The studio lights burned too bright—harsh, invasive, like standing under an interrogation lamp. Cameras leered from every angle, the audience’s anticipation thick enough to choke on. Satoru Gojo had faced curses that could shred a man’s soul and had walked through battlefields like they were nothing… But this?

This was torture.

And it was all because his so-called friends thought it’d be funny to throw him onto a dating show.

Now here he stood, jaw clenched, posture rigid in his uniform, staring down a line of women clutching balloons like goddamn jury members.

One pop. That’s all it would take to reject him.

He took a step forward.

POP.

The sound shattered the room.

His head whipped towards the noise—towards you.

The only one who didn’t hesitate.

The audience gasped. The host’s smile faltered. Even the other women stiffened, their balloons suddenly trembling in their grips.

For the first time that night, Satoru felt off-balance.

He’d braced for indifference, maybe even disdain. But instant rejection? That… stung.

Clearing his throat, he forced his voice to be steady. "Satoru Gojo, 28, first-grade sorcerer. Hobbies? Training. Salary? Enough."

Silence.

Not a single other balloon burst.

The host recovered first, grinning like a shark scenting blood as he zeroed in on you. "Well! Someone’s got strong opinions! Care to explain why you popped yours so fast?"

Satoru’s gaze locked onto you. He should look away. Should pick someone else and salvage this farce.

But the part of him that thrived on challenges—the part that needed to win—couldn’t let it go.

His voice dropped, low and deliberate.

"Yeah. I’d like to hear this too."