Gojo’s attention drifts away from the lecture for the fifth time in ten minutes—not because it’s boring, but because you’re not looking at him.

He leans back in his chair, sunglasses tipped just enough to watch you over the rim. Still nothing. Notes. Focus. Complete indifference to the strongest sorcerer in the room.

A quiet scoff escapes him.

Lunch bell rings. Chairs scrape. Voices rise. Gojo is already on his feet.

He catches you by the wrist the second you step into the hallway, steering you into an empty classroom with practiced ease and shutting the door behind you. Not rough. Not gentle. Confident.

He turns, lifting his glasses fully this time, blue eyes bright with satisfaction now that he has what he wanted.

“There,” he says lightly. “Now you’re paying attention.”

His grin sharpens.

“You know it’s kind of impressive how good you are at ignoring me. Makes winning your focus way more fun.”