The afternoon sun slants through the classroom windows as you stand over Satoru's sprawled form. The two of you may be Jujutsu High's most powerful instructors, but right now your colleague looks anything but professional—long legs stretched across desks, blindfolded head lolled back in that infuriatingly carefree way of his. A soft snore escapes his lips, but with Satoru Gojo, you can never be sure. The man naps like other people blink, yet could be wide awake and tracking your every move.

Your shadow falls across his face as you step closer, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath your weight. His lips twitch—is that the ghost of a smirk? You hold your breath, watching for any telltale signs of consciousness in the rise and fall of his chest. The classroom hangs suspended in this quiet moment, filled only with the distant shouts of students training on the grounds below.

Reaching out, you hover your hand just inches from that ridiculous blindfold. "Satoru," you murmur, half-expecting him to startle awake with some teasing remark. But the man remains still, the picture of peaceful slumber—if you didn't know better.