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Almost Mine : Chapter 4

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Theme: Drama, Angst

Taglist: Open Warning: Use of curse words, sexual tensions (a bit), Minors Do Not Interact

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Once trust stood steady, bold and true, Now cracked beneath what silence knew. Shared dreams turned echoes, sharp and cold, Where secrets whispered, truth grew old. Two hearts once bound in loyal grace, Now trace betrayal’s hollow space .

Shoko sighed as she reclined in the backseat of her car, her head falling against the window. This was too much. Too exhausting. Too long. The silent war between you and Gojo had become the gravitational pull around which everyone else now unwillingly orbited. She loved both of you, but she was running out of aspirin,and patience.

The two of you hadn’t spoken properly in weeks. Even the smallest group gathering had turned into a minefield of avoidance, side glances, and snide comments. The tension was unbearable. Shoko knew something had to give, but getting the both of you in the same room was a miracle on its own,one that required divine intervention. Or, in this case, Geto.

After several long nights of coaxing and a few arguments that nearly ended their own friendship, Geto had finally agreed to help. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he missed it too,the four of you, laughing over coffee, plotting competitions, teasing Gojo until he sulked. They’d been a team. A family of sorts. And now, it all felt broken.

Le Café V in Ginza was neutral ground. Shoko knew it well,quiet, discreet, elegant. You loved their tiramisu, and Gojo was addicted to their coffee. Perfect battleground. Geto would bring Gojo under the pretense of a casual afternoon break, and Shoko had lured you in with the promise of a girls’ day: café, shopping, maybe a bit of venting. She’d even booked a private room, in case things got… heated.

Her phone buzzed. G: On our way. Be there in 5.

She didn’t reply. She just closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled like a soldier about to walk into crossfire.

The car rolled to a stop near the VIP entrance. Shoko adjusted her sunglasses, grabbed her bag, and stepped out, heels clicking against the polished stone floor. The café’s hostess recognized her instantly and led her through the velvet-lined corridor to VIP Room 1.

You were already there.

“Hi!” Shoko greeted brightly, hiding the knot in her stomach. She gave you a quick hug before sitting opposite. “What were you doing in Ginza?”

“Oh, just picking up some jewellery,” you replied casually, stirring your coffee. “Mom’s jeweler is nearby.” You smiled. “What’s with the sudden girls’ date?”

“Things have just been so… off,” Shoko said, keeping her tone light. “I thought we could use a break.”

“You’re right,” you sighed. “I do need one.”

Her phone lit up again. Geto: Outside.

Shoko’s pulse jumped. She hesitated, staring at you. “Y/n…”

“Yes?” you said, looking up, curious.

“We need to start registration for NSB, and… we don’t have a team yet.”

Your hand paused midair. You knew what she meant. Of course you did. You pressed your lips together, your eyes narrowing slightly. But after a long pause, you nodded. A small gesture, but one that gave Shoko hope. “I know SHho, but-”

The door slid open.

Two tall shadows filled the doorway. Gojo and Geto.

Your chest tightened. The air in the room turned heavier. You looked at Shoko, betrayal flashing in your eyes. She only gave you an apologetic half-smile that said please don’t kill me.

Gojo froze, his usual smug grin faltering as his eyes locked with yours. You looked as breathtaking as ever, but the ice in your expression stung sharper than any insult. He turned toward Geto, but his friend only gave him a small nod that meant don’t mess this up.

“What is this?” you demanded, voice clipped. “What is he doing here?”

“Y/n, please,” Shoko began softly, “you two need to talk.”

“Did you set this up?” Gojo asked, his tone sharp, eyes flicking to you.

“You wish,” you snapped, standing up. “I’m leaving.”

You grabbed your bag, but before you could reach the door, Shoko was there,blocking your path, arms out like a human barrier.

“Please! Everyone just sit down! No one is leaving.”

“Sho,”

“I said no one is leaving!”

The finality in her tone made even Gojo pause. You sighed and sank back into your chair. Shoko sat beside you, while Gojo and Geto sat opposite, the invisible line between you as thick as glass.

“Now,” Shoko said, voice trembling only slightly, “we are going to order our coffees first.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Gojo muttered.

“No,” Shoko snapped. “We are ordering first.”

After a moment, everyone begrudgingly agreed. The orders were placed. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Shoko glanced at Geto, silently pleading for backup. He sighed and cleared his throat. “Look, you two need to sort this out. We can’t keep walking on eggshells. I shouldn’t have to pick between Y/n and Satoru, and neither should Shoko. So just… apologise, okay? And let’s move on.”

“Apologize?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “For what? Standing up for myself?”

“You call that standing up?” Gojo’s tone was mocking. “I call that defending your wimp boyfriend.”

Your mouth fell open. “He is not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Why am I even explaining myself to you?” you shot back. “You’re too immature to understand anyway.”

Gojo leaned forward, smirk curling. “I’m immature? Sure. But at least I don’t have to lie to my parents for a measly competition.”

“Maybe that’s because you always do what your parents tell you to.”

His jaw clenched. He hated how you could always hit where it hurt. “As if you’re not doing this entire competition for your family’s approval.”

“I’m not!”

“Whatever helps you sleep.”

“Enough!” Shoko slammed her hand against the table. “Both of you! This is ridiculous!”

You turned away, exhaling sharply. Shoko reached for your hand. “Please, Y/n. For me.”

You glanced at her, then back at Gojo. His eyes were cold, guarded, but something in them,something fleeting,still hurt. You sighed. “Look, Satoru”, You spoke with determination,” This is the last time I’ll explain myself. I didn’t ask you first because you’ve always complained about history. And I knew that if I asked, you’d agree,but you’d be miserable. I didn’t want to waste your time.” You paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. But I didn’t do it to get close to Nanami. Yes, I like him, but only as a friend. Nothing more.”

Gojo’s expression softened. The anger flickered out, replaced by something heavier,guilt. He could tell when you were lying, and you weren’t. “Okay,” he said quietly.

The silence that followed was thick with things unsaid.

Shoko exhaled in relief. “Satoru?” she prompted. “Anything you’d like to say?”

Gojo hesitated. His throat tightened. Then, after a long pause, he said flatly, “I accept the apology.”

Shoko groaned, “Oh for the love of god! what the fuck is wrong with you?!”. She slammed her palms on the table.

“It’s fine, Sho,” you cut in gently. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and turned to Gojo. Your smile was tired, but real. “Let’s just put this behind us. I don’t want our friends to suffer because of our fight.”

Gojo nodded once, and for the first time that afternoon, looked you directly in the eye. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s put it behind us.”

The drinks arrived, steam curling between you like a fragile peace offering.

But as you lifted your cup, Gojo’s gaze lingered on you a second too long. And Shoko, sitting beside you, saw it ,the flicker of something still unresolved. Something deeper.

The drinks arrived, steam curling between you like a fragile peace offering.

For a few moments, no one spoke. The faint hum of the café outside bled into the silence ,laughter, clinking spoons, the soft hiss of the espresso machine. You lifted your porcelain cup and took a cautious sip, hoping the taste would wash away the bitterness still lingering in your chest.

But the coffee was stronger than you remembered. Too bitter.

You frowned faintly, setting the cup down. It wasn’t a big reaction ,barely a twitch of displeasure ,but Gojo noticed instantly.

Without a word, he reached into the inner pocket of his Goyard wallet and pulled out two small sugar packets. He tore one open for himself, then slid the other across the table to you, his movements casual, practiced.

“You always forget that coffee here’s on the stronger side,” he said quietly, not looking at you at first. Then, when you didn’t move, his eyes flicked up ,bright, piercing, and just a little softer than before.

You hesitated. The gesture was simple, but it carried too much weight ,familiarity, memory, something dangerously close to care. You took the packet anyway, wordlessly emptying it into your cup.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

Gojo shrugged lightly, his lips curving into that faint, lopsided smile you used to know so well. “You’re welcome.”

Shoko noticed the exchange, her eyes narrowing slightly but saying nothing. Geto, too, raised an eyebrow but wisely stayed silent.

For the first time that afternoon, the tension cracked ,not completely, but enough to let something human slip through.

You took another sip; this time, it was perfect.

The silence that followed the coffee exchange was almost… peaceful. Almost.

Shoko glanced between you and Gojo, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. There was something in the air ,softer than before, but fragile, like a truce held together by a single thread.

“Well,” she said finally, pushing her chair back, “that’s a start.”

You and Gojo both looked up, wary.

“But a few sugar packets and awkward silence aren’t going to fix this unresolved nonsense.” Shoko folded her arms and leaned forward, her tone shifting into that calm, dangerous register that meant she was absolutely done with everyone’s drama. “So here’s what’s going to happen.”

You blinked. “Shoko, whatever it is,”

“You two,” she continued, cutting you off, “are going to spend the entire day together.”

You choked on your coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “You’ve lost it.”

Shoko’s gaze sharpened. “No. I’ve lost my patience. You two are acting like toddlers who can’t be in the same room without clawing each other’s eyes out. So yes ,you’re going to spend the day together. Talk, walk, whatever it takes. But by the end of the day, I expect this tension to be gone.”

“That’s insane!” you said.

“Yeah,” Gojo added flatly. “We’ll probably kill each other before lunch.”

Shoko ignored both of you and looked at Geto. “Back me up.”

Geto sighed, rubbing his temples. “I was hoping to stay out of this.”

“Suguru” she said warningly.

He looked from Shoko to you, then to Gojo ,who was already scowling. Finally, Geto leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “She’s right.”

“What?!” you and Gojo said in unison.

Geto smirked slightly. “You heard me. If we’re going to survive this semester without another Cold War, you two need to sort it out. And clearly, the rest of us can’t help. So…” he gestured lazily toward the window, “go. Take a walk. Talk. Don’t kill each other.”

Shoko wasn’t done. “Oh, and one more thing.” She reached into her bag, pulling out her phone. “I expect proof that you’re actually doing this. Photos. Every hour. Sent to me.”

You gaped. “You’re joking, this is a bit much.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. “I agree with y/n. We are fine”

Shoko arched her brow. “So now agree with y/n? Unless you’d rather I send copies of you doing body shots to your parents, do it!”

Gojo’s smirk faltered. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

“Unbelievable,” Gojo muttered, slumping back in his seat.

“Every hour,” Shoko repeated, sliding her sunglasses back on. “Think of it as… accountability.”

“I’m not a child, Shoko,” you muttered.

“Then stop acting like one,” she shot back, grabbing her purse.

Geto stood up, stretching. “Well, this has been fun. I think I’ve earned a drink after this.”

“Same,” Shoko said, already walking toward the door.

“Wait,Sho!” you called, half-standing.

She turned, smiling sweetly ,the kind of smile that meant she’d already won. “Don’t make me come back and drag you two out together.”

