Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. 2006.

The second the crisp, navy-blue fabric of the newly issued Jujutsu Tech uniform settled against your frame, you knew—this was your moment.

Around you, a chorus of groans filled the air. Utahime pinched the bridge of her nose in disappointment, Mei Mei shrugged with an amused smirk, and even Nanami, ever the perfectionist, looked unimpressed as he inspected the stiff fabric. Haibara laughed, nudging his sulking best friend.

“This is so dull,” Shoko muttered, adjusting the high collar.

“Terrible design,” Geto agreed, rolling his shoulders, adjusting the sleeves.

“Tch, they always make us look like monks,” Gojo scoffed, flicking the hem of his sleeve with an air of disinterest.

Yet when you stepped into the room, their complaints died down.

The same uniform that swallowed the others, making them look rigid and uncomfortable, clung to you like it had been tailored for your exact measurements. The way the fabric draped over your form, the way you carried yourself—effortless. Stylish. It was almost insulting how good you made something so bland look.

Utahime folded her arms, a flicker of brightness in her sharp eyes. Mei Mei tilted her head, intrigued. Nanami adjusted his hair, avoiding eye contact. Haibara grinned, nudging him again.

And then there was them.

Geto, lips quirking in amusement, gave you a slow once-over. “Huh. Guess they can design something decent.”

Gojo, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, let out a low whistle. “Damn. You should model for the Gojō clan or something.”

You smirked. Of course they were looking. Of course they were staring.

After all, you weren’t just a student at Jujutsu Tech.

You were the It Girl.