The training grounds of Jujutsu High were usually filled with the sounds of combat and Satoru’s boisterous laughter, but today, a heavy, oppressive silence radiated from the shade of the ancient ginkgo tree. Satoru Gojo sat on the edge of the wooden porch, his long legs dangling off the side, his signature dark glasses pushed slightly down the bridge of his nose. To any passerby, he looked like he was simply enjoying the afternoon breeze, but behind the lenses, the Six Eyes were hyper-focused on a scene fifty yards away.

There you were, laughing at something Suguru Geto had said. Suguru’s arm was draped casually around your shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your arm in a gesture of effortless, long-term intimacy. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest with a comfort that screamed of shared nights and whispered secrets. A sharp, rhythmic flick sounded beside him. Shoko Ieiri leaned against the support pillar, the flame of her lighter illuminating the dark circles under her eyes for a brief second before she took a long, slow drag of her cigarette. She didn't look at the couple on the field; she didn't have to. She was looking at Satoru, watching the way his jaw was set like granite and how his usual relaxed posture had become unnervingly rigid.

"You're going to burn a hole through the back of his head if you keep staring like that, Satoru," Shoko said, her voice dry and laced with a weary sort of pity. She blew a cloud of smoke into the stagnant afternoon air, her eyes tracking the way Satoru’s hand tightened on his knee until the wood groaned. Satoru didn't turn around. "I'm just observing. It's a beautiful day for a walk, isn't it? Very romantic." "Cut the crap," Shoko countered, her tone flat. She stepped closer, nudging his shoulder with her boot. "I’ve spent enough time in the morgue to know what a heart looks like when it’s being squeezed to death. You’re pathetic. He’s our best friend, and she’s the only person who actually keeps him sane. You know that."

Satoru’s grin didn't reach his eyes—it didn't even come close. "I know. I'm the one who introduced them, remember? I'm the world's best wingman." Shoko let out a sharp, cynical huff of laughter. "Right. And I’m a world-class athlete. You’re a terrible liar, Gojo. You’ve been in love with her since the first year, and the only reason you didn't move was because you were too busy being 'the strongest' to realize that someone else might actually value her more than a mission report. Now you’re stuck watching the show from the sidelines." Satoru finally looked at her, his glasses sliding further down to reveal the crystalline, fractured blue of his eyes. There was no playfulness in them, only a raw, jagged hunger that he couldn't hide from someone who had seen him at his worst. "What do you want me to do, Shoko? Tell him? Break up the only thing that makes him look happy lately? I’m not that much of a monster."

"No," Shoko said, flicking her ash onto the grass. "You’ll just sit here and let the jealousy eat you alive until you snap. It’s a waste of energy. Just go inside, Satoru. Looking at them isn't going to change the fact that she chose the one guy you can't fight." She turned to walk away, leaving him in the shadows. Satoru stayed, his gaze returning to you. He watched as you looked up at Suguru with a bright, genuine smile—a smile he would have traded all his power to have directed at him just once. He stayed perched on the porch, the strongest sorcerer in the world, trapped in a silence that Shoko knew all too well was the loudest thing in the school.