And with that, she and Geto left.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the room fell silent again. You stared at the empty seat across from you. Gojo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes trained on you. For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Finally, you sighed. “Well… where do you want to go first?”

Gojo tilted his head, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We can just stay here.”

You glared. “I will die if we stay here.”

Ayaka hummed softly to herself as she fixed her hair in the mirror, the melody almost smug. Over the past week, things had shifted ,ever so slightly, but noticeably. Gojo Satoru had started paying attention to her. Really paying attention. He had waved to her in the courtyard, stopped to ask about her classes, even leaned close during a casual chat just to make a joke.

And two nights ago, he had asked for her number.

She replayed that moment in her head now ,the way he’d said it with a lazy smile, eyes gleaming behind his sunglasses, voice low enough that Utahime hadn’t even caught it. “So, Ayaka, mind if I text you sometime?” It felt like victory.

She didn’t know exactly what had happened between you and him, but everyone else did. The cold war between the two of you had split the entire school into quiet factions ,the loyalists, the neutrals, and the ones who enjoyed the chaos.

Ayaka smoothed down her skirt and reached for her pearl hair clip. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it ,the shift in power, the whispers, the chance to finally be seen.

Her mind wandered back to the first day of regular classes.

The hallway had been loud and crowded, a sea of navy blazers and chatter ,until the noise cut off, like someone had pulled the plug. The crowd had parted on instinct. You had walked in.

Eyes forward. Expression calm. Shoko by your side, your bag slung neatly over one shoulder. You moved with the unhurried grace of someone who didn’t need to demand attention because the world already gave it to you. You smiled faintly at a few students ,the ones who mattered ,and walked past the rest without so much as a glance.

And then your gaze landed on her. For half a second.

Ayaka had felt it ,the chill that ran through her spine when your eyes met hers. You saw her. You definitely saw her. But your expression didn’t waver. No scowl. No smirk. Just that calm, polite indifference that somehow felt worse than hostility.

In that moment, she’d realized something important. Power wasn’t just about who had money or beauty. It was about presence. And you had it in abundance. When you entered the classroom, the whispers started. They always did. The rumors had traveled faster than wildfire ,how you and Gojo had fought, how you hadn’t spoken in weeks, how Shoko and Geto were now running diplomatic missions between the two of you. Some said Gojo had humiliated you; others claimed you’d broken his heart. The details didn’t matter. The story did.

Ayaka had walked in behind Utahime, trying not to smile.

You sat by the window with Shoko, your back straight, your hair falling perfectly into place. Gojo and Geto were behind you ,close enough to hear your voice but far enough to make it clear there was distance. The tension was visible, almost tangible, like frost on glass.

Even the professor had hesitated before beginning class, sensing the silent war dividing the room.

Ayaka slid into her seat, her gaze flicking between the four of you ,the so-called untouchable circle, now fractured. She didn’t need to do anything; fate had already dealt her the perfect hand and for the first time since stepping into Elysian Hall, she smiled to herself. The queen was cracking, and the pieces were beginning to fall.

She reached for her phone, the faintest smile curving her lips. The screen lit up to reveal nothing ,no new messages, no notifications. Gojo was supposed to meet her for lunch today. He’d said it so casually the day before that she’d replayed it all night in her head.

“Lunch tomorrow? I’ll text you.”

But the text never came.

Her reflection stared back from the mirror ,too composed, too expectant. She straightened her blouse, adjusted the pearl pin in her hair. Maybe he’d come to pick her up himself. Maybe that was why he hadn’t texted yet. The thought made her heart race.

Uncle and Aunty would be so shocked! she thought, brushing a bit of imaginary lint from her skirt. What if he brings flowers? The image made her cheeks warm. Then, quickly, she smirked to herself, I’ll just pass them to Utahime so it doesn’t look too obvious.

Her phone buzzed.

She froze. A spark of excitement shot through her chest as she snatched it from the vanity table, breath catching in her throat.

G.S: Sorry can’t make it today. Something came up.

The excitement drained from her body as quickly as it had come. Her shoulders slumped. The screen dimmed, and she stared at her reflection again ,eyes glassy, lips pressed tight. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to smash the mirror, to shatter the perfect image staring back at her, mocking her for believing she could be the exception.

But she didn’t. Instead, she sat still, posture flawless, breathing steady ,years of practice masking disappointment behind poise. Slowly, she reached for her phone again, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Out of habit ,or maybe out of masochism ,she opened your Instagram profile. The first story hit like a quiet punch.

A mirror selfie ,you standing in front of a marble vanity, soft light haloing your hair. You wore a Zimmerman cutout midi dress, sharp yet delicate, paired with simple jewelry and a bare neckline that made the look effortless. “Girls date kinda day 💕” was written across the corner.

Ayaka’s breath caught. Her eyes darted to the tiny tag at the bottom of the story, reading it twice.

Within seconds, she was searching it ,Zimmerman butter yellow strip dress. The listing appeared instantly. She clicked the link, scrolling through the photos, zooming in on every detail ,the pleats, the fit, the exact neckline.

You wore it better. That realization stung the most.

Her thumb hovered over the “Add to Bag” button for a moment before she locked her phone instead, exhaling through her nose.

At least you were definitely with Shoko ,your caption made that clear. Based on her last chat with Gojo, he was with Geto. She relaxed slightly. You weren’t together. That was enough for now.

Her heartbeat steadied as she typed her reply.

Ayaka: No worries. Have a nice day :)

Simple. Casual. Detached. The perfect mask.

She read it twice before sending ,ensuring it didn’t sound too eager, too hurt. Then she pressed send, locked her phone, and smiled faintly at her reflection.

Fake. Controlled. Unbothered.

But her eyes betrayed her ,they were tired, glassy, and full of quiet fury.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag as you walked beside Gojo in the private garden of the Gojo estate in Ginza. If you were going to spend the entire day together, you might as well do it here. The estate was smaller than the one on the hill ,more intimate, more traditional ,used only for ceremonies and family gatherings. But the garden… the garden had always been your favorite.

It was a place right out of a Miyazaki film: a ribbon of river weaving through the middle, its surface glinting gold under the afternoon light; curved bridges painted in vermilion; and the faint hum of cicadas that seemed to echo through time.

Once upon a time, this had been your shared sanctuary ,a place for dares, laughter, and secrets whispered under the maples. But now, the silence between you felt almost sacred in the worst way ,heavy, reverent, suffocating.

You stole a glance at Gojo. He looked completely unbothered, hands in his pockets, the picture of composure. Meanwhile, each passing second felt like an hour to you. How had it come to this? There was a time when an entire day together felt too short; now, even a minute felt stretched thin by all the things left unsaid.

Trying to shake off the tension, you finally spoke. “Have you finished your registration for the NSB?”

He didn’t even look at you. “No.”

“We need to finalize the team by next week,” you reminded him.

“I know.” He smiled to himself, a faint, teasing curl of his lips. He knew exactly how to push you ,and this topic was your Achilles’ heel.

You frowned. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Gojo exhaled, long and slow. “I don’t know. Wondering if I should even be part of the team.”

You stopped in your tracks. “Satoru!”

He turned around lazily, hands still in his pockets, the late afternoon light catching the edges of his hair. “Hmm?”

“What do you mean by that? We agreed we’d do this together.”

“But things have changed, Y/n.” His voice was calm ,too calm.

“What has changed?” you demanded, heat rising in your chest.

“Come on now, Y/n. You know.”

You clenched your fists. “Satoru, this is unfair! I explained myself! I apologized! You know this competition means everything to me!”

“I’m not asking you to drop out,” he chuckled, tilting his head. “I know you don’t need me to win it either.”

You stepped closer, frustration breaking through your calm. “But I want to do this with you!”

“Why?” he asked flatly.

The simplicity of the question nearly undid you. “Because…” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “Because this is the only merit-based competition that matters. We’ve always said we wanted to prove ourselves ,outside our parents’ shadows. This is our chance!”

Gojo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No, Y/n. This is your chance.”

“So what? You don’t want to do it?” you asked, your tone brittle now. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He turned away slightly, gazing at the river. “Let me give you a choice.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What if,” he said softly, “you had to choose between being my friend… or doing this competition together. What would you pick?”

You froze, your mind spinning. The breeze rustled the leaves around you, carrying the faint sound of running water. You searched his face ,for humor, for mercy ,but his expression was unreadable.

“I’d choose you,” you said finally, your voice firm despite the lump in your throat. “I’d always choose you.”

He looked at you for a long time ,long enough for you to believe he might soften. But then he hummed, almost skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’d choose you and this friendship over anything.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The wind brushed past, cool and weightless.

Then he exhaled slowly, his tone quiet, deliberate. “I’ll do the competition. I’ll fill out the form today.”

Relief flickered across your face. “Thank you. I,”

“But,” he interrupted.

You froze again. “But what?”

“You have to accept one condition.” He smiled then ,that dangerous, playful smile that always meant trouble.

“Please, Satoru,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Stop playing these games.”

“Either drop out of the competition with Nanami…” he said, eyes narrowing slightly, “…or let me bring an addition to our team.”

You blinked. “Wh,what are you saying? It’s four of us. That’s the rule.”

Gojo shrugged casually. “Actually, I read the rules. The maximum is six.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “No one’s ever used that rule! It’s always been us four,”

“Why are you being so territorial, Y/n?” he cut in smoothly. “You always said it’s about merit, right? Then what’s wrong with a little competition inside the team?”

“Because we know each other,” you argued, your voice rising. “We work as one. That’s what makes us strong.”

“If one person can ruin that, then maybe we’re not as strong as you think.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady your breathing. “We should discuss this with the group.”

“Geto agrees with me,” Gojo replied casually. “And I’m sure you can convince Sho.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who’s this… new person?”

He tilted his head, that same smug smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. “Can’t tell you that. But I’ll take full responsibility for them.”

You exhaled sharply. This wasn’t a discussion anymore ,it was a test. He was pushing you, cornering you, making you choose.

“Fine,” you said finally, voice steady but cold. “Let’s do it your way.”

You turned and began walking toward the bridge, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Gojo smiled faintly, his voice low as he followed. “Good girl.”

You studied Gojo’s face as you sipped your tea carefully, your reflection rippling faintly in the pale green surface of the cup. The taste was earthy, bitter, grounding ,everything this conversation was not. You had walked into this negotiation blindsided, but you were no stranger to the rules of his game.

Gojo knew what made you tick ,your need for control, your soft spot for loyalty, your inability to walk away from unfinished business. But so did you. You knew his tells ,the slight twitch of his jaw when he was cornered, the faint smirk he wore to hide discomfort, and the way he always leaned back in his chair when he was trying to look unaffected.

You smiled.

