thehighpriestess1

[thehighpriestess1]

Almost Mine: Chapter 1

In Diamond Hill, power comes dressed in silk and secrets. And for the chosen few? Survival isn't about grades— It's about who burns, and who learns how to set the fire. A new student, an exiled princes returns, unspoken confessions, old flames coming face to face. All this before the school has even begun. One might wonder what lies ahead for the elites of the Diamond hill.

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Theme: Drama

Taglist: Open

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The soft hum of the car engine was the only sound Ayaka could focus on as Tokyo’s skyline came into view. The sprawling rice fields and sleepy villages of her hometown had long vanished in the rearview mirror, replaced by glittering skyscrapers, intricate overpasses, and buzzing streets teeming with life. She pressed her forehead gently against the window, eyes wide as the city unfolded around her like a scene from a futuristic novel.

Utahime’s invitation had come like a ripple across the surface of Ayaka’s otherwise quiet life. A cousin she’d only seen twice at distant family gatherings, now offering her a place to stay—and more than that, a new path entirely. “Come to Tokyo. Finish your schooling here,” Utahime had said. But what she hadn’t mentioned was the sheer scale of the life she was stepping into.

Ayaka's phone buzzed with a message—another update from the school registrar—but she barely glanced at it. Her hands tightened around the edge of her seat as the car veered off the city’s main roads and began its ascent toward a quieter, greener realm. The contrast was stark: the neon chaos of Tokyo fading behind, replaced by manicured hedges, stone-lined paths, and trees that looked too perfect to be natural.

“Diamond Hill,” the driver murmured, as if naming a myth.

Ayaka’s breath caught in her throat. She remembered reading about it during her research before the move. The stories seemed ridiculous at first—urban legends, surely. A billionaire once purchased the land here, paying entirely in raw diamonds. The tabloids had nicknamed it "Diamond Hill," and the name stuck, partly because it felt too outrageous not to.

Now, as they looped around the hill, Ayaka could believe every word. Each turn of the road revealed sprawling mansions tucked behind wrought-iron gates, their facades dripping in old money—columns, balconies, water fountains, and drives large enough to host a wedding.

The car finally slowed and turned into a wide driveway paved with slate-gray stones. A discreet gold plaque read: No. 20. 

Ayaka and her mother exchanged a glance before the driver opened their door. As they stepped out, the full scale of the mansion loomed before them—an elegant structure of white stone and pale wood, with tall arched windows and soft ivy trailing down one wing like lace. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air.

The front doors opened with perfect timing.

Utahime stood at the top of the steps in a flowing pastel blouse, her long black hair neatly tied back, and beside her was her mother, graceful and poised, the kind of woman whose presence filled a room even without saying a word.

“Ayaka! Oba-san! Welcome to Diamond Hill,” Utahime called out, descending the stairs with a warm smile.

Ayaka bowed politely, as did her mother. There was a brief exchange of greetings, hugs, and comments about how much Ayaka had grown, followed by Utahime’s mother ushering them inside with a hand placed lightly on Ayaka’s mother’s back.

Utahime turned to Ayaka and gestured with a playful tilt of her head. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

The moment they stepped inside, Ayaka’s senses were flooded. The entrance hall alone was larger than her entire living room back home. Marble floors glistened beneath a massive chandelier, and the walls were lined with art she could only guess was real. A grand staircase swept up in a spiral, and sunlight filtered in through ceiling-high windows, scattering rainbows across the floor.

As they walked, Ayaka tried not to gape, but every corner of the mansion felt like a museum or a dream—or both. Glass-paneled doors opened into rooms with velvet armchairs and hand-carved bookcases, while hallways seemed to stretch forever, each turn revealing something more ornate: an indoor koi pond, a private music room, a library with an actual ladder.

Finally, Utahime stopped in front of a double door and pushed it open.

“This is your room,” she said simply.

Ayaka stepped in and froze.

It was bigger than her entire house back home. A queen-sized bed sat in the center, framed by sheer curtains and soft gold linens. A writing desk faced the windows that looked out over the hill, and a walk-in wardrobe took up one whole wall. There were soft rugs underfoot, paintings on the walls, and a small balcony with potted plants swaying gently in the breeze.

“Is this... really mine?” Ayaka asked softly.

Utahime grinned. “Every bit of it. Welcome to your new life, Ayaka.”

Ayaka walked toward the window, fingers brushing the velvet curtain. The city shimmered far below like a sea of stars. She felt as though she’d stepped into a different universe—one of privilege, mystery, and unknown rules.

Ayaka sat gingerly on the edge of the plush bed, her fingers trailing along the soft gold stitching of the comforter. She still couldn’t believe this was her room—her life now. The quiet hum of city sounds far below was oddly calming, unlike the thick silence of the countryside. Utahime plopped down beside her with practiced ease, folding one leg beneath her and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Utahime said, smiling gently.

Ayaka gave a small nod, still looking around the room like she was trying to memorize it. “I don’t even know how to act in a house like this,” she said with a half-laugh. “Back home, if I dropped something on the floor, it rolled into the next room.”

Utahime laughed, a warm, melodic sound. “Well, here it might roll into a chandelier.”

They sat in a comfortable pause, letting the last traces of the long journey settle. Then Utahime’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Ayaka,” she said. “After… everything, I mean.”

Ayaka glanced down at her hands. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her father’s absence had followed her like a shadow ever since the funeral. Even now, six months later, there were moments when the grief hit like a wave she didn’t see coming. Her mother had done her best, but things had been tight—emotionally, financially, everything. When Utahime’s family offered to bring her to Tokyo, it was the only option that made sense, even if it felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

“Thank you… for this. I don’t think I ever really said it properly,” Ayaka said quietly. “Your family didn’t have to help. But you did.”

Utahime shook her head. “You’re family. That’s all that matters.”

