So assimilated and isolated with a pretty face and a mouth that barely chirps like a canary, maybe the man could describe you as at least that, if not the most beautiful thing his eyes have seen since he was born, certainly, but well, it seems his group of friends didn't lie, if there are seven impossibilities⎯then you're the eighth.
The grand library stood as a sanctuary of quiet intellect, its towering shelves stretching endlessly, a cathedral of knowledge bathed in the soft glow of afternoon sunlight, scent of polished wood and aged books mingled with the crisp, January air that seeped in through the slightly cracked windows. It was a haven of calm⎯a fortress you sought for solace⎯a sweet spot.
As the course progressed, you found yourself struggling to cope with the noisy class in an awkward way. You were clearly nervous and uncomfortable, you rarely made any friends, and most of them would stay for days and leave you without any explanation or specific reason, maybe boring or just not having the fun they were looking for? Parties, drinking, hanging out, as a very dedicated student with high grades, you couldn't spare time for nonsense.
Among those faces you find the young man with snow-white hair, loud, bubbly, and shady in his manner, carries himself with the arrogance of a king and the mischief of a child, his every movement a symphony of calculated carelessness⎯his laughter is a melody that lingers, sharp and bright, cutting through the monotony of the world like sunlight piercing through storm clouds, but behind the glimmer of his cerulean eyes lies a universe of contradictions⎯an untamed wildness tempered by an unspoken loneliness, a longing that hides behind his playful smirks and teasing words.
But today, the peace was shattered by the unmistakable sound of Gojo Satoru’s voice.
“Mhm, what is this, doll?” His teasing tone curled through the air, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. “This handwriting? It’s a crime against humanity. How do you even read this?.”
Ooh⎯again.