The tea room was a quiet haven tucked behind the estate, a sanctuary that opened onto a koi pond framed by willows. The air smelled faintly of incense and tatami, and soft sunlight spilled in through the shoji screens. It was the kind of place usually reserved for dignitaries, family heads, and harsh negotiations where the sharpness of words had to be softened by the civility of tea.

How poetic you thought. He chose this place for his ambush.

“Why do you hate Nanami so much?” you asked finally, your tone calm, almost teasing. You placed the porcelain cup down with deliberate grace, your fingers brushing the lacquered tray.

Gojo froze mid-sip, choking slightly on his tea. He coughed, clearing his throat. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged lightly, feigning innocence. “This fight started because of Nanami. You gave me two options, and one of them had to do with him. So I’m curious ,why do you hate Nanami?”

Gojo set his cup down with a small clink. “He’s not worthy enough for my hatred,” he said, voice smooth, dismissive.

“But he’s worthy enough to make you angry,” you countered softly, leaning forward. “Worthy enough to make you break the rules of our friendship. So I’m curious, why?”

Gojo’s lips curved upward in a small, sardonic smile. “Don’t give him too much credit, Y/n.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You rested your chin on your palm, eyes narrowing slightly. “You never dodge questions unless they make you uncomfortable.”

Gojo didn’t respond. His gaze drifted to the pond, where a single koi broke the surface, mouth opening soundlessly before slipping back under. The silence stretched, charged and heavy.

Finally, his voice dropped, low and rough.“He likes you. I mean, he really likes you.”

You tilted your head, studying him, your smile slow and deliberate. “Is that a reason to hate him?”

Gojo’s tongue swept across his lower lip before he let out a soft chuckle. The sound was light, but his eyes,those icy, brilliant eyes,betrayed something darker. “It is.”

You smiled faintly, the edge of your voice razor-sharp. “Why?”

Gojo looked away for a moment, pretending to study the koi pond again. He didn’t speak. The silence was deafening, filled only by the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas.

You sighed, breaking the spell. “I see.” You rose from your seat, your dress brushing softly against the tatami. “That’s all I needed to know.” You picked up your bag. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Shoko. You’re free, Satoru.”

You had just brushed past him when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist,not harshly, but firmly enough to stop you. He stood up in one swift motion coming face to face with you.

“Do you really want the answer?” he asked, his voice quiet now, stripped of the smugness it usually carried.

You turned halfway, meeting his gaze over your shoulder, your smirk back in place. “Do you have one?”

Gojo smiled and pulled you closer, his one hand snaked around your waist and the other tilted your chin up. Had you known you were going to end up in this situation you wouldn’t have worn a bare back dress because the feeling of his hand on your skin was crumbling your resolve.

“Oh I have one”.

Two can play this game, You grabbed his hand from under your chin and loosely intertwined your fingers, you looked at how perfect his hand looked in yours. “Can you–”, You turned your gaze to him, “Admit it to yourself?”.

You saw a flash of confusion on his face and smiled. “Say it Satoru”.

But Gojo wasn’t going to back down so easily. He was not going to be the first to admit it. His hold on your waist tightened and he gently lifted your one hand and walked until your back collided with the wooden wall. “Say what princess?”.

He put you down and your feet landed right on his, His hand travelled up your back and he toyed with the string of your dress.

You were not going to back down, so your hand travelled up his chest and you locked your arms behind his neck, “Why do you have a problem with me working Nanami Kento”.

“Don’t”. Gojo warned as he leaned down, nose touching, “Don’t you take his name when you’re in my arms”.

“Why not?”. You whispered, merely centimeters away from his lips. You felt him go stiff. “Satoru”. You whispered his name just barely touching his lips.

That was all it took to push him over the edge, Gojo closed the gap and pressed his lip to your. He groaned when you kissed him back. He had been waiting for this for a long time and god it felt so good to do this now. He held you so tight that you were sure it would leave a mark on your skin. You tilted your head and pulled him in closer to move your lips in rhythm with his’.

Your hand snaked around his neck pulling him closer and he obliged. This was happening, this was finally happening, you had thought about your first kiss for a long time, wondering how it would feel, when it would happen. But surprisingly there was never a doubt in your mind about who the lucky guy would be.

His lips felt like heaven against yours and god did he know his way around your body. The feeling of his lips, warmth of his hands, his scent, his presence, it all drove you insane. He enveloped you and teased all of your senses.

Gojo wasn’t holding back either. He knew this day would come, he had fantasized about it in the dark hours of night. But his fantasy paled in comparison. He held you close, wanting to merge your bodies together, your skin felt soft, you were so delicate in his arms, god he wanted to keep you here forever. Hidden from the rest of the world, in his arms, safe, secure, close. He was willing to suffocate himself in your scent.

Your phone vibrated on the table and you tried to pull back but Gojo wasn’t letting you go. He pulled you closer and groaned, letting you know that you weren’t going anywhere. He didn’t want to let this moment end, your hands in his hair, your chest pressed against his, your soft lips parted just enough for him to slide his tongue in, the warmth of your mouth, your soft skin, and god your intoxicating perfume that always drove him mad.

Your phone rang again, the shrill sound slicing through the quiet like a cruel reminder that the world still existed outside that moment.

Gojo groaned, his lips barely inches from yours. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice still husky from the kiss. He pulled back reluctantly, running a frustrated hand through his hair before turning sharply toward the table.

“What?!” he barked into the phone, his tone all irritation and leftover adrenaline.

There was a pause ,and then Shoko’s dry voice filled the line. “Photo.”

Gojo shut his eyes and sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Dear god, Sho!”

You couldn’t help it ,a laugh bubbled up your throat, soft and amused. You leaned back against the wooden wall behind you, still trying to steady your breath, arms crossing over your chest in mock patience.

From where you stood, Gojo looked every bit the chaos he caused ,hair tousled, shirt slightly wrinkled, the faintest hint of a flush on his usually composed face. He looked almost human like this. Almost boyish.

“I’m picking up her phone!” Gojo snapped into the receiver. “That means I’m with her!”

His indignation made you laugh harder. “You sound like a jealous boyfriend,” you teased.

He turned, glaring at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he couldn’t quite suppress a smile.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” you said, pushing off the wall and walking over to him. You plucked the phone from his hand with a small, smug smile.

“Hi, Sho,” you said sweetly, your tone the exact opposite of Gojo’s. “I’ll send you a photo shortly.”

Shoko’s unimpressed voice came through. “Uh-huh. I’ll be waiting.”

You ended the call and turned your camera toward you. Gojo was still standing behind you, arms crossed now, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Come on,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “Smile.”

“I don’t take photos under duress.”

“Then I’ll tell Sho you refused,” you threatened lightly.

He sighed, giving in, leaning down so that his face came into frame beside yours. You snapped the picture quickly ,you with a serene smile, Gojo with that half-annoyed, half-fond look that had somehow become his default expression around you.

You typed a quick message and sent the selfie to Shoko. Proof of life.

Gojo stepped forward and pulled you into another kiss, but this was softer, less hungrier, gentler. His head was spinning and he knew every second away from this would be torture from now. He picked you up with one arm around your waist and the other hand in your hair without breaking the kiss for a second. Your hands landed on his shoulder for support and it truly amazed you how strong he was.

When you parted for air neither you could say anything. A faint smile ghosted Gojo’s lips. “God y/n, you drive me insane”. He put you down.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Gojo asked softly, his thumbs brushing faintly against your cheeks, his hands still framing your face like he was memorizing it ,every line, every detail, every reason he couldn’t quite let go.

You smiled, a little shyly now that the world had begun to return to its rhythm after what had just happened. “Maybe. I’ll see you at school.”

He frowned slightly, confusion flickering in those bright blue eyes. “Why not tomorrow?”

You hesitated, not wanting to ruin the fragile warmth between you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lie either. “I have a meeting for the history comp,”

His hands dropped instantly, the warmth leaving your skin like the air after a flame goes out.

“Oh,” he said quietly, stepping back. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t just the words ,it was how flatly he said them. The shift was subtle but sharp, like a door closing without a sound. You could almost see the walls going back up, the same ones that always appeared whenever Nanami’s name hung unsaid in the air.

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble as you made your way down the long hallway to the private room. The echo of each step matched the pounding in your chest.

Gojo had called an early meeting to “finalize” the NSB team before class. That alone was suspicious. You knew him too well ,when Gojo Satoru acted efficiently, it meant he was hiding something.

You had texted Shoko twice ,“You know what this is about?” ,but there had been no reply. That silence only made the unease settle deeper in your stomach.

By the time you reached the heavy double doors of the private room, your palms were slightly clammy. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself, and pushed the doors open.

The sight before you froze you in place.

Gojo and Geto sat casually at the table ,but flanking them, on either side, were two new faces Ayaka and Utahime.

Your heartbeat stuttered.No. No, no, no ,this couldn’t be happening.

You caught Shoko’s eyes from across the room; she looked just as stunned as you felt, her hand halfway to her cup, frozen midair.

“What th– ,what is going on?” you demanded.

“Good morning, Y/n.” Ayaka smiled sweetly, her tone sugary enough to make your skin crawl.

Utahime gave a polite nod, avoiding your glare but clearly uncomfortable.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, that damn smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Meet our new members, Y/n.” His voice was smooth, unbothered, taunting.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your bag until your knuckles went white. You walked forward, heels slicing through the silence, and set your bag on the table with a soft thud. “Utahime, Ayaka,” you said evenly, “step outside. I need to talk with the group.”

Ayaka had barely begun to rise when Gojo’s hand came down gently on hers.The sound ,the sight ,set your blood on fire.

You stared at his hand on hers, your anger sparking so violently that you could hear your own pulse in your ears.

“You can say what you want in front of them,” Gojo said, smiling ,too calm, too calculated.

Your jaw clenched. Fine. He wanted to play games in public? You’d play.

“Alright then.” You crossed your arms over your chest, voice sharp and clipped. “I don’t accept this new addition.”

“Why not?” Geto asked smoothly, feigning innocence.

“Well, to begin with,” you said, your words precise and biting, “I know nothing about their strengths or qualities,if any.”

Ayaka’s smile faltered, but you didn’t care.

“I’m with Y/n on this,” Shoko spoke up, her tone firm. “I’m open to new additions, but only if everyone approves. That’s always been our rule.”

“Approval,” Gojo said lazily, crossing one leg over the other, “is not up for negotiation.”

You glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“My conditions were simple, Y/n,” he said. “You wanted me on the team. I said I’d join ,with my addition.”

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to scream.

Geto leaned forward, elbows on his knees, that knowing grin on his face. “Same goes for you too, Sho. I know MedCo Camp is important to you ,but drop Kitay, and maybe we can negotiate on the team members.”

The words hit like a slap.

