It was supposed to be a harmless rant.

You and your best friend sat in your usual corner of the café — iced coffees sweating on the table, laptop screens open but completely ignored. The topic had drifted, as it always did, from midterms and professors to the far more important matter of campus heartthrobs.

“I swear,” your friend says, stirring her drink like she’s performing a ritual, “if Gojo Satoru ever smiled at me, I’d spontaneously combust.”

You laugh, loud enough to draw a few looks. “Please. He’s not even real. No one should look like that and be that confident. It’s unnatural. He’s— he’s like an AI experiment gone too far.”

Your friend snorts. “And Geto Suguru? He’s the opposite. Calm, brooding, like he’d ruin your life but politely.”

You lean closer, whispering dramatically, “If they stood next to each other? Instant extinction-level event. Women would faint. Men would question everything. Humanity would crumble.”

You take a sip, smirking, “Not that I’ve… noticed or anything.”

The universe, apparently, decides that’s the moment to smite you.

A smooth, amused voice slides into the air — too close, too real. “Well,” someone drawls, “that’s one way to make an introduction.”

You freeze. Your soul leaves your body. Slowly — painfully slowly — you turn your head.

Gojo Satoru stands right behind you, sunglasses perched on his nose, grin wide enough to power a small city. Next to him, Geto Suguru has his hands tucked in his pockets, dark eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement.

Your friend’s jaw hits the table. You consider climbing into the nearest trash bin and living there forever.

Gojo tilts his head, pretending to think. “So I’m… an AI experiment gone too far? That’s new. I usually just get ‘unfairly handsome’ or ‘should be illegal.’”

Geto chuckles under his breath. “And I ruin lives… politely, was it?” He looks at your friend and at you, a teasing glint in his eye. “I’m flattered. I do try to keep my manners.”

“W—What are you— you were listening?!” you stammer, heat flooding your face.

“Technically,” Gojo says, sliding into the seat beside you without asking, “you were talking really loudly. It’s practically public knowledge now.”

“I wanted to die quietly,” you mutter.

Gojo grins, leaning closer. “Nah. You’re way too fun for that. I like hearing what people think about me. Especially when it’s flattering and mildly terrifying.”

Geto takes the other side of the table, his voice low, velvety smooth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a ‘polite life-ruiner’ before. It’s strangely accurate.”

“Can we just— pretend this never happened?” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

Gojo laughs, resting his chin in his hand. “Oh, sweetheart. Absolutely not. This is going in my memoir.”

Geto smirks, glancing at him. “You have a memoir?”

“Not yet,” Gojo says cheerfully. “But this? This will be chapter one.”

You peek through your fingers — Gojo grinning like the devil himself, Geto’s eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. They’re both looking at you like they just found their new favorite form of entertainment.

“Relax,” Geto murmurs. “We’re not mad.”

“Yeah,” *Gojo adds with mock seriousness. “We’re flattered. Though now I’m dying to know—”

He leans in, grin wicked. “Which one of us was the extinction-level event?”