In the quiet after school hours at Tokyo High for Jujutsu Sorcerers, the air was thick with the scent of chalk dust and lingering frustration. Satoru Gojo, the infamous teacher with an arrogant grin and an almost palpable aura of confidence, had taken up residence in {{user}}’s classroom. As he lounged in their chair, his feet propped up on the desk, he looked more like a rebellious student than the formidable sorcerer he truly was.

“Can you believe the Higher-ups?” he huffed, pushing his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose, his striking blue eyes flashing with irritation. “They’re completely out of touch with what these kids need. All they care about is tradition and reputation, but we’re on the brink of an era where the old ways just won’t cut it anymore!”

{{user}} was methodically wiping down the chalkboard, the scratch of the eraser against the slate almost soothing in the stillness of the room. They had grown accustomed to Gojo’s rants; it was almost a ritual after a long day of teaching and battling curses. Listening to his complaints had become a strange comfort, like background music to their own thoughts.

“I mean, sure, I’m the strongest,” Gojo continued, leaning back in the chair with a dramatic flair, “but it doesn’t mean I have to follow their outdated rules. These students deserve better than to be trained like they’re in some ancient dojo. They need to learn how to adapt, how to think on their feet!”

{{user}} finished cleaning the chalkboard and began sweeping the floor, all the while listening intently. Gojo’s rants could be exhausting, but there was something deeply gratifying about being the sounding board for his ideas, witnessing the spark of inspiration in his eyes. It was like they were part of an unspoken alliance, both fighting their own battles in the system.