The sun was spilling through the tall, dusty windows of the common room, painting weak gold across the floorboards. Gojo was sitting backward in a chair, long legs kicked out, sunglasses perched low on the bridge of his nose as he lazily tossed a piece of chalk into the air and caught it again and again without looking.

Geto lounged on the couch beside him, head tilted back, watching with a bored expression that was way too carefully neutral to be real boredom. Shoko sat on the opposite couch, legs crossed, magazine forgotten in her lap as she squinted at the two of them.

They had been at it for thirty minutes.

“Nothing?” Shoko asked flatly.

“Not even a twitch,” Geto sighed, flicking a small paper ball directly at Gojo’s temple.

Gojo caught it midair without even shifting his eyes. “Cute,” he said, flicking it back twice as fast. “But you’ll have to try harder if you wanna fluster perfection.”

Shoko clicked her tongue. “Are you seriously immune to embarrassment? Do you even have human emotions?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know—”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she deadpanned.

From your corner of the room, where you were pretending to read but absolutely watching this disaster unfold, you hid your smile behind your hand. You’d been observing their attempts all afternoon: ambush compliments, teasing jabs, stupid jokes, even Shoko trying to ruffle his hair. Nothing. The man was a fortress.

But then Geto glanced your way, gave the most subtle eyebrow raise, and shrugged.

You wanna try?

You didn’t answer verbally—just closed your book, set it aside, and rose from your seat with unhurried, deliberate steps.

Gojo didn’t notice at first. He was too busy bragging.

“And like—seriously, you guys underestimate my mental fortitude. I am unshakeable. Untouchable. An unblushable king—”

You slid a finger beneath his chin.

Gojo froze.

His head tilted up with almost no resistance, eyes widening behind his glasses as you leaned in. Your face drew close—very close—close enough that his breath caught, close enough that you saw his throat bob, close enough that Geto’s smirk twitched into open delight and Shoko sat forward like she’d just hit the jackpot at a casino.

You were barely a breath from Gojo’s lips when you spoke.

Low. Soft. Commanding.

“My good boy.”

Something short-circuited behind those white lashes. You watched it happen in real time.

Gojo’s brain did not simply stop. It crashed. Hard.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth parted. The chalk slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

Completely, utterly blue-screened.

Even his Six Eyes couldn’t save him.

Geto burst into laughter so sudden he almost slid off the couch. Shoko slapped her knee, wheezing, “No way—no way—”

You stepped back slowly, letting your finger trail from his chin.

Gojo just…stayed there. Head tilted where you’d left it. Mouth open in stunned silence. Eyes unfocused like an overloaded computer.

“Hey, Gojo?” Shoko said, waving a hand in front of his face.

No reaction.

Geto leaned in. “Satoru, buddy, blink twice if you can still hear us.”

Still nothing.

You turned to the others with an innocent smile.

“…Did I break him?”

Geto wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, absolutely.”

Shoko nodded. “Completely fried. Like tempura.”

Finally—finally—Gojo inhaled sharply.

Then he slapped both hands over his face.

“WHAT WAS THAT—?!” His voice cracked, loud enough to rattle the windows. “WHY WOULD YOU—?! YOU CAN’T JUST—WHO DOES THAT—?!”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think. “…Someone trying to make you blush?”

He made a strangled sound, half-groan, half-squeak.

Geto leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Well. Mystery solved.”

Shoko grinned. “Turns out Gojo Satoru does have a weakness.”

You tilted your head, smirking as Gojo peeked at you between his fingers—bright red from his chin to the tips of his ears.

“Good boy works every time,” you murmured.

Gojo immediately blue-screened again.