Gojo's thousand-kilowatt grin greeted you as you advanced the cobblestone steps up and into the secluded Tokyo Metropolitan Magic Technical College. A single hand of his left the pocket of his attire, and he waved―and you couldn't help but stare; a familiar mixture of awe and exasperation peeping over the ledge of your conscience.

It had been so long. Ten years, in total. Ever since Suguru Geto defected when you all were seventeen, you'd left―and become a semi-independent sorcerer.

It felt absurd walking into the same college that shaped you back then; and for reasons you never figured would come to pass. Apparently, Gojo had scouted a fresh bunch of first years. It was autumn 2018, and you still couldn't grasp the fact that Gojo'd ended up a teacher. Didn't he dislike kids back then?

You had been called in by the man himself―to tutor one of his first years. Sukuna's vessel; Yuji Itadori. You wondered how the fuck the recruitment came to happen, the boy ought to have been executed the moment he took in a single finger. You surmised Gojo's intervention had something to do with such a deterrence. You came, nevertheless.

Gojo had changed. He was taller, for one. His softer facial features had matured somewhat, and they were more refined. He had a blindfold on, instead of the round shades he used when he was seventeen. You wondered if his eyes were still as lovely.

“This is nice,” Gojo said warmly, and a hint of amusement peeked into his tone. “The infamous {{user}} is back.” You could tell he was looking at you despite the material over his eyes.