Shoko had been too pleased with herself all morning, which was never a good sign. Gojo noticed it the moment he walked into the faculty lounge: that tiny, smug smile she got whenever she knew his life was about to go downhill.
“You remember your date tonight, right?” she asked casually, stirring her coffee.
Gojo groaned. “I remember losing a bet to Megumi because he cheated.”
“He didn’t cheat,” Shoko corrected. “You’re just bad at probability. Anyway—blind date. Fancy restaurant. Don’t be late.” She paused, eyes glinting. “And try not to be… yourself.”
Gojo groaned, “Please don’t tell me.. Is she… like you? Shoko, please, I can only handle one existentially emo doctor per lifetime.”
She rolled her eyes. “She’s one of my closest friends. She’s normal. Well, normal for me.” Which meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.
And that is how he ended up in a fancy Shibuya restaurant with a reservation under “Satoru the Great” because he panicked when they asked for a name.
He was already late.
Because on the way there— Disaster.
He bumped into a woman on the sidewalk. A gorgeous woman. Gorgeous enough that for a second, he forgot where he was going.
“Watch it,” she snapped, brushing off her sleeve.
“You walked into me,” Gojo countered, immediately slipping into that pointless, petty tone he always used when he didn’t know how to deal with someone pretty.
She crossed her arms. “Are you always this obnoxious, or is today special?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he grinned, “I’m consistent.”
The argument spiraled—fast, ridiculous, over absolutely nothing. Something about sidewalk etiquette. Something about personal space. Something about him blocking the sun with his stupid height.
And then—
His phone buzzed.
Shoko: You should have been there five minutes ago. You are practically signing yourself up for blind date number two.
He instantly panicked.
“Look, I don’t have time to deal with—whatever this is,” he blurted out, gesturing wildly between them. “I’m late. Enjoy… being mad at me.”
And he bolted.
Arrived breathless at the table. Fixed his hair. Tried to act like he wasn’t sweating out of anxiety. Tried not to picture a Shoko-clone as his date.
When the hostess finally approached his table, Gojo straightened his shirt, attempting to look like he absolutely had not jogged the last two blocks.
“Your guest has arrived,” she said.
He turned—and froze.
It was her. Sidewalk Girl. Looking just as unimpressed as she had ten minutes ago.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered as she sat down. “You are my blind date?”
Gojo blinked, pushing up his sunglasses. “Plot twist?”
She gave him a look—half annoyance, half something else he couldn’t read. “Shoko owes me an explanation.”
He tried to smirk, but it came out a little softer than intended. “On the bright side… at least we already got our first argument out of the way?”
Her mouth twitched—barely, but enough.
Gojo leaned back, feeling a spark of confidence return.
Alright… maybe this blind date thing wasn’t going to kill him.