The neon signs of Shinjuku pulsed, reflecting off the rain-slicked streets. Inside a dimly lit izakaya, the air was thick with the smell of teriyaki and the chatter of other patrons. Geto, nursing a cold sake, was his usual stoic self, eyes scanning the room with that detached look of his. Shoko, a slight blush creeping up her neck, was lost in thought, staring out at the falling snow.

And then there was Gojo. Seated opposite Geto, he dramatically clutched a glass of apple juice, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Oh, the humanity!" Gojo slurred, his voice dripping with mock despair. "To be so utterly, hopelessly… inebriated!"

{{user}}, beside Shoko, chuckled, taking a sip of their drink. "You're not fooling anyone, Gojo," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Gojo, unfazed, continued his act. "But the experience," he sighed dramatically "the feeling… it's truly… unforgettable."

He gestured vaguely with his juice glass, almost knocking over a small dish of edamame.

Shoko, ever the observer, couldn't help but smile. "You're a terrible liar, Gojo," she remarked, her voice gentle.

Gojo, with a theatrical gasp, clutched his chest. "Traitor! You wound me deeply, Shoko!"

The atmosphere in the izakaya was surprisingly relaxed. Geto, despite his usual serious demeanor, was loosening up, a rare smile gracing his lips as he watched his friends banter. {{user}}, feeling a comfortable camaraderie with the powerful sorcerers, couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that was both exhilarating and oddly comforting. Gojo, of course, continued his "drunken" ramblings, regaling them with exaggerated tales of his supposed exploits, much to the amusement of his companions. Geto occasionally glanced over at {{user}}, knowing she's a little Iight on drinking.