You turned to Shoko, eyes wide.This wasn’t coincidence. This was coordinated.

Shoko’s mouth tightened. “You planned this,” she said quietly.

“Planned?” Geto chuckled. “We’re just balancing the scales.”

“I need to talk to Y/n. Alone.” Shoko’s voice was ice.

“You can leave,” Geto said, gesturing toward the door with an almost mocking smile.

The tension in the room was unbearable ,so thick you could feel it pressing down on your lungs. Gojo didn’t look at you, but you could feel his eyes follow as you moved.

You grabbed your bag, your fury simmering just beneath the surface, and stood. Shoko rose with you, her chair scraping against the polished floor. Without another word, you grabbed her hand and walked out, the door shutting behind you with a sharp click.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled shakily ,like you’d been holding your breath through an explosion. The hallway felt colder than before, the silence ringing in your ears.

“They’re cornering us,” Shoko muttered, her jaw tight, eyes narrowing toward the door as if she could burn a hole straight through it.

You nodded slowly, the tremor of anger vibrating beneath your calm voice. “No, Sho,” you said quietly. “They’re not cornering us. They’re declaring war.”

Shoko’s lips parted, her voice dripping with disbelief. “I can’t work with Utahime, Y/n. It’s not happening. ”

You dragged a hand through your hair, trying to think. The anger and betrayal were clouding your judgment. “What other choice do we have?” you murmured, exhaustion creeping into your tone.

Shoko started pacing, her heels clicking against the floor, frustration rolling off her in waves. “I don’t know! But that,” she jabbed a finger toward the door, voice rising “,that is not happening!”

You stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the ornate carpet beneath your shoes, then looked up, the decision settling like lead in your stomach.

“Let’s lay our cards down,” you said, voice steady but soft. “I like Satoru. More than a friend. Do you feel the same way for Suguru?”

Shoko froze mid-step. She blinked once, then twice, and finally exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sadly… yes,” she admitted. “I like Suguru.”

There it was ,the truth neither of you had dared to say out loud until now. You both stood in that silence, the weight of confession pressing between you. “I see. Well I don’t like Ayaka because she lied to Satoru at the ball. I didn’t leave with Nanami, I didn’t even know he was going to be there, I don’t trust her. Satoru is vulnerable because of the whole Kento thing and I think Ayaka will try to take advantage of it”.

“Why don’t you like Utahime?”. You asked.

Shoko pressed her lips and half turned around before turning back, “Because she creeps me out. She is obsessed with Suguru and is always lingering and staring. I don’t trust her one bit!”.

You nodded, “Do you think she is a threat to you?”.

“Y/n”. Shoko scoffed. “No. But Suguru is stupid and he is going through this weird rebel phase where I think he gets a sense of thrill out of tormenting me”.

“Okay,” you said after a moment, “so we’re clear about why we can’t work with Utahime and Ayaka.” Your tone was sharper now, the strategist in you resurfacing. “Now, how sure are you about Suguru’s feelings?”

Shoko leaned against the wall, crossing her arms, staring at the opposite end of the hall like the answer might appear there. “No clue,” she said finally. “Sometimes I think he likes me ,he looks at me like he does ,but then he says something stupid and ruins it. So, I don’t know. What about you?”

You laughed bitterly, the sound dry and humorless. “Same. I thought Satoru liked me. His jealousy proved it, but this,” you gestured toward the closed door “,this makes me doubt everything.”

Shoko sighed, her voice softening. “Y/n, we should be having fun,” she said, stepping closer. “We should be chasing our dreams, not babysitting two man-children with ego issues. It’s not our job to make men out of them.”

You met her eyes, your expression hardening.

“They knew how important this was to us,” Shoko continued, her voice trembling now ,not with weakness, but with anger. “And they still used it to play their own sick little power game.”

You nodded slowly. She was right. Every word of it.

“Look,” you said after a moment, pulling yourself together, “we have a week until the team has to be finalized. Do you want to see how it plays out?”

Shoko stared at you, incredulous. “Y/n… it won’t be easy.”

“I know.” You reached out and squeezed her arm, grounding both of you. “I know, Sho. But at least then we’ll have proof. A reason for why we can’t work with them.”

Shoko exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” she muttered. “But just one week.”

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just a week.”

The promise hung in the air ,fragile, like glass ,both of you knowing it wasn’t just about the competition anymore. It was about pride. About heartbreak. About two girls fighting not to lose themselves in the game the boys had started.

Gojo laughed ,that familiar, infuriatingly confident laugh ,and Geto joined in, throwing his head back with a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“One week?” Gojo repeated, mocking the words. “You two really think you can bargain with us?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually, the picture of arrogance. “Y/n, this is non-negotiable. If after a week you still feel you don’t want to work with us, then…” he paused, letting the tension hang in the air like a blade, “then you can form another team.”

That hit you like a punch to the gut. Another team? He was threatening to kick you out ,for her?

You blinked, disbelief morphing into hurt, then anger.

“Come on, girls,” Geto drawled lazily, his smirk widening. “You need us to win this competition.”

Shoko straightened up, eyes narrowing like a blade drawn from its sheath. “Why do you think so?”

Suguru smiled that cunning, calculated smile that made your skin crawl. “Because you need me for regulatory approvals for whatever business idea you pitch,” he said smoothly. “And you need Satoru to access the biggest VC firms. No business survives without approvals and money.”

His voice was smooth, but his words were knives.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “I’ve known you two since I was born,” you began, voice trembling but clear. “We’ve stood by each other through every good and bad day. We’ve celebrated our wins together, mourned our losses together. You two,” your voice cracked “,you’ve seen me at my best and at my worst. And now you’re telling me you’re willing to throw all of that away?”

You stepped closer, looking from Gojo to Geto. “And for what? Jealousy? Ego?”

A heavy silence fell over the room. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in Gojo’s eyes ,guilt, maybe.

You turned to him, your voice softening, trembling with emotion. “Satoru…” you said, a sad smile ghosting your lips. “After all that happened over the weekend, you still want to do this?”

How could he? How could he kiss you like you meant the world to him and then treat you like this ,like you were disposable?

Ayaka’s nervous voice broke the silence. “Y/n, please… I swear we just want to help y,”

“Stay out of this!” you snapped. The venom in your tone shocked even you, but you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Gojo’s voice boomed through the room as he stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. “You think just because we kissed you can control me?”.

Gojo couldn’t believe that you would use your first kiss to win an argument. Ayaka was right, he thought, you would do anything to be the best. When Ayaka had sent him photos of you and Nanami, he didn’t want to believe his eyes. The picture of you and Nanami sitting in a cafe, eyes closed, leaning in, flashed before his eyes.

You blinked at him, the words slicing through you. “Me?” you scoffed, pointing at yourself. “Satoru, you’re the one trying to control me! You’re the one doing all this because you can’t stand Nanami!”

Gojo’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Wow. I was very clear, Y/n. If you can work with Nanami, then I can work with Ayaka. It’s only fair.”

“How is this fair?!” you screamed, unable to hold it in any longer. “You’re only doing this because I didn’t listen to you! Because I won’t let you dictate my choices! You’re punishing me!”

Your chest was heaving, your pulse pounding. “I thought you liked me, Satoru! Did that kiss mean nothing to you?!”

Gojo’s face twisted ,guilt, rage, fear ,all in one second. Then, defensively, he yelled back, “No, it didn’t!”

The words shattered the air. You flinched like you’d been struck.

He saw it ,the hurt in your eyes, the tremor in your hands ,and his resolve faltered for a heartbeat. But pride is a cruel master. He couldn’t stop now.

“You don’t have much of a choice, Y/n!” Gojo said, his tone sharper now, crueler. “Your family won’t forgive you if you don’t win this competition. Oh, I know that. And imagine what they’ll say when they find out you gave it all up to work with Nanami Kento.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t act like an idiot. You can’t win without me, and you need your family.”

The words cut deeper than he realized. Because they were true. Every word. Your family would never forgive you if you lost. They’d never support you if you chose Nanami. And for the first time, you realized what you truly were ,not a player in this game, but a piece moved by everyone else. A puppet.

But Gojo was wrong about one thing. You did have a choice. It wasn’t between him or Nanami ,it was between prestige and freedom.

And you’d had enough of being owned. You blinked away the tears and straightened your back. “I’m leaving this team.”

The room went still.

Gojo froze. He felt the ground slip from under him, the air drain from his lungs. This was not an option, leaving him was never an option. “Y/n…” he breathed, his voice cracking.

You picked up your bag and turned to Shoko. “I’m sorry, Sho.”

Shoko looked at you ,then at Gojo and Geto, “Don’t be. I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered.

Shoko chuckled softly, though her eyes glistened. “I do, Y/n. I’m with you.”

You smiled, eyes full of tears. That was Shoko ,unwavering, loyal.

Gojo reached for your hand. “Y/n, stop,”

You turned back, your heart breaking all over again. You cupped his face gently with one hand, your thumb brushing his cheek. His breath hitched at your touch.

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. For a second, he didn’t move ,he was too stunned, too lost in the moment that felt like both goodbye and punishment.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, voice trembling but firm, “If this means nothing to you, if I mean nothing to you, so be it”

Then you smiled ,the saddest smile he’d ever seen ,and walked out without looking back.

The door shut softly behind you.

Gojo just stood there, motionless.

The door clicked shut behind you and Shoko, the sound echoing through the private room like a gunshot. For a moment, no one moved.

Then Gojo snapped.

He slammed his fist onto the table, the crystal water glasses rattling violently. “Fuck!” he shouted, voice breaking through the silence. “What the hell just happened?!”

“Gojo,” Geto began, but Gojo’s rage was already boiling over.

“She left!” he snarled, grabbing the nearest chair and hurling it across the room. The wood cracked against the wall, splintering with a sharp thud.

Ayaka gasped, flinching so hard her hand flew to her mouth. She had never seen him like this ,wild, unrestrained, dangerous. His eyes ,usually bright with arrogance and charm ,were now pure fire, his jaw tight, chest heaving.

He turned and swept the cups and papers off the table with one furious motion, the porcelain shattering across the floor. “She fucking left!”

“Gojo!” Geto’s voice was sharper now. He grabbed his friend by the shoulders, trying to shake sense into him. “Calm the hell down!”

But Gojo shoved him off. “Don’t tell me to calm down, Suguru!” His voice cracked under the weight of everything he was feeling ,anger, guilt, confusion, loss. “She walked out on me! She said it meant nothing and she,” He stopped, chest heaving, eyes burning red. “She actually left.”

Ayaka sat frozen in her seat, her nails digging into her palms. In that moment, she finally understood ,truly understood ,the kind of hold you had over him. You hadn’t even raised your voice at him, hadn’t thrown anything, hadn’t fought. You simply walked away, and Gojo Satoru ,Gojo Satoru, the untouchable prince of Elysian Hall ,was crumbling.

