spend the next five minutes listening to the buzz of the refrigerator and the occasional eating noises. You shift your legs, your skin coming away cold from where it rested on the chilly kitchen floor. It’s way past dinner time, and all the kitchen equipment is stored away, leaving clean surfaces, but you still decided to make yourself comfortable on the hard ceramic tiles. 

“Is everything alright?” you eventually ask, feeling guilty for not doing it sooner.  

For a while, she says nothing. And then, “Not really.” 

“Do...you want to talk about it? I’m here for you.” 

“I know, even though I wasn’t really there the last few weeks,” she says, voice dipping. “Sorry for that. I’ve been distracted, but it’s over now.” 

Something flutters in your heart at hearing her apologize. Like you’re someone worth making amends to. “Don’t be silly, it’s fine-” 

“No, it’s not,” she insists, turning to look at you. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her chest rising as she takes a deep breath. “Don’t say it’s fine. If you accept my apology, then say so, but don’t downplay it.” 

Stunned, you manage to nod. Then, after remembering that you’re supposed to say something, you whisper, “Okay. I accept your apology.” 

A smile creeps up on her lips, and you smile back, but it fades when you remember what you talked about prior. Feeling awkward, you ask again. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” 

“Nope, it’s over now, so no need to dwell on it.” Her voice is resolute and determined, and perhaps you should press the issue, but the look on her face is so stony that you hold back. Maybe she’ll tell you someday. 

“Alright.” 

A pause. 

“I saw the taro flavor when we took out the strawberry. You want some?” you ask. 

Shoko wordlessly moves to stand up, and you follow her. 

Picking up your textbook, you flick through the pages, not lingering on anything specific. It’s filled with boxes of texts, experiment instructions, and graphics explaining various topics ranging from Newtonian mechanics to the very basics of quantum physics. 

You decide to try to make the topic seem more intriguing to her. “Did you know that ancient civilizations knew about electromagnetism?” She hums as you search that particular chapter, your thumb brushing against the pages. “They couldn’t figure out what it exactly was, just that these forces existed. They would rub cloth and amber together and create frictional electricity to lift very light objects like feathers off the ground. But like most natural phenomena, they looked at it through a religious lens, so there wasn’t any scientific research until the 1600s.” 

Shoko sounds drowsy when she speaks. “How do you know all of this stuff?” 

“I read a lot,” you say, slightly flustered. “In another life, I might’ve become a historian.” 

“Why not in this one?” 

“I’d rather dedicate myself to the future than the past,” you explain, fiddling with the top corner of the page. “My grandfather used to tell me a lot about our ancestors, and how the world came to be how it is today. Fundamentally, humans haven't changed much over time. Our environment just shifted.” 

When she doesn’t reply for a long while, you peek down at her head on your shoulder and realize her eyes are closed. Huh. She really isn’t in the mood for studying. Your rambling must have lulled her to sleep. You fight a laugh and pat her thigh affectionately. 

Listening to her even breaths, you start to reread the chapter on electromagnetic fields. On the third page, you remember that you received a message a while ago. Carefully, you reach into your pocket without moving too much and pull out your phone. 

3:18 PM 

I figured something out 

And because I’m nice I wanted to share 

3:22 PM 

Hello?? 

3:29 PM 

Don’t ignore me 

3:56 PM 

Sorry I was busy 

What did you find out? 

You close your phone and lay it down next to you on the sheets with the little display screen facing up so you don’t miss the next message. Gojo seems like an extremely impatient person, a fact that hardly surprises you. 

In the end, you don’t have to wait long. 

3:59 PM 

Let’s meet up 

You find Gojo leaning against the closed door leading to the small library. His hand is tucked in his pocket, and his eyes are fixed on his phone screen, his long fingers rushing over buttons. 

His eyes flicker up when you approach him with a light jump in your step, but you can see that his focus stays on his phone. When you’re near enough to do so, you lean forward to take a glimpse at his screen, surprising yourself with the casualty in which you do so. 

Guess he’s rubbing off on you. It’s usually not this easy for you to get into someone’s private space, but it feels gratifying to allow yourself the same things that he so freely grants himself. 

Besides, you’re in a good mood. It may be the fact that you placed above him in advanced mathematics, or that you’re spending more time with Shoko now, but it makes you approach him with an aura of satisfaction that seems almost like a peace offering. 

“Are you winning?” you ask curiously. You watch as he moves the blob on the screen through obstacles while collecting circles that you assume to be coins. 

Without looking at you, he answers, “I always am.” 

He finishes the level and closes his phone with a quiet smack. You take a step back and expectantly look at him, your hands clasped behind you. 

“The small library?” You regard the set of heavy double doors that hide the many antiquities. You already have a hunch on why he asked you to come here. “Did you find anything?” 

As you rotate your shoulder, you’re reminded that Shoko’s nap lasted until dinner, and that you more-or-less gently ordered her to at least answer some of the questions you wrote down for her. She’s usually not this unenthusiastic about studying for upcoming tests, but most of her moods have been fluctuating as of lately, and no matter how cautiously you ask her about what’s troubling her, she blocks off any attempts to talk about it. 

Gojo pushes himself off the wall. “Mhm. We should start our search here. It’s one of the smaller rooms, so we have less ground to search.” 

