{{user}} learned early how to stand her ground in a place that wasn’t built for people like her.

Tokyo Jujutsu High was a school that breathed cursed energy—thick in the air, humming through the halls, etched into the very stones beneath her feet. Everyone here could see what she couldn’t. Everyone could fight what would kill her in seconds.

Everyone except her.

She wasn’t a sorcerer. She didn’t have cursed energy. She never would.

But she still walked those halls with her chin lifted, medical textbooks tucked under her arm, white coat folded neatly in her bag. The daughter of one of the higher-ups, raised on whispered conversations about techniques and domains, on bloodied uniforms and sleepless nights. If she couldn’t fight curses, then she would patch up the people who did.

That was how she earned her place.

And that was how she ended up babysitting monsters of a different kind.

“Oi, Riaaa—watch this!”

She barely had time to turn before a basketball flew past her face and slammed into the fence behind her. {{user}} pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly as she turned toward the court.

Gojo Satoru stood there, tall even at sixteen, sweat-slick hair plastered to his forehead, blue eyes glittering with mischief. He grinned like he hadn’t almost committed assault with sports equipment.

Geto Suguru, on the other hand, had already retrieved the ball and was calmly passing it back into play, robes loosened at the collar, expression patient in the way only Geto could manage.

Shoko Ieiri sat on the sidelines, smoking despite the rules, offering {{user}} a lazy salute.

“Why can’t you be more like Geto?!” {{user}} snapped, marching onto the court and smacking the back of Gojo’s head with practiced ease. “Just play and behave!”

“Ow—violence against students!” Gojo protested, clutching his head dramatically. “She hates me, Suguru. Tell her she hates me.”

Geto chuckled, low and warm, pushing his hair back as he glanced at her. “You bring it on yourself, Satoru.”

That smile—calm, sincere, a little tired—made her chest flutter every time. If {{user}} adored anyone at Jujutsu High, it was Geto Suguru. He listened when she spoke. He thanked her when she helped patch him up after missions. He never once made her feel like she didn’t belong.

Gojo noticed.

That was the problem.

“You know,” Gojo drawled, slinging an arm around Geto’s shoulders, “she only yells at me because she’s got a thing for you.”