It terrified her. But it also steeled her resolve. If she wanted him, she’d have to be smarter. Colder. Her plan would have to be airtight ,because Gojo didn’t just like you, he belonged to you in ways he didn’t even realise.

Meanwhile, Geto picked up the fallen chair and set it upright, his expression unreadable. “Satoru,” he said finally, his tone steady, “you’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” Gojo laughed ,a harsh, humorless sound. “You think this is overreacting?”

“She’s bluffing.” Geto said it more firmly now, crossing his arms. “That’s what this is. You know her ,she’s impulsive when she’s emotional. She’ll cool off in a day or two.”

Gojo stopped pacing, running a trembling hand through his hair. “You really think that?”

Geto nodded, forcing a smirk he didn’t quite feel. “I do. This isn’t the first fight, and it won’t be the last. She’ll come back ,she always does.”

Gojo stared at him, chest still rising and falling rapidly. “And if she doesn’t?”

Geto’s jaw tightened. The question hung there, heavy and dangerous. Because deep down, he was asking himself the same thing. He’d seen the way Shoko looked at you before following you out ,that quiet, unwavering loyalty. He knew Shoko wouldn’t come back either.

Still, Geto needed to believe this was temporary. He needed Gojo to believe it too.

He sighed and rested a hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “Listen, man. This is just one of her power plays. She’s angry, fine. But she’s not stupid. She needs us if she wants to win. You’ll see ,by next week, they’ll both come around.”

Gojo didn’t answer. His eyes drifted toward the door you had just walked through, his expression dark and unreadable.

“She’ll come back,” Geto repeated, almost to himself this time. “They both will.”

But Ayaka, still sitting silently across the room, knew better. She had seen the look in your eyes when you walked out ,the calm finality, the quiet fire. Even if you do decide to return, she would make sure she would show you your true place.

They hadn’t even made it three steps down the corridor before Utahime hauled Ayaka into an empty classroom, slamming the door shut as if the thin wood could keep whatever had happened out of earshot. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead; the late-afternoon sun pooled against the far wall. The air smelled faintly of pencil shavings and the faint metallic tang of the radiator.

“Ayaka!” Utahime’s voice came out ragged,half command, half plea. She kept her hands on Ayaka’s shoulders until the other girl didn’t move, as if holding her in place could stop the world from spinning.

Ayaka blinked, as casual as a student who’d just been interrupted between classes. “What?” she asked, like two hours of chaos were only a footnote in her day.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? Fuck,” Utahime’s breath hitched. “I think we’re screwed.”

Ayaka gave a soft, annoyed huff. “What are you talking about? You have Geto Suguru by your side,you,”

“Oh, shut up!” Utahime cut her off. Her hands flew to her hair and twisted at the ends. “I never meant for things to go this far, and you know it.”

Ayaka crossed her arms, leaning back against a desk with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Iori, listen to yourself,” she said, the nickname a small, teasing dagger. “You can’t replace Shoko without getting rid of Shoko. What happened today was a win. A big win for us.”

Utahime’s denial came out sharp. “No! It’s not.” She paced one short step, then another. “Didn’t you see how Gojo lost his mind? He almost broke the trophy stand. He,”

“Two weeks ago they didn’t even know your name,” Ayaka interrupted, calm as a metronome. “Now you’re on their team. Do you think they’ll just run back to those girls because of one foolish hissy-fit?”

Utahime’s cheeks flamed. “Yes! And the whole school will hate us!”

Ayaka laughed,light, amused. “Oh, you’re so naive. They won’t. You know why?”

Utahime swallowed hard. “Why?”

“Ego. Pride.” Ayaka’s fingers tapped the desk rim. “If they go back to the other girls, they’ll always be options. They’ll never be the first. That thought eats away at you. People hate feeling expendable. We weaponize that. Jealousy does the dirty work,makes them prove themselves, makes them break their own rules trying to be wanted. It’s tidy.”

Utahime folded into herself, incredulous. “It’s not that simple. Please,explain. Tell me how you’d do that.” Her voice teetered between mocking bravado and real fear; she hadn’t dared ask before, but now the stakes were suddenly too big to ignore.

Ayaka’s expression softened into something clinical, like a chess player counting moves. “Nanami Kento,” she said slowly, as if naming a piece. “Do you think he just wandered into y/n’s life accidentally? He hates Gojo more than he cares for y/n. He sees Gojo’s arrogance and wants to puncture it. Helping y/n is his opportunity for revenge wrapped in civility. He’ll cling to the part of it that hurts Gojo.”

“And Kitay?” Utahime asked, eyes narrowing. “What about Kitay?”

“Kitay is bright but malleable,” Ayaka replied. “He admires and imitates. He’s handsome enough to unsettle Suguru, to make him glance twice, to cast doubt. But he lacks the backbone to be a true rival. He’ll be a distraction, not a threat. Suguru flirts with excitement; he doesn’t like the responsibility that comes after. We feed his ego in the right way, and he’ll drift. That’s all we need.”

But this was only one part of the plan. Ayaka didn’t just come to Tokyo to study in an elite school. She was here for her father. Her father, who was the real owner of the firm. Her father was naive enough to trust Utahime’s father and lose everything. Her father, who was so kind and soft hearted and the blow to his business took his life. But Ayaka was not like her father, no. She was going to be smarter. In the long scheme of things Geto will leave Utahime, and she will be next to Gojo Satoru. This family’s only saving grace would be her relationship with Gojo and she will take everything away from them. But for now she needed Utahime.

“Ayaka, all this, I mean, can we even achieve all of this?”.

Ayaka smiled devilishly, “Of course we can. As long as we are together and trust each other we can do it”.

Nanami smiled faintly as soon as he saw your message pop up on the screen, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in quiet amusement. He rarely arrived at school this early,he preferred the calm predictability of later hours,but when Ayaka had told him what had happened Gojo was planning, he knew this was it. The moment he’d been waiting for.

y/n: Hi Kento, I’m at school, in Room 15. If you’re here early then can we please talk?Kento: Oh, of course. I was on my way anyway. Be there in 5.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, suppressing the satisfaction that threatened to surface as a smirk.

As he walked through the quiet morning corridors, the sun filtered weakly through the tall windows, casting geometric patterns across the polished floor. His footsteps echoed in the emptiness,a calm rhythm to his thoughts. He whistled softly, adjusting his tie, then paused in front of the bulletin board. The glass surface, covered in student notices and flyers, served perfectly well as a mirror. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, fixing the few unruly strands, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

The fourth floor was reserved for the senior project rooms,a sanctuary for students who wanted to discuss club matters, competitions, or presentations in peace. It was early enough that the hallways were deserted. The hum of the elevator as it ascended was the only sound that accompanied him.

When the doors slid open, the air up here was still and faintly cold, the way air feels in places meant for focus and strategy. The lights flickered on automatically as he stepped out.

Each project room was identical: minimalist, sterile, practical. A long boardroom-style table with leather chairs around it, a large screen mounted on one wall, a whiteboard on the other. Opaque, giving the corridor a sense of open surveillance. Each door bore only a number,black and precise,printed above the frame.

Nanami adjusted the cuff of his sleeve as he walked slowly down the corridor. He didn’t rush. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that anticipation always worked in his favor. Let her stew for a few minutes; let the silence of the morning sink in before he arrived.

Room 15 sat at the end of the hallway. He walked with the steady confidence of someone who’d already planned every word he would say. To anyone watching, he looked casual, unbothered, maybe even bored. But behind that façade, there was calculation,a quiet understanding that this meeting could change the dynamics of everything.

He passed the first few rooms, his reflection stretching and distorting across the glass panels as he moved. His shoes clicked softly against the tile. The faint scent of coffee drifted from somewhere.

When he finally reached Room 15, he paused just outside, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He could see you and Shoko through the glass,head lowered, elbows on the table, a notebook open before you. Your shoulders were tense.

He took a slow breath, straightened his collar again, and schooled his expression into one of polite concern. Then, with practiced ease, he pushed open the door.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady but warm. “You wanted to talk?”

“Kento!” You stood up immediately, the chair legs scraping against the tile. You brushed your palms on your skirt, trying to disguise the mix of nerves and relief flooding through you. “Hi,please, sit.”

Nanami offered a small, polite smile, glancing at Shoko before settling into the chair beside you. The quiet hum of the ceiling lights filled the air as you both shifted your scattered notebooks aside.

For the past thirty minutes, you and Shoko had been brainstorming,half-baked ideas scribbled on paper, strategies forming and collapsing before they could take shape. There was no time for sulking, no space for self-pity. You needed four people to form a team, and at this point, you and Shoko were ready to tug every possible string to make it happen.

Shoko leaned back, arms crossed, her expression a mixture of fatigue and focus. You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Kento,” you began, your voice even but tentative, “have you ever considered participating in the NSB?”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, brows knitting. “The National Science and Business competition?” He chuckled, a low sound that carried a hint of irony. “No, not really. You need at least four people for that, and let’s just say…” His lips curved faintly upward. “No one’s exactly dying to team up with the exile returnee student.”

It was a joke,light, harmless,but you caught the bitter undertone beneath it. Shoko and you exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the opening he’d just given you.

Shoko leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then maybe it’s time you get an invitation.”

Nanami blinked. “What?”

“Join us,” Shoko said simply, no hesitation in her tone.

He stared between you both, visibly thrown off. “I– Look, I don’t know if you’re aware, but Gojo doesn’t exactly… like me.”

“Gojo’s out of the team,” you said before Shoko could speak. The words came out sharper than intended, anger still simmering from earlier.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Out? How did that happen?”

Shoko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We can’t get into the details right now.”

He frowned. “No. I need to know. I don’t want to join something unstable and get thrown aside when things magically resolve between you and him.”

You inhaled deeply, then reached forward before your hesitation could stop you. You placed your hand over his, firm but earnest. “No, Kento,” you said softly. “I would never do that to you. Please trust me when I say I’ll stay by your side through this competition. I won’t leave you.”

Nanami’s breath caught. He looked down at your hand resting on his, then up at your face,eyes glassy, the faint trace of tear stains on your cheeks. Something tugged in his chest, a quiet ache he didn’t expect.

A single tear slipped from your lashes, and before you could look away, his hand lifted instinctively. His thumb brushed the tear away, gentle but deliberate. “yn…” he said quietly, almost to himself, “Fine…I’ll– I’ll do it.”

Your relief was instant, bright. You clasped his hand tighter. “Thank you, Kento! Thank you!”

He smiled faintly but kept his tone practical. “But…”

You froze. “But?”

“But will Geto work with me?” he asked, uncertainty creeping back in. “He’s… close to Gojo. I don’t think he’d appreciate me being around.”

