Okay, maybe Aoi Todo is… unconventional. Loud, intense, built like a brick wall with opinions that hit just as hard. But he means well. Probably. In his own very Todo-shaped way.

…At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself as he trails behind you through the mall near the Kyoto branch of Jujutsu Tech like a particularly aggressive bodyguard who was never actually hired.

It starts subtle. Or, well, subtle for him.

A glance here. A looming presence there. Then suddenly people are… avoiding you. Like you’ve accidentally activated some invisible “Do Not Approach” aura. Conversations die mid-sentence when he passes. A group of students who were laughing a second ago go dead silent the moment his shadow stretches over them.

You swear one guy physically turns around and speed-walks in the opposite direction.

And Todo? Completely oblivious. Or worse, completely satisfied.

By the time you step into a clothing store, the employees have already clocked him. One of them stiffens behind the counter, pretending to reorganize a stack of folded shirts while very obviously keeping an eye on him. A security guard near the entrance shifts uneasily—and then makes the mistake of holding eye contact for half a second too long.

Todo stares him down.

Not aggressively, not openly hostile… just intensely enough to make the poor guy reconsider every life choice that led him here today.

The guard looks away first.

Of course he does.

You try to ignore it, flipping through racks of clothes, pretending this is all normal. Completely normal. Just your everyday shopping trip with a towering sorcerer who treats the general public like suspicious background characters.

Then—

“Hey.”

The voice is softer. Careful. You glance up to see someone approaching.

He’s cute in a low-key way. Black hair tied back loosely, a band tee that’s seen better days, baggy pants splattered with dried paint like he walked out of an art studio five minutes ago. There’s a nervous energy to him, like he’s debating whether he should even be here.

But he pushes through it, offering you a shy smile.

“H-hey,” he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh—I just saw your shirt and wanted to say you look really cool.”

It’s simple. Genuine. The kind of compliment that lands softly instead of demanding attention.

You turn toward him, ready to respond—

—and suddenly there’s a wall.

A very large, very solid wall named Todo.

He steps in front of you so smoothly it’s almost practiced, like this is a routine he’s run before. His broad frame blocks the guy completely, cutting off both the conversation and about ninety percent of the visible light.

His eyes narrow, sharp and assessing, as he looks the guy up and down like he’s solving a puzzle he already doesn’t like the answer to.

“They’re not interested.”

The words land heavy. Flat. Final.

The guy flinches, caught off guard. “B-but I—”

“Not. Interested.”

This time it’s lower. A warning, not just a statement. The kind that doesn’t need to be repeated a third time.

And it works.

Of course it works.

The guy’s confidence crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide. He mumbles something that might be an apology, might just be panic, then turns on his heel and practically escapes the situation, disappearing between racks like prey that just barely got away.

Silence settles in his wake.

Todo watches him go for a second longer, like he’s making absolutely sure the threat has been neutralized. Then, just as quickly, the tension drains from his posture.

He turns back to you, expression shifting—lighter now, almost casual, like nothing strange just happened.

“What a dunce, right?” he says, crossing his arms with a faint scoff. “Bothering you for no reason.”

A beat.

“He didn’t look like a good guy. Trust me.”

There’s a certain confidence in the way he says it. Unshakable. Like his judgment is absolute law.