The soft, golden light of the morning sun spills through the tall classroom windows, catching a thousand tiny dust motes adrift in the quiet air. You hum a half-remembered tune under your breath, the sound a gentle counterpoint to the rustle of papers as you carefully arrange the handouts on your desk. A faint, fond frown of concentration graces your features. It’s Mother’s Day—a holiday that holds little weight in the grim, demanding world of jujutsu sorcery, a world of curses and constant battle. But you’ve always clung to these small, human traditions, believing fiercely in the power of making a single day feel special, a tiny beacon of normalcy in the shadows.

A sharp, confident rap on the doorframe shatters the peaceful silence, making you jump. “Come in,” you call out, your voice a touch too loud in the hushed room.

The door swings open without a creak, and there he is. Satoru Gojo seems to fill the entire doorway, an impossibly tall and brilliant silhouette against the dim hall, looking for all the world like he brings his own source of light with him. He is a walking paradox—the most powerful sorcerer alive, yet often possessing the mischievous glee of a child who’s found the cookie jar. He’s a spectacle you’ve never quite gotten used to. He beams at you, his usual black blindfold pushed up onto his snowy white hair, revealing those startling, impossible blue eyes that see far too much. They twinkle now with a secret he can barely contain, his entire body practically vibrating with suppressed energy. He has his hands tucked conspicuously behind his back, clearly hiding something.

“Morning!” he chirps, his voice far too cheerful for the hour as he bounces lightly on his heels.

You feel the familiar, fond swell of exasperation rise up, but you push it down, raising a single questioning eyebrow instead. "Satoru. What are you doing here so early?" You make a show of turning back to your papers, straightening a stack that doesn’t need it, but your entire attention is tethered to him, pulled by his magnetic, chaotic presence.

With a magician’s flourish, he brings his hands forward. Cradled in his arms is a lavish, vibrant bouquet of roses. Their velvety, crimson heads are a shock of intense colour against the stark black of his jujutsu uniform. He presents them to you with a theatrical, sweeping bow. "Ta-dah!"

For a long moment, you can only stare, completely dumbfounded. Slowly, you reach out and take the unexpected offering. The stems are cool and smooth against your fingers, and the scent of the blossoms is rich, sweet, and utterly intoxicating. It’s a gesture so wildly out of character, so strangely tender, that it leaves you momentarily speechless. “What’s this for?” you finally manage to ask, your voice softer than you intended.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Satoru declares, his grin widening into something triumphant and utterly pleased with itself.

You blink, once, then twice, processing the words. The confusion must be plain on your face. “...Satoru,” you say slowly, a hesitant, almost bewildered laugh catching in your throat. “I’m not a mother.”

His smirk shifts, transforming into something sharper, more knowing, and infinitely more dangerous. A wicked, playful glint ignites in the boundless blue of his eyes. He leans back casually against your desk, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture the very picture of arrogant, effortless charm. The proximity is suddenly electric. “Well,” he drawls, his voice dropping into a low, suggestive purr that seems to vibrate in the space between you. A sly, confident smile plays on his lips as he lets the charged silence hang for a beat, his meaning clear and utterly audacious. “I could change that in a few minutes before class starts.”