Shoko cleared her throat delicately, leaning back again. “That brings us to our second problem. We need one more member.”

“I see,” Nanami murmured, fingers drumming lightly on the table. His mind was already turning gears. “What about Ayaka? She’s new and,”

“No,” you interrupted immediately. “Gojo, Geto, Ayaka, and Utahime are a team now.”

Nanami’s face twisted. “What?!” He looked genuinely shocked. “How did that happen?”

You shrugged, bitterness seeping into your tone. “Doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that we need a third person.”

Shoko’s eyes flicked toward Nanami, assessing. “Kento,” she began, her tone softening slightly, “may I call you Kento?”

He nodded once. “Yeah, sure.”

“You know Kitay, right?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

Shoko tapped her pen against the table thoughtfully. “He’s in MedCo, but do you think he’s good enough for this team? We’re not here to participate,we’re here to win.”

Nanami’s expression grew thoughtful. “Yes,” he said after a pause. “He’s actually brilliant. Especially with tech. His brain’s wired like a machine,binary, logical. His parents are doctors, so they pushed him into MedCo, but his real passion is computer science. Coding, design, data systems,he’s exceptional.”

Shoko arched her brow. “Good enough to keep up?”

Nanami nodded. “Easily. He’s… quiet. Awkward, maybe. But one of the smartest people I know.” Nanami didn’t lie. Kitay Kurosawa had been winning hackathons since he was 12. A child prodigy hidden behind the fumbled words and crooked glasses

You exhaled, feeling the first flicker of hope in hours. “Then it’s settled,” you said decisively, pushing your notebook toward the center of the table. “We’ll meet here after school. I’ll book this room. We will start planning tonight.”

Nanami gave a short nod, a trace of a smile ghosting his lips. “Alright then. Looks like I’m officially in.”

Shoko smirked. “Welcome to the team, Kento.”

For the first time all day, the air in the room didn’t feel so heavy. Shoko leaned back in her chair, and you couldn’t help but exchange a look with her,a look that said we might actually pull this off.

Gojo had almost called you. Almost.

His thumb hovered over your contact, the name glowing on the screen like it had been waiting there all day ,Y/N. He’d rehearsed a hundred versions of what he’d say: something stupid and light at first, then something real, an apology buried under teasing. He could already imagine the way you’d roll your eyes before softening, because that’s how it always went. You two fought, you snapped, but you never stayed mad. That’s what he believed. That’s what he needed to believe.

Then his phone buzzed.

At first, he didn’t even look. Just another pointless notification, he thought, until he saw the sender: Private number.

He frowned. A single photo attachment. No text. No context.

He clicked it open ,and froze.

The world seemed to tilt, sound muting around him. The only thing that existed now was the image on the screen, Nanami Kento, sitting across from you in that familiar glass-walled project room. The light caught the curve of your cheek, and Nanami’s hand ,that fucking hand ,was brushing away a tear from your face. You were smiling, soft, trusting.

Gojo’s breath left him in one violent exhale. His grip around the phone tightened until his knuckles whitened.

For a long, unbearable moment, he just stared. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. His mind replayed the image like a broken film reel ,Nanami’s calm, controlled expression; your tilted head, that small, grateful look.

A hot, ugly sound clawed up his throat.So this is what you do.He laughed once, hollow. His pulse thudded in his ears. He’d been this close to calling you, to fixing things, to swallowing his pride. And you, You were sitting with him.

Nanami fucking Kento. The name tasted like ash.

He could feel anger crawling beneath his skin like static electricity, building until his jaw clenched and his teeth ached. His mind flooded with flashes ,Nanami’s hand on your face, your laugh, the way you used to look at him that same way.

You run to him now? Just like that? After everything?

Gojo’s heart pounded against his ribs, too fast, too loud. The back of his throat burned. He set the phone down for half a second before picking it right back up, staring at the photo again, as if he could burn it into his memory and destroy it at the same time.

He wanted to hurt Nanami. The thought was sharp, instant, primal. He could almost see it ,Nanami’s glasses snapping under his grip, that calm voice cracking for once. Gojo’s fingers twitched with the desire to make it happen.

You think you can touch what’s mine?

A bitter laugh slipped past his lips, low and humorless. He leaned back in his chair, forcing a slow exhale. But it didn’t help. The air felt heavy, suffocating, pressing down on him from every direction.

Fine. If this was the game you wanted to play ,pretending, replacing, running to someone who could never understand you the way he did ,then so be it.

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

You think Nanami Kento can protect you? That he can make you laugh like I do, make you lose control, make you feel seen? He’ll bore you before the week’s over. He’ll analyze you like a spreadsheet while I,he stopped himself, the thought growing darker, heavier.

No. He wasn’t going to beg. He wasn’t going to chase. He was going to remind you who you belonged to.

Gojo picked up his phone again, his reflection faintly visible on the black screen ,white hair falling over sharp eyes, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled softly, the sound brittle and cold.

“Alright, Nanami,” he said under his breath, voice dripping with venomous amusement. “If you want to play hero, go ahead. Let’s see how long you last.”

Then, quieter ,almost fondly, almost heartbreakingly .

Walking into your house felt like crossing enemy lines. The house, usually warm with the faint scent of cedarwood and your mother’s perfume, now smelled of tension, sterile and sharp.Your mind was still on the meeting with the new group. Nanami was right, Kitay was smart. In the first one hour he had diagnosed a key issue with your plan and fixed it. Maybe all that happened was for good, you felt confident about this team.

Mrs. Hanada was waiting for you at the foot of the grand staircase, hands folded neatly in front of her apron, the faint smell of jasmine tea following her as always. “They are expecting you in the study,” she said softly.

“Who is?” you asked, though deep down, you already knew the answer.

“Your parents.” Her voice was calm, practiced , but the faint crease between her brows betrayed her unease. She offered you a small, encouraging smile, the kind she used to give you before piano recitals or report card meetings.

Mrs. Hanada had raised you since you were five; she knew your moods, your silences, your deflections. One glance at her face told you more than words ever could. Whatever was waiting behind those oak doors wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Is it bad?” you asked, half hoping she’d lie.

She hesitated, then placed a reassuring hand on your arm. “Remember , they are your parents, and they love you.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “That bad, huh?”

Her silence said enough.

You exhaled sharply, straightened your shoulders, and looked down the long hallway. The study door loomed at the end like a verdict. “Time to face the tune, I guess.”

Every step from the front door to your father’s study was a countdown to impact,your pulse thrumming with dread, your palms cold even as your heart burned. The floorboards creaked under your shoes as you walked away, the echo of each step swallowed by the hush of the house. Mrs. Hanada watched you go, her expression tight , as though she, too, wished she could protect you from whatever waited on the other side of that door.

You straightened your back, the same way you used to before every school debate or exam,masking fear with composure,and pushed the door open.

Your father was at his desk, glasses perched low, papers spread like an empire in front of him. Your mother sat in the armchair beside him, hands folded neatly, eyes glinting like polished glass. She didn’t even wait for you to sit.

“Hello,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a defense mechanism. “I’m back.”

“Care to explain what nonsense is going on?” your father asked, voice clipped, looking up right away from the files on his desk.

You set your bag down gently, almost ritualistically, before sitting beside your mother. “Satoru and I have decided not to team up for NSB.”

“Satoru didn’t decide that,” your mother said sharply. “You did.”

Your smile faltered. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, y/n,” she hissed. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Mom, please,” you began, desperation threading into your voice. “I didn’t have a choice. Satoru gave me an ultimatum,either give up the other competition or give up this one,”

“So?” she snapped, cutting you off before you could breathe. “You chose to team up with that,whatever his name is,and drop Satoru?”

You blinked hard, anger rising under your skin like static. “Why should I give up anything? Why should I always do what he says?”

“Enough!” your father’s voice slammed across the room, deep and unrelenting. You flinched. “You will apologize to Satoru.”

You let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “Apologize? For what? For not catering to his ego?”

“It doesn’t matter,” your mother snapped. “You will apologize right now.”

You stared at her, eyes wide, chest tightening with disbelief. “Why? Because you think I can’t win without him?”

A silence fell heavy between you. Your mother’s next words came cold and clean, a blade wrapped in silk. “Can you?”

The air left your lungs. The ground seemed to tilt beneath you. “What?” you whispered. “You think I can’t?”

Her eyes softened,not with kindness, but pity. “Be honest with yourself, y/n.”

Something cracked inside you. “I am y/n l/n! And I don’t need anyone to win” you said, voice breaking.

“If you want to continue being a l/n,” your father thundered, “you will apologize to him.”

The words didn’t just echo,they carved themselves into you. You blinked, tears blurring the room into shapes and shadows. “You’d disown me?” your voice trembled.

Neither of them denied it.

Your mother crossed her arms, voice as cold as the marble beneath your feet. “We will not support you in this competition if you don’t do it with Satoru. That’s final. You think you can win without the practice tests we fund? Without our connections? Don’t kid yourself. Even your brother needed help,and he was far smarter than you’ll ever be.”

That hit deeper than any slap could. You stared at her, mouth parting in disbelief. “Don’t compare me to Isaac! He didn’t need your help! You suffocated him with your pressure until he broke,”

The sound of the slap was deafening.

Your head snapped to the side, cheek burning instantly. You tasted salt and metal.

“Is this how we raised you?” your mother screamed. “You insolent brat!”

You stared at her through the haze of tears, something inside you shattering so quietly it hurt more than the pain.

You pushed back your chair and stood, the legs scraping the polished floor like a final word. “Fine,” you said, your voice shaking but fierce. “If this is how you want to treat your own daughter, so be it.”

The room blurred as you turned and stormed out, the heavy door slamming behind you. The echo thundered through the hallway, but even as it faded, the sting on your cheek and the ache in your chest stayed.

You pressed your hand against your face, trembling, fighting the sob clawing its way up your throat.

Outside your father’s study, the house was silent again,eerily so. But inside you, something was breaking. Something small, soft, and loyal was dying, leaving behind only the raw, jagged edges of anger and resolve.

Gojo paced. Back and forth, back and forth ,the rhythm of his steps sounded almost deliberate, like the tick of a clock marking down the seconds until everything would be fine again. Until you came home.

The room around him was dark except for the dim golden glow of the bedside lamp. His jacket lay tossed carelessly on the bed, tie loosened, hair falling untamed over his forehead. He kept glancing at the window ,at your window ,every few seconds, like a ritual he couldn’t stop himself from performing.

You’d be home soon. You had to be.

Sure, you’d thrown a fit. Sure, you’d said things you didn’t mean ,dramatic, emotional, reckless things. You always did. He’d learned to take your temper in stride, just like your tears and your stubborn pride. It was part of what made you, you. And you always came around in the end. You’d call, or you’d flick your lights, or you’d sneak into the garden the way you used to when you were kids. That’s just how it was between you.

