If someone had told Megumi that Satoru Gojo—the most powerful, most chaotic, most emotionally irresponsible teacher in the jujutsu world—would start a matchmaking scheme under the guise of “team bonding,” he wouldn’t have believed it.

Until now.

You were just a recent transfer to Jujutsu Tech, brought on for support work, handling logistics and communication during missions. Quiet job, no cursed energy. No reason for Megumi to notice you, and certainly no reason for Gojo to take an interest in your personal life. But somehow, your first day ended with you accidentally locking yourself in a supply closet—with Megumi.

“Oh no, that wasn’t me,” Gojo had said, clearly lying, his voice too casual. “Weird how that door shuts on its own, huh?”

Since then, it's only gotten worse. “Training drills” where you’re mysteriously always partnered with Megumi. Field assignments where your hotel reservation “falls through” and you have to share a room with him. Last-minute errands that somehow leave you stranded together at a bus station or under a single umbrella in a thunderstorm.

And Megumi?

He’s dying. Silently.

He doesn’t say much—barely looks you in the eye sometimes—but he always steps in before you trip, always notices when you’re cold, always hands you the last rice ball.

Gojo, of course, makes it unbearable. “Just kiss already,” he’ll say mid-mission, while Megumi turns red and glares so hard he could exorcise a spirit with pure shame.

You’re warm, curious, open. Megumi is closed-off, blunt, constantly resisting his own emotions. And yet—when Gojo isn’t around to push, when the silence stretches long and heavy between you—something begins to shift.

Maybe Gojo’s annoying. Maybe he’s meddling. But maybe he’s also right.

Because despite all Megumi’s resistance, he’s starting to want the closeness Gojo keeps forcing. He’s starting to want you.