You nod, agreeing with him. The school possesses two libraries, but only one is accessible at all times without clearance by the librarian. Tokyo National possesses an impressive number of ancient books and scripts that are preserved in the small library where students need special permission to enter. Over time, the students started calling it the Archives, if only to make it less confusing and redundant. You’ve been in the Archives twice, one time to see it out of curiosity and the other to cite an authentic source for your history essay about the Taisho era. It’s said that it was the private library for the emperor, and that not much has changed since his reign of peace ended. 

“Should we start tomorrow, then?” you suggest with a glance at the clock mounted on the wall. “I’ve got kyudo in the afternoon, but after that-” 

“Why can’t we go now?” 

You draw your eyebrows together. “The librarian won’t let us in. It’s almost curfew and there’s little she hates more than students begging her for a permission slip to finish their last-minute essays.” 

Gojo whips back and forth on his feet. “Huh, guess what I got in my pocket, then.” His lips twist into a boyish, eager grin that makes him look younger than he is. 

“Tell me,” you demand. 

“No,” he says, drawing out the sound like he’s wagging an invisible finger in front of your face, “you have to guess.” 

You blow out your cheeks and throw your hand up. “Like I don’t have anything better to do - I don’t know, you charmed her and got her to give you a slip? Because you’re just that good?” 

“Nah,” he says with a smirk, “but it’s a good guess.” 

“A fair assumption.” You should have let the matter rest at that, but a thought surges inside of you, and you can't stop yourself from adding, “I already heard you have a unique taste in women.” 

As soon as the words escape your lips, you want to catch them in the air and force them back inside. How bold. Why did you just say that? 

“Unique taste?” he repeats, head tilting in a mix of curiosity and confusion. “What do you mean?” 

No turning back now. You exhale resignedly, scolding yourself for not thinking before speaking. Out of all people, Gojo’s the last person you want to know the dating habits of. 

Feeling embarrassed, you slightly shift on your feet. “Just - uhm. You dated Fuyuko. Shoko told me. I wasn’t asking – she just said it, and I was surprised. I don’t even know how we came to talk about it. It was girl talk. You wouldn’t understand.” 

You can’t have Gojo thinking you were curious enough to actually seek out Shoko for information. And besides, it’s the truth – you only came to know about it because she dropped it in a conversation, but the way you said it makes it sound like you’re trying to make excuses. As if you want to know what girl he’s fumbling in the dark with. 

Heat erupts in the back of your neck and up your face. You try to hide it by cupping your nape and clearing your throat. “So, yeah. That’s how I know you dated her.” 

“Oh, yeah, I did,” he says nonchalantly, as if that relationship is but a fleeting memory, one not worth much. “’t was fun, until it wasn’t. Don’t know how that counts as unique.”

“Forget it,” you say and move your hand to rub the bridge of your nose between two fingers. “It’s none of my business. I’m not in the position to judge your dating preferences.” 

The analytical part of your brain tries to figure out if the uneasiness in your belly is jealousy, but you find with relief that this is not the case. You’re jealous when he finds the right words in class, and you’re jealous when he gets better grades than you with less than half the effort you put in, but this is not what you’re feeling right now. Rather, it’s the realization that even the most intelligent boys would go out with a cowardly bully if she was only pretty enough. 

He’s such a vague shape in your mind, a folder stuffed with facts you found along the way that don’t fit together, that rearrange themselves as soon as you find out something new about him, voluntarily or not. You try to fill the gaps, but perhaps it’s time to admit that you don’t know him at all. 

If Gojo is aware of your inner turmoil, he doesn’t let it show on his face. He doesn’t seem eager to talk about his past relationships as well and sticks his hand in his pocket again, fidgeting with an object inside. 

“You have one more guess,” he says to your annoyance. 

You sound exhausted. “Can’t you just quit this game and tell me?” 

“It’s really not hard to work out. It’s in my pocket, so it’s got to be something physical, don’t you think, miko?” 

You stare at him for one, two seconds. 

“You didn’t.” 

“Oh, but I did.” 

“You stole the keys?” you ask, voice rising an octave. “Are you crazy?” 

“Just the same amount of crazy as you, apparently.” He pulls out the key to the Archives, a pretty, ornamental thing made of iron that he dangles off his finger. “Proves I’m a far better thief than you. But again, I had a much less cunning victim.” 

You’re not sure whether you’re supposed to be indignant over the fact that he stole school property or the insult toward your failed thievery. “That’s not something to be proud of.” 

“But it’s what’s getting us in there. C’mon, lighten up, buttercup. We’re about to find out more about this. Wasn’t this the whole point?” 

Gojo turns around, inserts the key, and unlocks the door with a heavy click. Throwing you a look over his shoulder, he lifts an eyebrow and says daringly, “Too scared now?” 

“Like hell,” you grumble and stomp over. 

He holds the door open for you and motions you inside with the wave of his hand. The familiar smell of parchment and old, dried ink hits you as soon as you enter. Anticipation makes your fingers tingle as the door closes behind you, and it’s just the two of you inside the Archives. 

“Alright,” you say and put your hands on your hips, trying to sound calm and collected in the face of being alone in tight space with him, “let’s find this secret.”