She stood up suddenly and reached for her phone. “Okay, now—let me show you where we’re going to be spending most of our time. Elysian Hall.”

She tapped through her gallery and handed the phone to Ayaka.

Ayaka blinked. “It looks like a luxury resort.”

The photos showed sleek modern buildings with reflective glass panels, an Olympic-sized pool, gardens with cherry blossoms in full bloom, a multi-level library with glass floors, and a theatre hall that rivaled any professional stage she’d seen on TV.

“It’s one of the top private academies in the country,” Utahime said with a hint of pride. “Most of the students are… well, kids of the one-percenters. Politicians, tech billionaires, foreign diplomats. The uniforms have designers. The cafeteria has a sushi chef. And don’t even get me started on the robotics lab.”

Ayaka’s eyes widened. “Do we… do we need to like, pay the chef to make lunch?”

Utahime burst into laughter. “No, no! But don’t be surprised if your lunch comes with a side of caviar.”

“Great,” Ayaka grinned. “Sound like a lot”.

“You’ll be fine. Besides,” Utahime added, nudging her lightly, “you’re one of us now.”

“How far is… our school?” she asked, still getting used to the way our sounded.

“Just on the other side of the hill,” Utahime replied, standing and walking toward the balcony. “It’s a ten-minute drive. Fifteen if there’s traffic—though traffic doesn’t really exist on Diamond Hill. Everyone’s too rich to be late.”

“Does it ever get… too perfect?” Ayaka asked after a beat.

Utahime tilted her head. “Sometimes. There’s a lot of pressure here. Image. Reputation. Some of the kids— they’re brilliant but always performing.”

She turned to Ayaka. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here. You’re real. This place needs more of that.”

Ayaka smiled. She felt a little less like an outsider then. The mansion, the school, the unfamiliar glitter of wealth—it still felt like a dream. But here, sitting beside Utahime with the cool breeze brushing her face and the city l far below, it also felt like maybe… just maybe, she could belong.

The setting sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting golden shadows across Ayaka’s new room. Half-unpacked suitcases lay open on the floor, her hands neatly folding her favorite sweater when there was a soft knock on the door.

As she tucked away her sweaters in a wardrobe that felt too nice for her clothes she went over Utahime’s words. A deep feeling pooled in her stomach but she didn’t know what to call it yet. Sure it was quite generous of her family to take her in after everything, but she wondered why now? Her family had struggled in the past. She remembered hearing her parents talk in hushed tones when her father lost his lucrative job at the law firm. Utahime’s family didn’t help them then. Why now? 

Ayaka sighed as she sat cross legged on the floor. She wasn’t exactly poor. She had seen money before and had lost everything. All this felt like a slap of a reminder of things she had lost. Her pity party was broken by a soft knock on the door,

“Come in,” Ayaka called.

Utahime strolled in, holding two glasses of iced tea, her ponytail bouncing slightly with every step. “Figured you could use a break,” she said, handing one to Ayaka. She flopped onto the velvet armchair near the window. “So, how’s the unpacking going?”

Ayaka laughed. “Slower than expected. I think your closet is bigger than my entire old bedroom.”

Utahime smirked. “It probably is.”

There was a pause as they sipped their tea, then Utahime tilted her head curiously. “So… what was your old school like? You know, before all this?”

Ayaka sat cross-legged on the bed. “Pretty normal, I guess. Public school. Uniforms that never fit right, a courtyard that turned into a swamp during monsoon season. Nothing remotely like Elysian Hall.”

“Ever have a boyfriend?” Utahime asked casually, but there was a glint in her eye that didn’t quite match her tone.

Ayaka raised an eyebrow and smiled. “No, not really. I mean, I had a crush on a guy in third year who played guitar, but he barely knew my name.”

Utahime laughed softly. “Classic.”

Ayaka shot her a curious glance. “And what about you? What’s your school life been like? Are the students… nice?”

“Nice?” Utahime echoed, grinning. “Some are. Most are… complicated.”

She pulled out her phone. “Here, let me show you some of the people you’ll be seeing every day.”

She scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen to Ayaka. “This is Hana, and that’s Rika. We’ve been in the same class since year seven.”

Ayaka took the phone. Both girls were stunning, their feeds curated with magazine-worthy selfies, designer handbags, vacation shots, and gym mirror pics. The kind of girls who looked like they belonged on billboards.

“Wow,” Ayaka muttered. “They look like influencers.”

“They kind of are,” Utahime said. “But don’t worry, not everyone is all filters and Fendi.”

Ayaka handed the phone back. “Are there cliques? Like… mean girl groups?”

Utahime gave a dry laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Elysian Hall thrives on cliques. They don’t officially exist, but everyone knows where the lines are.”

She scrolled again. “Speaking of lines… here.”

She flipped the screen around, showing a boy with messy white hair, striking blue eyes, and a smile that looked like it had broken more than a few hearts.

Ayaka blinked. “Who is that?”

“Gojo Satoru,” Utahime said with a soft sight. “He’s… well, he’s like the king of Elysian Hall.”

Ayaka stared at the screen. Gojo was posing in front of a private jet, grinning with sunglasses pushed up into his hair. In another post, he leaned back casually on the deck of a yacht, looking like he belonged on the cover of a luxury lifestyle magazine.

“His great-great-grandfather bought Diamond Hill,” Utahime added. “With diamonds. Literally.”

Ayaka’s mouth hung open. “So that’s real.”

“Oh, it’s very real.” Utahime nodded with a smile. She continued, “His best friend is Geto Suguru. His entire family are lawyers—they own Takashima & Partners. Biggest law firm in the country.”

Ayaka nodded slowly, her father’s law firm ,taking it all in. “They sound… intense.”

“They are. But also charming, rich, and terrifyingly well-connected.”

Ayaka stared at the screen, wondering how she’d ever fit into a place like this. “How is he …so …”, Ayaka trailed off as she scrolled further.