He smiled faintly at that thought ,the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You’ll come to your senses, he told himself. You always do.

From his window, he could see the familiar scene that had framed your childhoods ,two mansions standing face to face, divided only by a stretch of manicured gardens and a high wall that wasn’t high enough to hide the truth of how close you were. From the back of his house, he could see your bedroom perfectly. He had been able to, ever since the two of you were old enough to climb to your windowsills and wave goodnight across the distance.

He remembered being six, trying to make a “cup phone” with you ,two paper cups and a long, long string that tangled halfway across the garden wall. You both had spent hours trying to make it work, giggling into the cups even when the line carried nothing but static and childish laughter.

Now the air between those windows was heavy, electric, silent.

Gojo stood by the glass, curtains drawn open, lights on ,an unspoken signal. I’m here. He’d always been there, waiting for you to notice him first.

And then he saw it ,a flicker of light from your side. Your bedroom came to life, spilling soft yellow into the night. He froze. For a second, his heart lifted. There you were.

He could make out your silhouette against the glow ,upright, unmoving. Watching him. A sharp exhale left his chest, half relief, half possession. He raised a hand and waved once, slow, deliberate. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. Oh, I see you, princess. I’m watching too.

Any second now, his phone would ring. He looked down at it, already picturing your voice ,apologetic, hesitant, sweet. The sound of you always softened something in him, no matter how angry he was.

Then, as if on cue, the screen lit up. Incoming call: Y/N.

He didn’t hesitate. He answered on the first ring. “Hello, Princess,” he said, letting the usual teasing warmth slide into his tone. “Called to apolo,”

“Listen to me, you asshole.”, You spoke through gritted teeth

The tone sliced through him like glass.

Gojo blinked, his smile faltering. “...Excuse me?”

“When you’re done tattling to your mommy,” you spat, voice trembling not with weakness but fury, “I want you to think ,truly think ,about what you did to me today.”

“Y/n,”

“Apologize?” you interrupted, your laugh hollow and sharp. “I’d rather die. I’d rather my family disown me. I’d rather whore myself out on the streets than apologize to you.”

The words hit him like stones, each one colder than the last. He could feel his chest tightening, a heat building beneath his ribs that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with something darker ,disbelief, maybe. Panic.

From the corner of his eye, he could still see your silhouette, motionless in the window. You weren’t just saying it ,you meant it.

“Oh, you’re just angry, Y/n,” he said quietly, forcing his voice into something calm, something steady.

“You bet I am, Gojo.”

That. That stung more than anything else you’d said.

You never called him Gojo. Never. He’d always been Satoru ,your Satoru, your confidant, your rival, your idiot, your safety. Hearing his surname from your lips felt like a door slamming shut inside his chest.

“Y/n, listen to m,”

“No, you listen to me!” Your voice cracked, raw emotion spilling through the line. “You took it too far. I am dead to you”.

The line went silent. Gojo stood in his room, eyes fixed on your form until it disappeared in the darkness.

The silence that followed was absolute. Gojo froze where he stood, the phone pressed uselessly to his ear. He could still see your silhouette in the window, motionless, solid,until, slowly, your light went out.

Darkness swallowed your room whole. He stood there long after the line went dead, his breathing ragged and uneven. The phone slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Outside, the night stretched wide and cold between your houses. The garden that had once been your shared playground now looked like a graveyard,two glowing windows facing each other across an invisible chasm.

Gojo’s reflection stared back at him in the glass,eyes wide, jaw clenched, expression hollow.

You were gone.

You woke up the next day with lead in your veins. Every inch of your body ached,the kind of dull, heavy ache that doesn’t come from bruises but from exhaustion, from heartbreak, from feeling like you’ve been fighting a losing battle for far too long. Even breathing hurt.

The morning light cut across your room in harsh streaks, too bright, too cruel. You blinked at the ceiling, willing your body to move, to just get up. You couldn’t stay here, not now. Not after last night. But it felt like gravity had doubled overnight, pressing you into the mattress.

Still, you forced yourself upright, your limbs protesting every motion. This wasn’t just a competition anymore. This was war,a war for dignity, for freedom, for yourself.

The mirror didn’t lie when you finally faced it. Puffy eyes. Red cheeks. Tear stains you hadn’t wiped away. Your hair looked like it had lost a fight with sleep and your uniform from yesterday was still clinging to you, wrinkled and lifeless.

You stared for a long time. You almost didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

But this wasn’t the time for pity.

You inhaled slowly, shakily. “Get it together,” you whispered to your reflection. “You’re not done yet.”

You washed your face, combed your hair, and tried to erase the evidence of the night before. But some things,like the burn behind your eyes and the hollow in your chest,refused to fade.

You grabbed your bag and walked to the door, ready to leave this suffocating room and pretend for a few hours that you were still free. You turned the knob.

It didn’t move. Frowning, you tried again. The latch held firm. You pulled harder, twisting, yanking,nothing.

“What the…” you muttered, trying again, louder this time. “What the fuck?”

You banged on the wood with your palm. “Hello?!” Another tug. The door didn’t even creak.

Panic began to rise like bile. You slammed your fist against the door. “Let me out! HELLO?!”

Footsteps. The faint jingle of keys. You stepped back just as the lock turned and the door opened.

Your mother stood there. Perfectly dressed, perfectly composed, perfectly terrifying. “Good morning, y/n,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Have you apologised to Satoru?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your voice was still caught somewhere in your throat.

“Very well then.” Her tone hardened. “Hand me your phone.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Your phone. Now.”

You clutched it instinctively, fingers curling around the device like it was the only thing tethering you to the world beyond this room.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“Y/n,” she said, and there it was,the tone. The one that froze you in place as a child, that sliced through any defiance before it could form. “I will not repeat myself.”

You hesitated, then slowly held it out. She took it from you with delicate precision, like she was collecting evidence rather than confiscating your life.

“What’s happening?” you asked again, voice trembling.

She looked at you with cool detachment. “Your father and I have decided that you will be homeschooled for the rest of the year.”

For a moment, your mind went blank. Then, “What the fuck?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “What?! No! You can’t do this!”

Your mother didn’t even flinch.

“I need to go to school!” you shouted, stepping forward. “My friends, my club projects, student rep elections,”

“Oh?” she interrupted, feigning surprise. “You care about all that?”

“Yes, Mom!” you snapped, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief. “I do!”

Her lips curled into a cold smile. “Too bad then. If you want to go back to school, you’ll make things right with Satoru.”

You froze.

She turned to the doorway, handing your phone to one of the guards stationed outside. “Until then,” she said, “you don’t leave this room.”

It didn’t register at first. Not really. You just stared at her, words dissolving on your tongue.

“Wait…” you whispered. “What?”

“This is for your own good,” she replied simply, the lie slipping from her mouth as easily as a prayer.

“Why, why are you being so hard on me?”

Your mother’s eyes hardened. “Because I don’t want my daughter running around with some good-for-nothing boy.”

The air left your lungs. “Oh my god, Mom,” you gasped. “Nanami is not that. And it’s not like I’m dating him! It’s a competition!”

She sighed and raised a hand dismissively, as though swatting away your voice. “You can negotiate with your father when he gets home.”

Then she turned, graceful as always, and stepped out.

“Mom,wait!”

The door shut. The lock clicked. Keys rattled. You lunged for the handle, twisting it desperately, but it didn’t move. “Mom!” You pounded on the door, tears already stinging your eyes. “Mom, open the door! Please!”

Nothing.

You pressed your ear to the wood. The sound of retreating heels. Silence. “No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, no…”

You spun toward your window, the last escape left to you. You threw it open, leaning out,only to freeze when you saw them. A line of guards. Standing at the base of the wall, hands behind their backs, eyes trained upward. You stepped back, heart pounding. They looked like soldiers waiting for orders. Your parents had planned this. They’d expected you to fight back.

Now it looked like a prison yard.You sank to your knees, clutching the edge of your desk for balance as the first scream ripped through your chest.

Rain lashed against the classroom windows in sheets, each strike of thunder echoing faintly through the hallways. The sky outside was the color of steel, but Shoko wasn’t looking out to admire the storm. Her gaze was fixed instead on the clock above the whiteboard,then at the empty seat beside her.

You weren’t there. You were never late.

Her stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

Across the room, Nanami caught her eye. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question. Shoko only shook her head, her expression tight. She pulled her phone from her pocket, thumbs moving quickly. No reply. The message stayed undelivered. When she tried calling, it went straight to voicemail.

Your phone’s off.

That had never happened before.

By the end of the first class, the silence in the room was unbearable. Nanami made his way toward her desk at the same moment Gojo did. The two boys stopped side by side, a flicker of mutual dislike sparking in the air between them.

“I don’t know,” Shoko said before either could speak, her frustration spilling over. “Kento, I,” she cut herself off, her eyes flicking toward Gojo. “What do you want?”

“Sho, pl,” Gojo started, voice low, almost pleading.

“Oh, fuck off,” Shoko snapped, standing abruptly. “I bet this is all because of you.”

Gojo flinched.

“Kento, let’s go,” she said sharply, brushing past him. Nanami hesitated, then followed.

Gojo stayed behind, standing near your desk, his hand hovering above the back of your empty chair. His fingers trembled. He could still see your notebook there from yesterday, the corner of a doodle peeking from the edge of the page.

Outside in the corridor, Shoko’s shoes clicked rapidly against the tile. “She’s not answering my texts,” Nanami said, pulling out his phone again. “And her phone is,”

“Switched off,” Shoko interrupted. Her voice cracked slightly as she bit down on a perfectly manicured nail. “I know. She never does that. She always tells me if she’s not coming.”

“Maybe she’s really ill,” Nanami said quietly, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t sound convinced. He didn’t want to believe the alternative.

Shoko stopped walking. “No,” she said. “Something’s off. I’ll go to her house during lunch. I need to see her.”

Back in the classroom, Gojo couldn’t sit still. Every passing minute made his pulse pound harder. He’d texted you five times. No response. Called twice. Straight to voicemail.

He was halfway out the door before the next period began.

By the time he stormed into the dean’s office, rainwater was dripping from his hair and soaking into his collar.

“Where is Y/N?” he demanded, not bothering to knock.

His mother looked up from her laptop, sighing. “You’re supposed to knock, Satoru.”

“Where is she?” His voice was sharper this time. “Why isn’t she here?”

Mrs. Gojo took off her glasses with deliberate calm. “Her mother called,” she said. “Y/N isn’t well. She won’t be coming back.”

For a second, Gojo didn’t understand the words. Won’t be coming back. It didn’t compute. “Wait,what do you mean she won’t be coming back?”

