You were late to training.

Not by much—just a few minutes.

But Gojo noticed. He always noticed.

He leaned against the edge of the training field, arms crossed, blindfold in place, that usual smirk tugging at his lips. But his voice was softer than usual when he said, “Overslept, or just trying to make me worry?”

You rolled your eyes. “Neither. Just tired.”

He tilted his head. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

You shrugged. “Isn’t that what you taught us?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just watched you. And for a moment, the air between you shifted. You weren’t just his student. You were something else.

Something he didn’t have a name for. Something he didn’t want to name. Because naming it would make it real.

And real things could be taken away.

He turned, walking toward the center of the field. “Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

You followed.

The sparring was fast, sharp, familiar. You knew his rhythm by now—when he’d dodge, when he’d strike, when he’d let you land a hit just to see if you noticed.

You did.

He smiled when you caught him off guard.

And you smiled back.

Afterward, you sat on the grass, catching your breath. He dropped beside you, legs stretched out, arms behind his head.

The sun was low. The sky was soft. And for once, he didn’t fill the silence with jokes. You glanced at him.

He was already looking at you.

And he didn’t look away.

“You’re getting stronger,” he said.

You nodded. “Because I have a good teacher.”

He chuckled. “Flattery won’t get you out of tomorrow’s drills.”

You smiled. “Wasn’t trying to.”

He looked at you again. Longer this time.

And something in his expression cracked—just a little.

“I forget sometimes,” he said quietly, “that you’re still a student.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He looked away.

Because you make me feel something I’m not supposed to.

Because when you smile, I forget how dangerous this world is.

Because I’m scared of what it would mean if I let myself want something I can’t protect.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He just stood.

“Get some rest,” he said, voice light again. “You’ve got a long way to go.”

You watched him walk away. And you knew. He wasn’t just your teacher anymore.

Not really.

And maybe—just maybe—he knew it too.