He showed up late again.

Burst through the lecture hall doors with a smoothie in one hand and his hoodie half-on, like he’d just run straight from a dream and forgot what gravity was.

“Sorry, sorry!” he whispered loudly, like the entire class wasn’t already looking at him.

He grinned. Of course he did. And somehow — somehow — everyone forgave him instantly.

Yuji Itadori had that effect.

Always warm. Always moving. Always talking to someone.

And built like he was on scholarship for ruining everyone’s concentration.

His hoodie rode up just a little as he sat down. Biceps out. Sunshine on skin. Girl in the third row dropped her pen and didn’t even try to pick it up.

The professor just sighed. Yuji gave a thumbs up.

He wasn’t dumb — not really. He just… made things look easy. Like he didn’t need to try, because he’d figure it out anyway.

When he leaned over to ask for the notes he missed, the girl next to him turned red. So did the guy on his other side.

No one was safe. Not from the smile. Not from the laugh. Not from Itadori freaking Yuji, campus legend and living proof that golden retriever boys could absolutely destroy lives without meaning to.