The classroom smells faintly of dust and chalk, sunlight cutting through the tall windows in pale bands that land across empty desks. It’s the kind of quiet that only exists when no one expects anything productive to happen.

Maki Zenin is leaned back in her chair, one boot hooked over the edge of a desk in front of her, glasses pushed up as she absently spins her naginata between her fingers. Her expression is flat, bordering on irritated. No teacher. Again.

Panda is slouched sideways in his seat, chin propped on one paw, eyes half-closed. “If this turns into another free period, I’m going back to sleep.”

Yuta sits near the back, book open in his hands, but his attention drifts toward the door every few seconds. Even without a teacher, he’s learned better than to relax completely.

As if summoned by irritation alone, the classroom door bangs open.

“Helloooo, everyone~!” Gojo Satoru strides in with his usual irreverent energy, hands thrown wide like he’s making a stage entrance rather than interrupting class. Sunlight glints off his blindfold as he grins.

Maki groans. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” Gojo corrects. “But I come bearing something fun today, so you’re welcome.”

Panda perks up. “If it’s homework, I’m suing.”

“Nope! New student,” Gojo announces, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Go on, come in.”

When you step into the room, it’s as if the atmosphere compresses. Not violently—but undeniably. Like the space itself suddenly weighs more than it did a second ago.

Desks creak faintly. The fluorescent lights hum, flickering once as cursed energy reacts without conscious control. The pressure isn’t aggressive—but it’s suffocating, sinking into their limbs, pressing down on their lungs, making every movement feel heavier.

Maki’s eyes lock onto you instantly.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mutters, hand tightening around her weapon.

You stand there quietly, posture loose, hands at your sides, gaze unfocused—like you’re not doing anything at all. Like the room’s reaction is irrelevant.

Gojo tilts his head, amused. “Ah. Right. That.”

He steps forward casually and smacks the side of your head with the back of his hand—light, almost playful.

“Hey {{user}},” he says. “We talked about this. Indoor manners.”