“Rich?”utahime asked, sipping her ice tea. “Well his family owns almost..everything. Retail stores, real estate, banks..you name it and they probably own it”.

“So Gojo is the king,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Who’s the queen, then?”, She asked jokingly

Utahime’s smile faltered. Her grip on the phone tightened before she finally tapped a name and handed it to Ayaka again, her voice sharp. “There is no ‘official’ queen but this…. this is Y/N.”

The screen loaded a profile with thousands of followers. Y/N’s posts were polished and glossy—designer fashion, weekend getaways, luxury galas, rooftop dinners. Ayaka scrolled slowly, her eyes wide. “She’s gorgeous,” she murmured. “And her life…”

“She’s untouchable,” Utahime said flatly. “Her family owns more than half of the telecom network in the country. Towers, satellites, everything.”

Ayaka flipped through more posts—photos on yachts, candlelit dinners, and a snapshot from Monaco. Gojo and Geto were beside Y/N, both in linen shirts and sunglasses, drinks in hand. “She seems…nice”.

“It’s all pretend”.

“Really?”, Ayaka's eyes widened.

“Of course! No one is that nice when they are that rich! She probably doesn’t even know anyone outside her own group. She is… she is just.. Not nice okay?”.

“Wow. You really seem to dislike her”.

“We have had our differences in the past but it’s irrelevant to you”. Utahime flashes a tight lip smile.

“Who’s the other girl in this photo?” Ayaka asked, pointing at a girl with warm eyes and long brown hair, leaning back against the railing.

“Shoko Ieiri,” Utahime replied. “Her family owns Sakura Health Group—they run the biggest hospital chain in the country.”

Ayaka’s jaw dropped. “Sakura General? That’s where I was born!”

Utahime nodded. “Of course you were. That’s where everyone’s born—if they can afford it.”

Ayaka put the phone down slowly, her thoughts spinning. These people weren’t just rich—they were legacy-rich. Their names meant something. Their last names opened doors.

She leaned back on the bed, exhaling softly. “This is going to be… a whole different world.”

Utahime looked at her thoughtfully. “Yeah. But you don’t have to change who you are. Just… learn to play the game.”

Ayaka met her cousin’s eyes. “And who taught you how to play it?”

Utahime smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I might not be as old money but I am smart and I pay attention. You have a month until school starts so start prepping”. Utahime winked.

She continued to scroll through Y/N’s Instagram feed, each photo more extravagant than the last—high-fashion photoshoots in Paris, summer yacht parties in the Amalfi Coast, a New Year’s Eve gala in what looked like an actual castle. The captions were minimal, the comments flooded with emojis and hearts. It was the kind of life Ayaka had only ever seen on glossy magazine covers.

“She looks like she belongs on the front of Vogue,” Ayaka murmured, entranced. “And she travels so much…”

Utahime, standing beside her, folded her arms and watched quietly. “Her family has their own jet. She probably wakes up and decides whether she wants to do brunch in Tokyo or Milan.”

As Ayaka continued scrolling, she landed on a photo from a year ago—Y/N in a backless emerald dress, laughing mid-spin on a balcony overlooking Monaco’s coastline. Gojo and Geto were in the background, caught in a candid moment, drinks in hand.

The image was perfect. Ayaka’s finger hovered just a second too long.

Double tap.

A soft heart bloomed beneath the photo.

A beat of silence.

Then—Ayaka screamed.

“OH NO NO NO—”

Utahime lunged forward. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“I liked it—I liked a photo from A YEAR AGO!!”

“GIVE ME THAT!” Utahime snatched the phone and furiously tapped at the screen. “Oh my god. Did she see? Did it register? Please—ugh—unliked it—there. Okay. Crisis… maybe avoided.”

Ayaka covered her face with both hands, mortified. “I was just scrolling! I didn’t mean to!”

Utahime exhaled sharply, pacing the floor once before sitting down with a thud in the armchair. “You cannot afford to make mistakes like that here, Ayaka.”

Ayaka peeked through her fingers. “It was just a like—”

“Not in this world, it’s not,” Utahime cut in, voice calmer now, but edged with seriousness. “These people notice everything. A wrong glance, a bad repost, a stray comment—hell, even the way you tie your hair can get dissected in someone’s group chat.”

Ayaka sat up straighter, the weight of her cousin’s words slowly settling in.

Utahime continued, “You’ve got one shot here, Ayaka. One. People like us? We don’t come from family empires or private islands. But if you play your cards right… if you pay attention… you can rise. You can make a life that’s untouchable.”

The air grew still.

Utahime stood, smoothing out her skirt and avoiding Ayaka’s eyes. “I’m not trying to scare you,” she added, her tone softer. “But this place—Elysian Hall, Diamond Hill—it’s not just school or home. It’s… the first rung of a very, very tall ladder.”

Ayaka didn’t say anything.

Utahime gave a faint smile. “Dinner’s at seven. I’ll send someone to show you around the house before that.”

She turned and walked toward the door, pausing just briefly before exiting. “Oh, and Ayaka?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re smart. Just… be smart quietly. At least for now.”

Then she was gone.

Ayaka was left sitting in silence, still holding the phone like it might burn her. She glanced down at the screen again. The photo was still there—Y/N, radiant in emerald, surrounded by the untouchable.

Ayaka leaned back slowly, her thoughts churning.

Was this how it started?

Notebooks replaced by designer bags. Popularity measured by engagement rates. Success was based on who you knew rather than what you could do.

She had come here with a suitcase and hope. They had come with surnames that carried weight like currency.

Ayaka stared up at the ceiling, her heart beating a little faster than before.

What does it take to belong here? she wondered.

And more importantly—

What would it cost?

