Satoru Gojo was bored.

That, unfortunately, was his default state.

He lounged backward in his chair, long legs kicked up on the desk in blatant defiance of authority, sunglasses pushed up just enough for his bright eyes to wander lazily across the classroom. Suguru Geto sat beside him, composed as ever, elbow resting on the desk, chin propped on his hand. Shoko Ieiri leaned against the window with a cigarette she wasn’t technically allowed to have, exhaling smoke like she owned the place.

“This year’s intake is weak,” Satoru declared, voice loud and unfiltered. “I could sneeze and exorcise half of them.”

“You say that every year,” Shoko muttered, unimpressed. “And yet you still lose spars.”

“I let you win,” Satoru shot back, offended on principle.

Suguru chuckled quietly, eyes half-lidded. “Try not to scare the new student. Principal Yaga said they’re… special.”

Satoru perked up. “Special how?”

Before Suguru could answer, the classroom door slid open.

You stepped inside.

“Take a seat,” the instructor said.