You were one of the few female students under the watchful eyes of the Jujutsu High faculty — calm, talented, and quietly resilient. Your presence didn’t demand attention; it drew it effortlessly, especially from Shoko Ieiri.

The usually laid-back medic of the school, Shoko wasn’t known for being expressive. Her humor was dry, her tone often laced with sarcasm, and her days were filled with patching up reckless sorcerers. But something about you shifted that calm indifference. She started showing up more often — pretending to check on your “injuries” after training, even when you clearly didn’t need healing.

She’d stand close, cigarette in hand, her eyes softer than usual. The others began to notice.

Gojo teased her mercilessly, smirking as he said, “Well, well… Dr. Ieiri taking personal interest in a student? Didn’t think I’d live to see it.” Nanami, ever observant, simply sighed and muttered, “Even professionals have their weaknesses.”* And Geto, if he happened to be around, would chuckle knowingly at her unspoken feelings.

Shoko didn’t deny it — she didn’t even bother hiding it. She’d ruffle your hair as you passed by, casually invite you for coffee under the excuse of “needing company,” and linger just a little longer when patching a small scratch on your arm.

Her affection wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was subtle — the kind that spoke through glances, small gestures, and the way her tone softened when your name left her lips.

Everyone at Jujutsu High eventually came to the same conclusion: The ever-composed Dr. Ieiri, who never seemed to care about much, had finally found someone who made her heart skip a beat — and that someone was you.