She stared at herself in the full length mirror in the corner, her straight black hair formed a perfect line right below her shoulder, there was nothing impressive about them. Even her slender frame was average. Everything about her was just…average. How can she ever get noticed in the world of perfection?

Nanami groaned as he dropped heavily onto the bed, the mattress giving way beneath him with a soft creak. He stared blankly at the ceiling — the same ceiling he’d memorized on countless sleepless nights, tracing the faint cracks like constellations. And now, here he was again. Back in this house. Back in this room. Back against his will.

A gentle knock tapped at the door.

“Master Kento,” came a soft, familiar voice from just beyond the frame.

“Come in, Albert,” Nanami replied, sitting up with a tired grunt. He rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the weight of the flight and the years in one motion.

The door opened quietly, and Albert stepped in, as proper as ever, carrying a silver tray with a single glass of orange juice resting at its center. The butler’s expression was warm, almost apologetic.

“Welcome back, young master.” Albert approached the bedside table and set the tray down with practiced grace. “How is your jet lag?”

“Not too bad,” Nanami said, more out of politeness than truth. He reached for the glass and drained it in one long gulp. The cold citrus bit at his throat, but it helped. A little. “Where’s Father?”

“He mentioned he would join you for dinner this evening.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched. “Mother?”

“She’s at the charity event” Albert said gently, folding his hands in front of him. “She plans to return after lunch.”

A bitter laugh escaped Nanami’s lips before he could stop it. Of course. He had returned after seven years — seven years without so much as a proper visit — and they couldn’t even be bothered to be home.

“I’d like to sleep,” he said flatly, placing the empty glass back on the tray. “Wake me before dinner.”

Albert gave a small, respectful bow. “As you wish, Master Kento.” Then he quietly turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Nanami let out a long breath and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders. He glanced around the room — untouched, preserved like a museum exhibit. The same books on the shelves. The same posters on the wall. The same trophies. A snapshot of a boy who’d never been allowed to grow roots.

He remembered the last time he stood in this room. His father had barged in without warning, handed him a sleek envelope containing a one-way business-class ticket to Switzerland, and left without a word of explanation. That night, he lay awake, staring at the same ceiling, wondering what he’d done wrong.

Seven years. Seven Christmases spent in a boarding school nestled in the Swiss Alps. Every year he asked if he could come home, and every year, his father denied him. They traveled, sure — the Maldives, Monaco, Marrakech — but those weren’t home. Resorts were not home. He wanted this room. This house. His family.

By the third  Christmas, he stopped asking.

And just when life in Switzerland had finally begun to feel stable — friends, routines, a version of belonging — the email came. Another one-way ticket, this time to Tokyo. No discussion. No warning. Just a command.

He remembered sitting in his dorm room, staring at the screen as reality sank in. His chest felt hollow. Once again, he had no choice.

Now he was here. Transferred to Elysian Hall, a place filled with polished students who had grown up together, who shared secrets and summer memories he couldn’t access. He was a stranger again. A transplant with no soil.

Nanami lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, exhaustion pressing down like gravity. But sleep wouldn’t come easy. It never did,not in this house.

The air was thick with humidity as Nanami laced up his sneakers and stepped outside. The morning sun was veiled behind drifting clouds, casting soft, dappled shadows over the stone path that curved away from House No. 15, Diamond Hill — his family’s estate. The mansion stood tall and immaculate, untouched by time, but it felt as foreign to him as a stranger’s house.

He didn’t really have a plan — just the restless weight in his chest and the urgent need to move. To breathe something that wasn’t filtered air and expectation.

He jogged through the private gates and onto the wide, tree-lined boulevard. The trail that looped around Diamond Hill was surrounded by manicured greenery and old oaks that whispered in the breeze. It was beautiful — pristine, even — but sterile in the way all expensive things tend to be.

As his feet fell into rhythm on the pavement, his thoughts slipped back into the same old spiral.

Starting over. Again.Another school. Another cafeteria full of polished students with shared inside jokes. Another stretch of hallways where he’d be just a name on a class roster. They'd know of him, sure — the only heir to the Reiji industry. But they wouldn’t know him.

He didn’t remember much but he remembered you.

You weren’t best friends but you were close. You'd share space — not just physical space in classrooms or school corridors, but emotional space. The quiet, comfortable kind. You had once lent him a book when no one else noticed he hadn’t brought one. You never asked questions, and he never explained. But it stayed with him. He wondered if you’d remember him. After everything.

Now, jogging through this polished world that had never felt like his, Nanami wondered how you were. If you still went to Elysian Hall. If you even remembered him at all.

He had cut everyone off on purpose before he left. Deleted every contact. It felt easier — cleaner. Like erasing a version of himself that didn’t belong anywhere. But now… maybe that had been a mistake.

Just then, the sharp purr of an engine snapped him from his thoughts. A Bugatti Chiron Super Sport coasted past him with effortless arrogance — sleek, matte graphite, and gleaming in the sun. It turned down a side road toward another mansion, another fortress of glass and marble.

Nanami slowed to a walk and scoffed under his breath.

This was his new world. Where the cars cost more than people made in a year. Where the houses had names, not addresses. And yet, even though he had been born here — in House No. 15, no less — he had never really fit.

He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his hoodie, taking in a long, steadying breath as the clouds above began to shift, parting just enough to let the light break through.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, cold and empty.

Maybe… maybe it was time to look into people he would be studying with.

Geto Suguru stepped out of his Bugatti Chiron Super Sport, the low hum of the engine fading as he tossed the keys to the valet with the easy confidence of someone who’d been chauffeured in Bentleys before he could walk. The Gojo mansion loomed before him in all its brutalist-meets-neoclassical glory—white stone, steel accents, and glass panels catching the soft blush of the setting sun.

He adjusted the sleeves of his Berluti double-breasted jacket, the fine wool framing his lean silhouette. Beneath it, a charcoal cashmere turtleneck and slim-cut black trousers finished the look. His black leather Chelsea boots clicked neatly against the stone steps. Everything about him—his walk, his clothes, even the way he tilted his head at the butler—spoke of old money, new edge.

