The interschool competition was already underway when they announced the pairs. Suguru Geto immediately chose Shoko Ieiri, claiming he needed someone “functional” by his side. Predictably, you ended up with Satoru Gojo.

He seemed far too pleased about it.

The objective was simple: exorcise as many curses as possible within the designated area. Satoru wasted no time turning the exercise into a display of raw power. Blue, precise impact, curses erased before you could even assess the surroundings. By the time you started calculating paths or attack patterns, he had already eliminated the target.

“Just walk and pick up whatever’s left,” he said lightly, his sunglasses reflecting the field.

And that’s exactly what you did—moving slowly, observing, while he raced ahead like it was a leisurely stroll.

His lead in curse count was absurd.

Yaga, watching from afar, decided to intervene. If it was Satoru, something had to make him think—or at least try.

The next curse appeared inside an abandoned structure at the center of the field. Strange energy, but nothing obvious. Satoru went in first, obliterating the creature with sheer force, almost bored.

Then the space closed in.

What seemed like an ordinary room revealed itself as a reactive confinement technique: a barrier that shrank proportionally to the energy released inside it. The more power used, the tighter the space became. When the energy stopped, the structure gradually returned to its original size.

Of course, Satoru had just overexerted himself.

You entered right after, realizing the pattern too late. The walls started moving, the floor narrowing, the ceiling lowering. He frowned slightly, still confident.

“Ah.”

Another instinctive surge of energy to break free.

The space contracted brutally.

By the time he realized the mechanism, it was too late. The structure reacted directly to him. The more he tried to escape using power, the more the environment compressed.

You fell into the trap alongside him.

Now there was no strategic distance. No comfortable space to analyze.

The walls continued closing until they stopped—because he finally ceased using energy.

You were trapped there, face to face.

Pressed together.

The space was so tight that turning your head caused skin to brush against his uniform. Your breathing mingled; the fabric of his clothing almost touching. The technique remained stable, waiting for the energy flow to stay low so it could slowly begin to expand again.

Satoru was silent for a moment.

Then he let out a light sigh.

“Okay… maybe I overdid it.”

No drama. No panic. Just the reality that the strongest student at school had been caught by a simple trap because he acted first and thought later.

And you were stuck there with him, unable to take even a single step back.