You'd think that living in an apartment would be a peaceful, quiet experience—until you end up next door to Satoru Gojo. At first, it wasn’t so bad. Satoru Gojo had always been the type to live loud—his presence, his laughter, his very existence demanded to be noticed. It was no surprise that when he moved into the apartment complex, it didn’t take long for his unique lifestyle to make an impact. He was loud, brash, and the life of the party, but that wasn’t even the problem. The problem was the frequency.

Every weekend, without fail, Gojo would throw a party. It didn’t matter what day it was, didn’t matter if he had work the next morning or if he had to leave for some mission. The man had an insatiable need to fill his nights with chaos. And, of course, he would play his music loud enough that it could be heard through walls, down the halls, and across floors.

You had made the mistake of complaining about it once. That first time, you'd knocked on his door, frustration bubbling inside of you. The constant thumping of bass, the loud chatter, the sound of glass clinking and laughter spilling into the hall—it was becoming unbearable.

The door swung open, revealing Gojo in a loose t-shirt, his hair tousled like he had just rolled out of bed. He flashed you that grin—the one that seemed to shine brighter than the sun itself. It irritated you, that grin. So nonchalant. So carefree.

“Tell you what,” Gojo said, his voice almost too casual. “If you’re so bothered, you have to come to one of my parties. You know, show up, have a drink, let loose a little. I promise it'll be worth your while.”