The staff greeted him by name. Of course they did. He'd been a permanent fixture here since he was three. He and Satoru Gojo had been raised in the same circles—ski parties in Switzerland, summer in South of France, polite smirks passed across crowded charity galas.

“Satoru!” he called out, walking into the expansive sitting room like it was his own. He dropped onto the cloud-like linen sofa, one leg draped lazily over the other as he scrolled through his phone.

“You’re late,” Gojo announced, hurrying down the grand staircase two steps at a time, a trace of exasperation in his voice. “Y/N’s going to kill me if I show up late again.”

Gojo was dressed immaculately in a blue Ralph Lauren sweater with sleeves rolled to his elbows and navy pants . His platinum-white hair was neatly styled.

Geto smirked. “Why are you so terrified of her?”

“She’s scary,” Gojo muttered, pausing to glance at his reflection in the hallway mirror, subtly fixing a flyaway strand of hair. “Scarier than my mother.”

“Who’s scarier than me?” came a cool, poised voice.

Mrs. Gojo entered with the grace of a woman who sat on six philanthropic boards and had turned down an ambassadorship for being “too public.” Her cream Prada suit hugged her tall frame, the sharp pleats offset by the softness of her classic Mikimoto pearls. Her heels—Manolo Blahniks, clicked elegantly across the polished marble.

Geto gave her a respectful nod, barely hiding his amusement. “Satoru says Y/N’s more intimidating than you.”

She narrowed her eyes and walked up to her son, giving his ear a small but pointed tug. “You should be afraid of her. A lady’s time is valuable. Don’t keep her waiting.”

“Ow—okay, okay, Mom!” Gojo pulled away with a sheepish grin.

She smoothed the lapel of his blazer. “And don’t forget the Orientation Gala is in three days. I expect both of you to have your suits pressed and ready. I’m not calling another designer at the last minute because you suddenly ‘don’t vibe’ with charcoal grey again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Geto replied with a practiced bow, linking arms with Gojo as he steered him toward the exit. “We’ll behave. Promise.”

“Bye boys!” Mrs. Gojo called after them, watching with a small smile as the pair vanished through the front door, already bickering like brothers. “They grow up so quickly,” she sighed, “and not nearly enough.”

Outside, Geto veered toward his Bugatti but stopped when he noticed Gojo striding confidently toward a gleaming new Ferrari 296 GTB, painted in a rich Rosso Corsa red, the finish gleaming under the twilight.

“What now?” Geto asked.

“I want to take the new car,” Gojo said simply, running a hand over the smooth curve of the hood.

“I’m not coming back here to get mine,” Geto groaned, arms crossed.

“I’ll send a driver,” Gojo said smugly, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Y/N said my mom would never let me get this car. I have to prove her wrong.”

Geto raised a brow as he circled to the passenger side. “And did she?”

Gojo buckled his seatbelt, then paused. “…No. My dad did.”

“So she was right.”

Gojo gave him a side glance. “You own a law firm, Suguru. You're not a lawyer. Stop cross-examining me.”

The engine roared to life, and the Ferrari peeled out of the estate gates—opulent, fast-paced, and just chaotic enough to be fun.

The Ferrari purred smoothly as it glided through the private road out of the Gojo estate, the city skyline beginning to flicker to life in the distance.

Geto leaned back in the passenger seat, long legs stretched out, scrolling lazily through his phone. After a beat, he said, “Pretty sure I saw Nanami Kento on the way here.”

Gojo’s eyes stayed on the road, but his brows furrowed behind his sunglasses. “Who the hell is Nanami Kento?”

Geto smirked. “You don’t remember? Formal dance.”

Gojo tilted his head slightly, trying to place the name. “Still nothing.”

“He asked y/n to the dance and she agreed then you got mad,” Geto continued, clearly enjoying the buildup. “Stormed out of third period maths and punched him square in the face. Gave him a black eye. His dad was called. He moved away soon after that”

There was a pause. Then Gojo’s lips twitched.

“Ohh—that fat kid?” he said with a low chuckle. “Little buzz cut, khaki pants pulled up to his chest? Always smelled like chalk?”

Geto gave him a sidelong glance, grinning. “Yeah. Except he doesn’t look fat anymore.”

Gojo’s head whipped slightly in his direction, sunglasses sliding just a hair down the bridge of his nose.

“Come again?”

Geto kept his face neutral, but his tone was loaded. “I’m telling you. Dude looked… decent. Clean cut. Still serious as hell, probably still does math in his head for fun—but not the same kid.”

Gojo scoffed. “Well, good for him. I guess puberty finally RSVP’d.”

“Mm,” Geto hummed, fingers tapping idly against the center console. “Or maybe he heard you were still around and started working out of sheer trauma.”

Gojo snorted, turning a corner with one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the volume of whatever soft jazz remix was playing through the speakers.

“Well, as long as he knows better than to ask Y/N out again,” he muttered.

Geto raised a brow, amused. “Still holding a grudge?”

“I don’t hold grudges,” Gojo said casually. “I bury them in expensive silk and make sure they never resurface.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is,” Gojo replied with a grin. “But only if Nanami still has the audacity to think he can talk to her.”

Geto laughed, shaking his head. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Rich, hot, and insufferable,” Gojo corrected,. “And not remotely sorry about it.”

Nanami Kento kept a steady pace, earbuds in, sweat darkening the collar of his faded athletic tee. His usual route circled around the quieter back streets of Diamond Hill, far from the weekend brunch chaos.

He was mid-stride near the gated entrance of the Diamond Hill Club when the low purr of a luxury car eased to a stop beside him. Nanami slowed, brows knitting slightly as he tugged out an earbud.

