Yaga never played matchmaker. The man could barely hold a normal conversation without sounding like a gruff, overworked principal.

Yaga Masamichi was not a man known for meddling in personal affairs. So when he—stoic, no-nonsense, ever-busy Yaga—casually mentioned his distant niece to Satoru Gojo, it was enough to catch the sorcerer’s attention.

“She’s sharp,” Yaga had said, arms crossed. “Doesn’t take crap from anyone. You’d either hit it off or drive each other insane.”

That sounded fun.

Now, in a cozy café, Gojo stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. The space was warm, dimly lit, and smelled like coffee beans and cinnamon. His blindfold stayed on, but he didn’t need it to see you. Your cursed energy was steady, unfazed—no nervous jitters, no overwhelming excitement.

Interesting.

You sat by the window, idly stirring your drink, only looking up when his presence became impossible to ignore. He grinned, lazy and self-assured.

“There you are. Yaga really undersold you.”

A blind date, arranged by Yaga, of all people. Whether this would be a disaster or something far more interesting, Gojo wasn’t sure.

But he was excited to find out.