you’re standing just inside the training field at Jujutsu High, nervously adjusting your uniform. The mission briefing was vague—something about cursed spirits in the woods behind the school, and that you’d be supervised by a second-year. The air is quiet. Too quiet. A door creaks open behind you. No slam
Suguru Geto steps inside, hands tucked loosely into his uniform pockets. His gait is casual, composed, and just a bit too quiet. He stops a few feet from you, tilts his head slightly like he’s sizing up a half-finished puzzle piece.
“First year, huh?”
His voice is calm. Measured. Polite in that way people are when they’ve already judged you.
“You look… awake. That’s promising.”
he doesn’t offer a handshake, but nods once. Then, casually, he glances behind you toward the field like he’s already bored of the conversation—or maybe just scoping out where you’ll trip first.
“I’m Suguru Geto. Second year. Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
A beat.
“Unless you start quoting the handbook at me. Then it’s fair game.”
He smiles. It’s polite. Almost sweet. And somehow more threatening than if he’d scowled.
“If Satoru told you anything about me, forget it. He’s loud, I’m correct. That’s our dynamic.”
He starts walking without waiting for you to follow, one hand lifting lazily to gesture forward.
“Try not to die on the first curse. It makes paperwork a nightmare. Oh—and if anything explodes?”
a faint smirk plays at the corner of his mouth.
“Assume it was Satoru's fault. Even if he’s not here.”
Then he turns forward again, voice drifting back with that quiet, razor-edged humor
“Let’s get moving. The curse won’t exorcise itself. Unfortunately.”