The tinted window on the passenger side rolled down smoothly.

“Nanami Kento?” a familiar voice called.

He turned to face it, expression calm but puzzled. A woman sat behind the wheel, chic sunglasses perched atop her head, her expression open and bright.

“Yes,” he said, voice low but polite. “That’s me.”

The woman beamed. “Oh wow! You’re back!”

Nanami offered a small, polite smile—one he often used when someone remembered him but he didn’t quite return the favor.

She seemed to catch the hesitation in his eyes and gestured behind her. “This is my cousin, Ayaka.”

She leaned back slightly, and from the passenger side in the back seat, a girl with glossy black hair and soft features leaned forward and waved with a small smile. “Hi,” she said.

Nanami nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re heading to the club for coffee,” Utahime said breezily. “Want to join us?”

Nanami glanced down at himself—grey joggers, running shoes, and a moisture-wicking tee that clung to his chest. “I’m not remotely dressed for the club.”

Utahime laughed. “You live on Diamond Hill. It doesn’t matter how you're dressed. You could walk in wearing a towel and no one would blink.”

Nanami hesitated, about to politely decline, until a thought crossed his mind. It was Saturday… and if memory served, you tended to spend late mornings at the Diamond Hill Club café, reading or sketching or sipping those outrageously overpriced lattes.

He opened the door and got in. “Alright. Why not.”

Utahime smiled, pulling away smoothly from the curb.

“Ayaka just moved here last week,” she said as the car climbed the hill toward the club. “She’ll be joining us at Elysian Hall.”

“That’s nice,” Nanami replied, glancing into the rearview mirror to offer Ayaka a quick smile. “Welcome to the chaos.”

Ayaka laughed softly. “Thank you. Everyone keeps saying that.”

Utahime looked over. “So are you back for good? Or just visiting your parents?”

“I’m back,” Nanami said, settling into the leather seat. “Returning to Elysian Hall.”

Utahime looked pleasantly surprised. “Oh…Wow. After all these years?”

Nanami nodded. “It felt… unfinished.”

She didn’t press, just hummed thoughtfully as the car wound up the hill. Ayaka glanced between them, sensing there was more to that sentence than Nanami was willing to say out loud.

The terrace of the Diamond Hill Club was washed in soft morning light overlooking the entrance on one side and the sprawling lawn on the other, the air tinged with the scent of citrus trees and freshly baked croissants. A few tables away, someone’s golden retriever lounged under a shaded bench, its owner reading The Financial Times.

Nanami sat across from Utahime and Ayaka at a small marble table tucked into a corner of the terrace. He cradled a plain black coffee between his palms—no sugar, no milk, just strong and clean. In contrast, Utahime and Ayaka each sipped vibrant matcha lattes, the kind topped with delicate foam art and garnished with dried rose petals.

Utahime had removed her sunglasses now, her eyes animated as she talked about changes at Elysian Hall—the new faculty, the expanded music wing, the sudden disappearance of uniforms on Fridays. Ayaka mostly listened, chiming in here and there, curious but clearly still adjusting to the social choreography of the place.

Nanami nodded occasionally, his responses thoughtful but brief. He wasn’t one for small talk, but he didn’t mind listening. Somewhere between Ayaka's story about her awkward first day at the hill and Utahime laughing about how the old library still smelled like varnished guilt, something clicked.

He looked at Utahime again. The cadence of her voice. That dry, slightly sarcastic edge. The way she gestured with her fingers, like she was sketching mid-air. He remembered her.

A quiet girl. Friendly, but overlooked. Not loud enough to be popular. Smart enough to be underestimated. He recalled her sitting near the window in history class, always with a pencil behind her ear and doodles in the margins of her notebook.

She had once offered him a pen when his’ broke during a test. He never forgot things like that. Nanami didn’t mention any of it. He just gave a small nod to himself and sipped his coffee.

Just then, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the entrance. A Ferrari glided to a smooth halt, and seconds later, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru stepped onto the patio like they owned the damn place.

A fleet of staff—host, manager, two waiters—appeared almost instantly. One took the keys, another whisked away imaginary dust from the table reserved under the shaded pergola. Their drink orders were probably already in. Someone brought a cold towel. The whole thing looked choreographed. Nanami scoffed quietly and took another sip of his coffee.

Utahime followed his gaze. “Ah,” she said, her tone neutral but knowing. “The elites of Elysian Hall.”

Ayaka looked curious. Finally the man whose instagram she stalked religiously over the past week was in front of her in flesh and blood. He was even more handsome in real life and photos didn’t do any justice to his sharp features and towering frame. “Should we go say hi?”.

Utahime shot her a sharp look, “No. We can’t”.

“Why not?”. Ayaka asked. “We are going to be in the same class”. An innocent comment made by the lack of knowledge about social ladder.

“We can’t”. Utahime didn’t expand further. She didn’t have the heart to tell Ayaka yet that she wasn’t in the elite circle. For Ayaka Utahime was a princess with a perfect life  of popularity and opulence and Utahime didn’t want to pop that bubble just yet.

Nanami didn’t say anything. He watched Gojo remove his sunglasses with an unnecessary flourish, while Geto—dressed like he’d walked out of a Milan runway show—grinned at something he whispered to a passing waitress.

Nanami leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

“Pretentious,” he muttered, barely loud enough to register.

Utahime raised an eyebrow, amused. “You knew them, right?”

“Knew of them,” Nanami replied coolly. “You don’t exactly know people like that. You just... observe them from a safe distance and make sure they don’t get in your way.”

Utahime smirked into her cup. “Spoken like someone who’s seen them get in a few.”

Nanami didn’t answer. He just looked out over the club’s sun-drenched lawn—and wondered, not for the first time since returning, what the hell he’d walked back into.

