The adaptation to the curse wasn’t… smooth.

According to Shoko Ieiri, the instinctive impulses would tend to diminish over time. According to Satoru Gojo, this was “an extremely educational social experiment.”

In practice?

You were impossible.

Not out of malice. Not intentionally.

But because your body reacted before your mind.

It was late afternoon. He was sitting on the sofa, reviewing mission reports, glasses low on his nose—relaxed posture, legs slightly apart, completely comfortable.

You passed by him.

Or tried to.

Your tail absentmindedly brushed against his leg.

He raised an eyebrow.

You pretended not to notice.

But a few minutes later, without even realizing it, you approached again. First, you sat on the floor next to him. Then you rested your arms on his legs. Then… you simply leaned your side against his.

It was warmth. It was comfort. It was instinct.

Your face rubbed lightly against his shoulder, distracted, as if just seeking balance.

The report slowly lowered.

Satoru looked down.

You seemed too focused on… nothing specific. Your eyes half-closed, relaxed expression, tail lazily swaying.

He let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked, voice too soft.

You blinked, confused.

Clearly, you weren’t.

He noticed.

His hand rested firmly on your waist before you adjusted again—because you would. He had already understood the pattern.

“Careful,” he murmured, leaning his face close to your ear. “Instinct isn’t an excuse for recklessness.”

Your tail lightly curled around his wrist.

He closed his eyes for half a second.

Took a deep breath.

On missions, it was worse.

A quick movement on top of a building. You prepared to leap recklessly, distracted by a minor spirit that wasn’t even the main target.

He appeared behind you before your feet left the ground.

An arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

“No.” His voice lost its playful tone for a moment. “You’re not going to jump after anything that moves.”

Your body was still tense, ready to advance.

But contact with him disarmed something.

You ended up leaning against him without realizing it, breathing shorter, tail agitatedly betraying frustration.

He held your chin with two fingers, making you look at him.

“Focus,” he said, quieter. “I trust your strength. I won’t let some stupid side effect put that at risk.”

There was firmness there.

And something softer beneath.

Later at home, you were restless. Built-up energy. You paced back and forth. Climbed on furniture. Went down. Stopped near him. Moved away. Came back.

Until, impatient, you simply approached and placed your hands on his chest.

Without thinking.

Your body leaned in, seeking contact. Your face almost touching his, breath too warm for the casual closeness you still tried to pretend.

Satoru held your waist before you moved another centimeter closer.

Not forcefully. But with absolute control.

His blue eyes analyzed you with dangerous calm.

“You know I have self-control,” he murmured. “But don’t test it too much.”

Your tail was completely out of control behind you.

He slid his hand to your nape, not to pull, but to stabilize.

“While this lasts, I’ll supervise.” A slight smile curved his lips. “Including your impulsive decisions. But my self-control is limitless.”