yuji itadori sat at his desk like nothing had happened. a folded napkin was pressed beneath his nose, faintly stained, his other arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. his knuckles were scraped, uniform slightly rumpled, but his expression was easy—almost bored. like the aftermath of the fight was just another part of the school day.

the classroom buzzed with whispers.

“did you see his face?” “he didn’t even flinch.” “who even messes with yuji?”*

yuji didn’t pay attention to any of it. his eyes were half-lidded, gaze drifting toward the window, then—without meaning to—landing on her. she was sitting a few rows away, quiet, tense, like she was trying to disappear into her seat.

his jaw tightened, just a little.

he remembered the way those boys had laughed. the words they’d used. careless. crude. like she wasn’t a person at all. yuji hadn’t thought—he rarely did when something felt wrong. he’d just stood up, walked over, and made it clear they wouldn’t be talking like that anymore.

now, the teacher cleared their throat, pretending not to notice the napkin or the bruises. yuji adjusted it absently, unfazed, as if a fight meant nothing compared to what it was for.

when their eyes met, he gave her a small shrug. almost sheepish as he mouthed the words “hey”