“They’re late,” Gojo smirked as he removed his sunglasses and placed them on the table with a soft clink. He glanced out over the trimmed lawn, then leaned back in his chair, arms stretching above his head like a cat in the sun.

“Yeah, well,” Geto replied, sipping his water, “they can be late. We can’t.”

Gojo let out a low chuckle. “See? You’re also scared.”

“I am not scared of anyone!” Geto shot back, placing his glass down a little too hard.

“Then what’s the rush?” Gojo grinned, arms now folded across his chest. “You sound like you’re reporting to your parole officer.”

Geto rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want to deal with the hassle.”

“Hassle of what?” Gojo tilted his head, smug.

“You know...” Geto waved a hand vaguely. “Having to explain why we were late. Again. Especially to Y/N. She has that look.”

Gojo snorted. “The one where she doesn’t yell, but you still feel like you’ve disappointed all of humanity?”

“Exactly.” Geto pointed a finger at Gojo, eyes narrowed, then paused like he was weighing a secret on his tongue. “I—uh—I have something to tell you. But you cannot tell Y/n. I’m serious. Sho will actually murder me.”

Gojo’s brows furrowed, suspicious but intrigued. “What is it?”

Geto glanced around, even though they were alone in the common room. He leaned in. “Y/n had a little… situation while she was on vacation. A fling. With some guy. Son of a hotelier or something.”

Gojo sat up straighter. “The fuck? When did this happen?”

“A couple weeks ago. Italy. Or was it Nice? I don’t know, somewhere coastal”

Gojo already had his phone out. “Name.”

Geto exhaled. “Louis Marchand.”

Gojo typed fast, and within seconds, he was on Louis’s profile. “This him?” he asked, turning the screen to Geto.

Geto glanced. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

Gojo stared. There was Louis, all tanned skin and champagne smiles, shirt unbuttoned too far, lounging on decks that cost more than most people's annual salaries.

“This guy?” Gojo scoffed. “You’re kidding me. He looks like a cologne ad no one asked for. Why’s his shirt open in every photo like he’s allergic to buttons?”

Geto shrugged, already amused. “French, rich, probably overcompensating.”

“He’s not even hot,” Gojo muttered. “He’s like… budget Timothée Chalamet with daddy’s credit card.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Satoru.”. Ghetto smirked

“I’m not jealous,” Gojo snapped, still scrolling. “I’m insulted.”

Then he froze. One of Louis’s latest posts: a scenic shot of some coastal view—captioned “Wish you were here.” You liked it.

Gojo’s thumb hovered. He switched to your account and then he scrolled further. A solo post of you on a balcony overlooking the sea. A familiar name in the comment section caught his eye. “Miss the view… and maybe you ;)” Gojo stared at it like it was a personal attack. “This motherfucker is still commenting on her stuff?”

“Oh,” Geto blinked, leaning in. “That’s recent.”

Gojo’s jaw flexed. “I’ll break his phone.”

“Dude—”

“I’m serious. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Flirting in her comments like it’s his goddamn runway. It’s embarrassing.”

Geto bit back a grin. “Why does it bother you this much? You two are just friends, right?”

Gojo didn’t answer.

Instead, he clicked on Louis’s story. Y/n was tagged—just once, at a beach bar. The tag was small. Almost hidden. In the corner a small text read, Miss the view, miss the company more.

Gojo muttered, “I’ll kill him.”

“Wow. Okay. Let’s not commit homicide over an Instagram story—”

“He tagged her,” Gojo growled. “Low. As. Fuck.”

“You’re really spiraling.”

Gojo turned to him, voice low and sharp. “He had his hands on her, Suguru. You get that? She was alone with him. He probably thought he had a chance. And now he’s still hovering like he’s waiting for her to circle back.”

Geto watched him carefully, tone sobering. “But she didn’t. She backed out. She came home.”

Gojo said nothing.

“Maybe you should stop pretending you don’t care,” Geto added.

Gojo’s grip on his phone tightened. His eyes flicked back to your most recent photo—your smile, your hair caught in the wind.

And right beneath it, Louis Marchand: “Still the prettiest view.”

Gojo’s thumb hovered over the comment.

Report. Block. Message.

He didn’t tap anything.

But his next words were low and lethal.

“If he ever touches her again,” he said, “he won’t be able to post with that hand.”

Outside the Diamond Hill Club, a sleek sakura pink Porsche 911 Carrera rolled to a stop in front of the grand stone entrance. The afternoon sun glinted off its polished surface, turning heads even in a place where wealth was the baseline. The valet straightened instinctively, smoothing his jacket as you opened the driver’s door yourself — a small, confident gesture — and stepped out with effortless grace.

Your cream Zimmermann sundress was the picture of soft luxury — linen and lace, tailored to slim the waist and flare just slightly above the knee. A single string of tiny seed pearls circled your neck, and your pale pink Lady Dior bag was slung lightly over your wrist like an afterthought. Even your heels — black patent Mary Janes — had that demure, expensive glint that didn’t scream wealth, but whispered it.

Shoko exited the passenger side with a yawn, dressed in her usual blend of quiet rebellion and subtle affluence — an oversized ivory cashmere cardigan from The Row, Ralph Lauren navy pleated skirt, and Prada loafers. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her sunglasses slid slightly down her nose as she scrolled idly through her phone. She didn’t even glance at the valet as she tossed him the keys.

You nodded warmly at the staff, greeting the doorman by name. “Good afternoon, Bernard,” you said with a small smile, and he gave you a respectful bow in return.

“Welcome back, Miss,” he replied, stepping aside as you and Shoko made your entrance.

The inside of the Diamond Hill Club smelled faintly of polished oak and citrus blossoms. Golden afternoon light streamed through the tall French windows, catching the gleam of glassware and the hush of clinking cutlery. A soft classical piano tune drifted through the space from a live quartet set up near the rear conservatory.

Shoko, true to habit, walked ahead toward your usual table near the arched windows. But you paused.

