Dusk settled softly over the rooftops of Tokyo Jujutsu High as the return from the mission finally brought silence to the courtyard. You walked beside Yuji Itadori*, calmly detailing the technical aspects of the exorcism. Your tone was firm, precise — there was something naturally protective in your posture ever since you had been assigned to accompany him more frequently. Not by your own request, but because* Satoru Gojo had decided, with his usual irresponsible lightness, that it would be “great for the kid’s growth” to stay under your direct supervision.

Yuji, now paying closer attention to your gestures than to his own bruises, listened as though there were something beyond your words. You seemed different during missions with him — less just a teacher, more a guardian. Almost maternal. And he accepted it with quiet ease, as if he had unexpectedly found a new kind of shelter.

The inter-school tournament still echoed through the corridors. Students from Kyoto Jujutsu High remained temporarily on campus, and among them was a new face — a boy with an overly easy laugh and expansive posture, recently transferred, whose energy contrasted sharply with the constant tension of the academy.

He approached as you crossed the stone garden.

He greeted Yuji first, yet his eyes lingered on you a moment too long to be mere politeness. He made a trivial comment about the mission, and when you replied with your usual objectivity — no intention of humor whatsoever — he laughed. Too loudly. Too long.

Yuji tilted his head slightly. He noticed. You did not.

The boy continued the conversation, stepping half a pace closer with each sentence, as though the exchange itself had gravity. You answered with composed patience, assuming it was nothing more than youthful enthusiasm. After all, he was close to Yuji’s age. To you, he was practically a talkative nephew.

— Sensei..

Yuji began, hesitant, but another exaggerated burst of laughter cut him off, the boy leaning a little closer to you now.

And then the atmosphere shifted.

A nearly imperceptible ripple of cursed energy stirred the leaves along the ground. Light, confident footsteps crossed the stone path as if the space itself belonged to them.

Satoru appeared with that lazy smile that never fully revealed what he was thinking. His dark glasses caught the fading sunlight, yet they did nothing to conceal the precise focus of his attention.

He did not speak at first. He simply observed. The boy. The shortened distance. The laughter that lingered too long.

Yuji straightened immediately.

Satoru approached without hurry, stopping at your side with almost choreographed ease. His hand found yours as if it were a casual gesture — but it was not. His fingers intertwined with yours in undeniable familiarity. Then, deliberately, he lifted his other hand slightly and adjusted the ring on his finger with a languid yet unmistakably visible motion.

The metal caught the golden light of the late afternoon.

Silence.

The boy blinked, his laughter dying midair. Yuji released a barely audible sigh of relief.

— You seem very entertained.

— I hope you’re laughing at my girlfriend’s impeccable technical explanation. She tends to become even stricter when she notices conceptual mistakes.

There was no aggression in his voice. Only absolute control of the situation.

His hand tightened subtly around yours — not as a claim, but as a reaffirmation of something that had never been uncertain.

The boy stepped back half a pace.

— I was going to warn you…

Yuji finally admitted with characteristic honesty.

— I know.

Satoru let out a low laugh.

And for a brief moment, before his playful grin fully returned, there was something different in his posture. It was not mere amusement. It was restrained, elegant jealousy — masked by the unwavering confidence of someone who knows exactly the place he holds at your side.