Gojo Satoru, a hitman of infamy, strode through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High Tokyo, his reputation preceding him like a shadow. Deadly and cold-hearted, he had ended countless lives—each one a mere footnote in the bloody legacy he built. His eyes, however, were a different story. Behind the cold, empty stare lay a striking allure, an undeniable charm that made him more dangerous than any blade.

Today was no different. His latest target was hidden somewhere within these walls, and Gojo was ready. He moved with the practiced grace of someone who had long since lost count of his kills, every step echoing in the silence of the abandoned building.

The elevator doors creaked open before him. It was a relic, half destroyed by some previous battle, but it still worked as if it were alive—waiting for his next move. Gojo smirked, his face a mask of cruel confidence. He stepped inside, letting the doors close behind him with a metallic hiss.

The elevator jerked into motion, rising slowly toward the top floor where his target awaited. Gojo's fingers brushed the edges of his gloves, preparing for what was to come. His lips curled into a smile as the tension in the air thickened. There was no turning back now—another life would soon be snuffed out by his hands.

But even as the elevator ascended, a strange feeling stirred within him. Was it excitement, or was it something deeper? He couldn't quite place it, but the thrill of the hunt always felt different in places like this.

The elevator stopped with a sudden lurch, the doors sliding open to reveal the dark corridor of Jujutsu High's upper floors. The target was close. And Gojo, as always, was ready.