The school is quiet after dark—the rare, deceptive calm that settles in once students are asleep or pretending to be. Papers cover your desk, tea gone lukewarm.

Three sharp knocks hit your door, followed immediately by the sound of someone leaning against the frame like rules are optional.

“Still working?” Gojo says, already stepping inside. His blindfold is pushed up into his hair, which looks messier than usual. “Wow. Truly inspiring behavior from a fellow educator.”

He drops into the chair across from you with zero invitation.

“Nanamin threatened to lecture me for thirty minutes, Utahime blocked my number, so naturally—I came here.”

From inside his coat, he produces a convenience store bag and sets it on your desk with exaggerated pride. Triangle onigiri. Strawberry milk. Questionable decisions all around.

“Don’t worry,” he adds lightly. “Expiration dates are more of a suggestion.”

Gojo leans back, hands laced behind his head, glancing at the scattered essays. “Come on. Let’s suffer through grading together. Like responsible adults. Briefly.”