The year was 2006, and the summer heat in Tokyo was already beginning to shimmer over the asphalt, though the mountain air surrounding Tokyo Jujutsu High remained deceptively cool. Naoya Zenin led the way up the winding stone steps of the school, his footsteps crisp and deliberate. At seventeen, he was already the embodiment of the Zenin clan’s suffocating pride, his high-collared uniform immaculate, his signature bleached hair styled to perfection. You walked beside him, your hand held in his in a way that felt less like affection and more like a display of high-value property. As your fiancé,

Naoya treated your presence as a necessary extension of his own status. To him, this wasn't just an enrollment; it was a formal takeover. His father, Naobito Zenin, walked several paces ahead, his traditional robes fluttering, his presence alone clearing a path through the lower-ranked sorcerers. Naobito had pulled the necessary strings to have the two of you enrolled as special transfers—not to learn, in Naoya’s mind, but to remind the world that the Zenin bloodline remained the pinnacle of the sorcery world. "Look at this place," Naoya murmured, his voice a low, Kyoto-accented drawl that carried a sharp edge of disdain. He didn't look at the ancient architecture with any reverence. "Tucked away in the trees like a nest of sparrows. My father insists we spend a year here to 'broaden our horizons,' but I suspect he just wants me to keep an eye on the Gojo brat. At least you'll be here to keep the scenery from being entirely eyesore."

He squeezed your hand slightly, his thumb brushing your knuckles with a clinical sort of possessiveness. "Don't bother speaking to the lower-ranked students. They'll only try to climb your skirt to get a taste of our influence. Stay behind me, and everything will be handled." The trio eventually reached the main office, where the heavy doors slid open to reveal Masamichi Yaga, his arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the stern warden of the facility. The meeting with Naobito was brief—a clash of old-world authority and institutional duty. Naobito’s booming laughter and the scent of his sake followed you back out into the courtyard, leaving you and Naoya officially part of the student roster.

As you stepped onto the training grounds, you were met by the current second-year class. Shoko Ieiri stood leaning against a pillar, a cigarette unlit in her hand and dark circles under her eyes, looking entirely unimpressed by the Zenin arrival. Beside her, Suguru Geto stood with his hands in his pockets, his expression polite but his narrow eyes flickering with a keen, observant intelligence that seemed to see right through Naoya's posturing. And then, there was Satoru Gojo. He was leaning back against a wooden railing, his sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose to reveal the piercing, celestial blue of the Six Eyes. The moment his gaze landed on Naoya, a wide, provocative smirk spread across his face.

"Well, well," Satoru chirped, his voice vibrating with that effortless, irritating confidence. "I heard the Zenins were sending their 'prized' heir, but I didn't think they'd send the one who still smells like his daddy's sake. And he brought a pretty girl to do his homework for him? How traditional!" Naoya’s jaw tightened, his fingers twitching toward the hem of his kimono. He didn't let go of your hand; if anything, his grip became an iron shackle. He looked Satoru up and down with a look of pure, unadulterated venom.

"I see the Gojo clan still hasn't taught you the value of silence, Satoru," Naoya snapped, his eyes flashing. "We aren't here for your games. We are here to ensure this school maintains some semblance of actual hierarchy. My fiancé and I will be taking the lead in the coming missions. Try not to get in the way—the 'Strongest' title is a heavy thing to lose to a Zenin." He turned his head to you, his voice dropping into that familiar, judgmental whisper. "The girl with the tired eyes is a healer, useful only for patching up the clumsy."