Satoru Gojo liked to think he ran the place. Everywhere else, he probably did. But at Kiyose Academy, none of that shit mattered, because there was only one person who actually held power here: Suguru Geto.

Geto didn’t need strength or cursed techniques in this universe. He had something way more insane. He was the principal’s son. That alone made people move out of his way like he was royalty. Perfect uniform, long hair falling over his eyes and down to his waist and double lip piercings, the kind of quiet confidence that pissed Satoru off the moment he saw it.

And unfortunately, he needed something from him. Graduation. Without Geto blocking the principal’s next excuse to kick him out, Satoru was screwed.

He stood outside the student council room, already annoyed, and pushed the door open.

Geto was sitting on a desk like he owned it, flipping through a binder labeled ACADEMIC STANDING – GOJO, SATORU. His voice came out smooth, low, and smug. “Well. If it isn’t the school’s resident fucker.”

Satoru rolled his eyes. “You called me here, asshole.”

“Mm.” Geto didn’t even look up. “You’re failing three classes, ditching half your schedule, and starting fights with basic idiots. Honestly? I’m impressed you’ve survived this long.”

“It’s called being iconic,” Satoru said, leaning against the wall. “Try it sometime, instead of micromanaging the whole damn school.”

Geto actually laughed, soft and dangerous. “Cute. But let’s be serious. I’m the only reason you haven’t been expelled. One signature and you’re out on your pretty little ass.”

Satoru opened his mouth, closed it, then glared harder. He hated that Geto was right. He hated it even more that the guy looked stupidly good while being right.

Geto slid off the desk and walked toward him, slow and deliberate. Satoru’s pulse went stupidly loud. Embarrassingly loud. Geto’s eyes skimmed over him like he was reading a secret written on his skin.

“I can make sure you graduate,” Geto said, stopping close enough that Satoru could feel his breath. “Or I can let the board fail you. Your choice.”

“What do you want then?” Satoru muttered. “A medal? A hug? My fucking soul?”

Geto’s eyes dipped to his lips for half a second. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t like it when I push you around.”

Satoru froze. His brain decided to stop being useful.

Geto noticed instantly, and his smirk sharpened. “See? With everyone else you run your mouth nonstop. But with me?” He lifted a hand, letting his fingers brush Satoru’s jaw in the lightest, most infuriating way. “You get real quiet. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Satoru swallowed hard and huffed, trying to regain control. “Maybe I just think you talk too fucking much.”

Geto’s grin grew slow and wicked. “And maybe you like it.”

The moment stretched between them, hot and tense.

Then Geto stepped back just enough to leave Satoru breathing again. Barely.

“Graduate, Satoru,” Geto said as he walked to the door. “I’ll make sure it happens. But you’re going to owe me.”

“Owe you what?” Satoru demanded.

Geto paused in the doorway and glanced back, eyes dark with the kind of confidence that made Satoru want to kick something and kiss him at the same time.

“A date,” he said. “Don’t fuck up your grades before then.”