“She’ll be continuing the rest of the school year from home,” his mother said matter-of-factly.

The ground dropped from under him.

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, you can’t,Mom, you can’t let them do that. They’re doing this to punish her!”

Mrs. Gojo’s lips curved slightly, but her eyes stayed cold.

Gojo froze. His throat went dry. “You told them?” he whispered.

“I did what any responsible adult would,” she said, her tone clipped. “You involved yourself too deeply. It’s better this way, for both of you.”

He stared at her, disbelief turning into something dangerous, something that made his hands curl into fists. “Mom, please,” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Do something. This is extreme. She’s not a criminal!”

His mother sighed and slid her glasses back on. “It’s allowed by law, Satoru. There’s nothing I can do. It’s her parents’ decision"

Gojo’s jaw clenched. The air in the office felt too thick to breathe. He creamed and kicked a table near him making the vase atop stumble and crash on the ground.

“Of course there’s nothing you can do,” he said bitterly. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned on his heel and stormed out, his shoes echoing down the empty hallway.

By the time he reached the courtyard, the rain had turned violent, slamming into him in cold, relentless sheets. He barely noticed. His head was spinning, his chest felt like it was collapsing inward.

Ayaka smiled as she breathed in the cold morning air. The courtyard glistened under the steady drizzle, the scent of wet earth mixing with the faint sweetness of her strawberry milk. She took a slow sip, the pink liquid staining her lips as her eyes followed Gojo sprinting across the courtyard , his white hair plastered to his forehead, uniform drenched, shoes slapping against puddles.

She chuckled under her breath. God was truly on her side today.

Y/n L/n would not be returning to the school , not after last night’s little “incident.” And poor Gojo Satoru… he would carry the guilt like a crown of thorns. It was poetic, really. The golden boy was brought to his knees by his own choices. They said the simplest plans worked best, and she was living proof of it.

All she had done was send an anonymous message , a few carefully selected photos of Y/n and Nanami, together at the wrong time and place , straight to Y/n’s parents. The rest had fallen into place like a perfect game of Tetris. A nudge here, a rumor there… and the entire story had built itself.

She tilted her head back, stretching her neck, the smile never leaving her lips. The rain had lightened to a soft drizzle now, the kind that whispered rather than fell.

“Ayaka.”

Her name, spoken in that calm, deep tone , the only person who ever managed to make her lose composure for half a second.

“Kento.” She turned slightly, smile still intact as Nanami approached her.

He stood beside her, hands in his pockets, eyes hard. “What did you do?”

Ayaka blinked, feigning innocence. “What are you talking about?”

“Why is Y/n not here? What’s going on?” His jaw tightened. This wasn’t part of their agreement. He could feel something was off , something far darker than what he had agreed to.

Ayaka took another sip of her drink before answering, her voice light and airy. “No clue. Though don’t you agree it works in our favor?”

“How?” Nanami’s brows furrowed.

“I’ll be the school captain,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I’m basically dating Satoru now, so of course we’ll be the school captains together. Power couple, don’t you think?”

“No, Ayaka.” His voice sharpened. “Hurting Y/n was never part of the plan.”

Ayaka turned to him fully now, crossing her arms, her expression soft but mocking. “Kento, you can’t be that naive. Of course Y/n was going to get hurt. That’s the point of change , it’s never clean.” She shrugged, her eyes gleaming. “Change brings pain.”

Nanami stared at her, chest tightening. He hadn’t signed up for this. The plan , if it could even be called that anymore , had been to separate Y/n and Gojo, to give her a chance to get close to him. But this… this was cruelty.

Ayaka’s voice softened, almost coaxing. “Y/n will blame Satoru for this. He’ll be the villain in her story. And you…” she stepped closer, lowering her voice, “you’ll be the hero.”

Nanami said nothing. The rain fell between them, cold and quiet. Ayaka’s smile widened , a smile that didn’t reach her eyes , as she turned back toward the courtyard. Gojo had disappeared inside the building, leaving wet footprints behind him.

Everything was going exactly according to plan.

Shoko sat cross armed and cross legged on the plush chair of your father’s study. She waited patiently, trying to calm herself down. She had demanded to meet with you but was denied so here she sat, confidently, angrily.

“Shoko! How are you?”. Your mom asked sweetly as she placed the trays with tea cups in front of Shoko.

Shoko smiled but didn’t touch the cup, “I am good. How are you Mrs.l/n?”.

Your mother sat next to her, elegant, poised, “I am good too. I heard you wanted to meet with y/n. But she is indisposed, darling”.

Shoko smiled. She could smell a lie a mile away and in this closed quarter lies laced the varnish on the wood. “I understand. But I needed to speak with you and Mr.Gojo”.

“Ah, I see. He will be here shortly. Shouldn’t you be at the school?”.

“Of course I should be. But so should y/n”. Shoko smiled.

Your mother smiled, “I have always admired your boldness. But y/n had a choice and she chose wrong”. Your mother smiled and shrugged.

“Y/n had a tendency to always choose her freedom. I admire that about her”. Shoko smiled.

The door opened and your father walked in, “Sorry to keep you waiting ladies”. He sat on his chair and sighed, “So how can I help you Ieri?”.

“Mr.Gojo I won’t beat around the bush, I have known y/n since I could walk, she would never skip school without telling me, so I suspect that she is being punished”.

Your father smiled, “And you’re here to defend her?”.

“No. I am here to demand that y/n should be allowed to attend the school, finish this year in person”.

Your father studied her face and leaned back and lit a cigar, “You are here to negotiate, which is very bold, I will entertain it as I believe it fosters confidence in young adults. So what’s your offer?”.

“I suspect that y/n is being punished because she refused to team with Satoru for the competition. I support her. I have decided the same, and y/n and I are on the same team. Secondly, I suspect you have apprehensions about her proximity with Nanami Kento, on that I give you my word that they are friends, barely, the only reason she chose to work with him is because there is a minimum requirement of 4 people on a team. Apart from that, there is nothing between them”.

“I see,” You father said as he blew out a puff of smoke, “But that doesn’t guarantee that nothing will happen in the future. Honestly I think she can’t win this competition without our support and without Satoru”.

Shoko smiled, “You underestimate your daughter, Sir. She is smarter than ten Satoru combined. As for her relations with Nanami Kento, let me tell you something at the cost of divulging my best friend’s secret, y/n is in love with Satoru. She is not the kind of girl who would just forget about her love and jump onto the next man who gives her attention”.

“If y/n”, Your mom spoke as she put down the ivory cup, “can prove that she has what it takes to win this competition then we can consider allowing her to attend the school in person”.

Shoko nodded, “Absolutely fair. But how can she prepare for the competition without her group?”.

Your father hummed, “I see. What’s your offer?”.

“Three hours every day, at your home, with the group. That way you will have full visibility of her and Nanami Kento. First round is two months away, if she doesn’t score well then you win. But if she does then she should be allowed to return to school”.

Your parents exchanged smiles. Your father smiled, “Two hours, five days a week”.

Shoko nodded, “Deal”. She stood up and extended her arm forward, and your father shook her hand.

“I admire your confidence in my daughter Shoko”. Your mother smiled.

“Oh you underestimate her, ma’am”. Shoko smiled.

You sat curled up on the cold marble floor, your back pressed against the bed frame, knees drawn tightly to your chest. The silence of the room was deafening , the kind that hummed in your ears after hours of crying. Faint light slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, striping the carpet with pale gold.

You had spent hours , maybe days, time no longer felt real , running through escape plans in your head. Could you jump from the balcony? Could you steal the phone from the butler’s cart when he brought water? But the locks, the cameras, the constant footsteps in the corridor made even imagination feel futile.

Then came the sound. The familiar jingle of keys.

You froze , every muscle locking in instinctive fear. Then adrenaline surged. You scrambled up, heart pounding, ready to bolt.

Your mother stepped inside, pristine as ever, a silver tray balanced effortlessly in her hands. The porcelain bowls rattled softly as she placed them on your desk. “I won’t have you starving yourself in protest,” she said coolly. “So eat.”

You said nothing. Your breath came in shallow bursts.

She glanced at you , your messy hair, your swollen eyes, your rumpled uniform , and sighed as if your defiance were merely an inconvenience. “And don’t think of running,” she added lightly. “You won’t even get out of the house.”

You pressed your lips together, forcing your gaze to the floor.

Your mother crossed the room and crouched in front of you. Her perfume , gardenia and something sharp underneath , filled your nose. When her manicured hand came up to cup your cheek, you flinched back on reflex.

Her expression didn’t waver, though her tone softened into something that sounded almost maternal. “You know we love you,” she said quietly. “We only want what’s best for you. Right?”

You swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat. “Sure.”

“Come now, Y/n.” Her voice turned coaxing, the same tone she’d used when you were a child refusing piano lessons. “Eat, and I’ll tell you the good news.” She rose gracefully and walked to the small dining table by the window, sitting down as if this were a perfectly normal afternoon tea. “Come.” She gestured lightly with her hand.

You hesitated, then stood, the ache in your legs reminding you how long you’d been sitting on the floor. You moved slowly to the table, dragging the chair back with a quiet scrape.

“What’s the news?” you asked warily.

“First eat.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, but your stomach betrayed you with a quiet growl. You picked up the spoon and brought the soup to your lips. Warm, familiar. One spoon. Then another.

Your mother watched you with an unreadable expression , one you’d seen countless times when she was calculating, weighing, deciding. Then, with the faintest smile, she said, “You can go back to school.”

The spoon clattered against the bowl. “What?!” Your head snapped up, disbelief wide in your eyes.

She crossed her legs delicately, folding her hands on the table. “But only if you score the highest marks in the aptitude test,” she said smoothly. “On your own.”

You blinked, trying to make sense of the words. “Did Dad say something? What happened?”

Her smile deepened , that careful, practiced kind that never reached her eyes. “Your friend came to visit. Bargained for your freedom, apparently. You’ll meet with your team here every day for two hours. Five days a week.”

You stared at her, the words not sinking in right away. “I,what? Who bargained? What happened?”

Your mother exhaled, as though this entire conversation were tedious. “Shoko. She made quite an impression on your father. You should be grateful , few people have the courage to stand up to him.”

She proceeded to give you the rundown of the conversation , how Shoko had walked into your father’s study, bold as ever, and negotiated like she belonged in a boardroom. As your mother spoke, your heart began to race , not from fear this time, but from something else. Relief.

You looked down at your trembling hands, and for the first time in days, they didn’t feel useless. Shoko had come. She’d fought for you.

Your mother droned on about “conditions” and “supervised meetings,” but you barely heard her.

How could you ever think you were alone when you had Shoko Ieri by your side?

Taglist: @alebrasil0101 , @kamshotseverywhere, @bubera974, @broilovegojo

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