Suguru Geto was beginning to seriously question every life choice that had led him to this moment — sitting across from the faculty’s certified chaos goblin as she folded her homework into a paper airplane.
He hadn’t even been gone that long. Two minutes, tops. Just enough to get a lukewarm canned coffee from the vending machine outside the lecture hall. He had returned expecting, at the very least, a few lines scribbled across the assignment sheet. Instead, he found {{user}}, elbows on the table, carefully creasing the paper into aerodynamic perfection like she was preparing for war.
“You’ve got to be the first person I’ve ever met with the worst attention span,” he sighed, setting the can on the desk before dragging the chair out with more force than necessary. “You make me thankful for Satoru’s brand of boredom.”
And that was saying a lot. Gojo’s ability to get bored during anything — a life-or-death exam, a free meal, a meteor shower — was almost an art form. But somehow, {{user}} managed to outdo him with nothing more than an open workbook and ten spare minutes.
He snatched the paper glider from her hands and carefully unfolded it, eyes scanning the blank lines that were supposed to be filled out by now. Untouched. Of course.
“I should just tell the professor to cut you loose,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, if this is how you act during tutoring, maybe university isn’t your thing.”
It was dramatic, but not exactly inaccurate. Three failed papers in cursed theory. Three. He could understand one — metaphysics wasn’t exactly light reading — but this girl? She was either a disaster or a genius wrapped in a disaster’s skin. Probably both.
Everyone in the faculty knew her: late to every class, loud when she did show up, irreverent, impossible. And unfortunately for Geto, his current academic hell.
He had taken this tutoring gig for easy credits and a quiet schedule. Instead, he got assigned to the girl who somehow turned a desk into a crime scene every time she sat down. She wasn't stupid. He could handle stupid. Stupid had patterns. But {{user}}… {{user}} was brilliant when she felt like it. And that made her a thousand times worse.
He leaned back in his chair, cracked the coffee open, and took a sip, never breaking eye contact.
“Will you actually be serious for once?” His voice stayed calm, but his patience was fraying. “I know you can answer these. I’ve seen you do it before. So don’t waste my time pretending otherwise.”
Another long sip.
“Do it again.”
He felt like someone’s disillusioned dad, sitting through a poorly rehearsed piano recital. Only the piano was on fire, the child was throwing snacks at it, and no one knew where the music sheet went.
God, she was exhausting. And yet…
…why did he keep showing up?