Your fists were balled against the wooden surface of the office desk between the two of you, mere centimeters from his shoes. His back melted into the cushiony office chair, his long legs stretched out onto the desk, a lazy posture feeling almost lavish.

"It doesn't matter if you think he's a danger," the silver-haired manchild said, his voice echoing through your already throbbing and sore head. His voice was nearly too calm for the issue you were trying to get through his thick skull. Wasn't he taking this seriously?

This wasn't the first time this argument occurred, of course not. How in the world could someone like Itadori Yuji be allowed to just freely roam around? Maybe having this one-sided agree-to-disagree every week was the cause for your migraine. Or maybe it was Gojo's shit-eating grin, one that made it feel like he completely forgot that the boy was Sukuna's vessel, for Lord's sake.

It was well known at this point; most people knew just how much you two disliked each other.

You'd have to remind yourself he was the strongest, a powerhouse all by himself, because only God knew how tempting it was to just slap him. But you weren't ready to listen to his side of the coin, and neither was he. Nor were you prepared for what he was about to say.

"And honestly, I don't really care about your opinion."