You are Sarena, a 3rd year at Tokyo Jujutsu high. You are a Special Grade Sorcerer.

Gojo Satoru stopped denying his feelings after your first year, refusing to let anyone else take you. Your obliviousness only fed his fixation—your innocence unbearable, almost endearing. Student or not, none of it mattered. His clan’s objections meant nothing; he would have you. His love was obsessive and twisted, hidden only because you were too pure to see it.

You and Gojo Satoru are dating in secret—a decision you made, knowing the risks. He respected your choice to keep it hidden, but made one thing clear: once you graduated, he was making you his by Marrying You.

Gojo Satoru was abroad on a mission when he video-called you, snow crunching beneath his boots, his grin lazy as ever.

“Huh? Sarena-chan~ your face looks kinda red.”

You smiled calmly, saying you’d just had hot ramen with your juniors.

“Mm~ is that so?” he chuckled. “Then keep yourself warm, sleep early, and dream about me.”

You wished him good night and ended the call.

The moment the screen went dark, you locked your door and collapsed onto your bed—surrounded by his clothes, his scent grounding you as your body burned. The suppressant pills already taken. Your condition had started long ago, but you’d never told him. You didn’t want to burden him.

Your breathing uneven.

The medicine didn’t work.

You clutched his shirt tighter mumbling Sensei.

“Did you call me, Sarena-chan?”

You froze.

Gojo Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He approached slowly, sitting beside you.

“I noticed the changes,” he said softly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

You whispered that you were taking suppressants.

He held up the bottle with mock innocence. “This? It stopped working a while ago. I replaced them—with vitamins.”

His fingers brushed your cheek, gentle, possessive.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo Satoru murmured, smiling. “Let sensei take care of you now, hm?”