You had noticed someone.

Nanami Kento.

He was seated at a nearby table, clean-cut as always in a pressed navy athletic tee and shorts, sipping his black coffee like it was part of a quiet ritual. With him were Utahime — visibly startled by your presence — and a girl you didn’t recognize.

You hesitated for only a moment before turning toward their table. Your steps were light but sure, your poise untouched by the weight of so many eyes that now subtly turned to watch. A few murmurs followed your wake — not gossip, but the kind of admiration reserved for someone who always managed to appear just a little more refined than everyone else in the room.

At the table, Utahime’s back stiffened as she noticed you approaching. She turned quickly to the girl beside her. “Fix your posture,” she muttered under her breath.

Nanami looked up just as your shadow stretched across their table.

“Kento?…Nanami Kento?” you said, your voice a soft lilt, your head tilted with pleasant surprise.

He stood immediately, placing his coffee down with quiet precision. “Yes,” he replied, his expression flickering with recognition. “It’s… good to see you again.”

“I can’t believe it’s you..”,You offered a smile that made hearts skip a beat — the kind reserved for old acquaintances. “You’re here…wow…Are you back at the school?”

Nanami smiled and nodded, “Yes. I am”.

Your first instinct was to hug him like an old friend but you held yourself back. “That’s amazing! Oh wow I can’t believe it. You just…disappeared”.

“I had to go,” he answered simply.

You didn’t push. You never did. “We should get coffee sometime,” you said instead, brushing a wisp of hair behind your ear. “Catch up.”

Nanami nodded. “I’d like that.”

You turned to Utahime next and smiled. “Utahime. It’s been a while.”

She stood quickly, half-bowing. “Yes. It’s… good to see you.”

“How was your vacation?”. You asked in a sweet polished voice.

Utahime chuckled, “It was good. Not too bad”.

“And you are?” you asked politely, glancing toward the girl who had been silently observing you like she’d seen a goddess walk out of a dream.

“I’m Ayaka,” she stammered, standing clumsily and extending her hand. “I’ll be joining Elysian hall coming term”.

You took it gently, smiling. “Welcome to Elysian Hall, Ayaka. I hope you have a good time here. Where did you move from?.”

“Hakone”. Ayala spoke gingerly. Overtaken by your presence. “It’s..”.

“Oh I know. It has some of the best host springs resorts”.

“Yes!”. Ayaka smiled. “It does”.

“That explains your beautiful skin”. You smiled.

Nanami realized he couldn’t stop smiling. He looked down to hide the flush in his cheeks. 

Ayaka opened her mouth to reply, but all she could manage was a quiet “Thank you.” Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her mind racing to absorb everything — your voice, your scent, the subtle way your fingers moved when you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well Ayaka, I am sure Utahime is taking good care of you but if you need anything then please let me know. First day at a new school can be scary”.

“Yes..”. Ayaka stammered. “Yeah I will”.

You turned to Nanami and tilted your head playfully, “I am sure you wouldn’t need any help Kento”.

Nanami laughed. “I am good y/n”.

You shook your head with a smile, “I’ll let you guys enjoy your coffee. See you around”. You smiled. As you turned to leave, you paused, and turned once again. “Are you all coming to the orientation gala?”

Utahime and Ayaka exchanged a glance, slightly panicked.

“I didn’t know there was one,” Nanami admitted, stepping in.

You smiled again — a little softer this time. “Tuesday night. Formal. I’ll send the invite… to all of you”

“Thank you”. Utahime gleamed. 

“And..Utahime, if you’re free tomorrow, do you want to have a coffee? Ayaka you too. I would love to get to know you more”

Ayaka looked at Utahime for instructions but Utahime clasped her hands in front of her and nodded, “Absolutely. We would love that!”.

“Great then. See you tomorrow” And with that, you turned, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way toward the other end of the patio.

Ayaka watched you go, her eyes fixed on the delicate sway of your skirt, the quiet confidence of your walk. She couldn’t believe you were real. You were kind. Soft. Warm. Yet unreachable.

Out on the patio, Gojo stood when he saw you approaching. He pulled out your chair without a word, and you let your fingers graze his briefly in thanks as you sat. He leaned in to murmur something only you could hear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as you laughed — quiet and genuine.

Back at the table, Ayaka’s heart pinched watching the exchange.

A breeze teased the white linen table-cloth as your little circle settled back into a fragile equilibrium. The piano inside drifted into a Cole Porter standard; glasses were refreshed without anyone having to ask.

“Who were you talking to?” Gojo asked, glancing back at the other table—only to lock eyes with a stranger, unfamiliar and unreadable.

You smiled behind your coffee cup. “Nanami Kento.”

Gojo froze mid-turn, his gaze still lingering on the now-empty seat. Geto raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he followed Gojo’s line of sight.

“So he’s back, huh?” Gojo said, tone unreadable.

“Yeah. Looks like it. Utahime and her cousin were with him. I invited them to the Tuesday formal.”

Shoko choked on her drink, coughing into her sleeve before whipping her head toward you. “You what? Your dad is going to lose his mind.”

You shrugged casually, reaching over to pat Gojo on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a scapegoat ready.”

“What?! No way,” Gojo snapped. “I would never invite them.”

“Then it’s good that I did,” you said with a grin.

Geto leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So why’d you really invite them?”

You hesitated, swirling your coffee absentmindedly. “I just... don’t think it’s fair for the orientation gala to be so exclusive. We all go to the same school, right? Everyone should be invited.”

“But you didn’t invite everyone, did you?” Geto pressed, eyes sharp with amusement. “You invited Nanami Kento.”

“And Utahime!” you shot back.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Utahime has lived here for years. You’ve barely said two words to her.”

You sighed, fingers tightening around the coffee cup. “Fine. I wanted to invite Kento.”

“Why?” Gojo asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

You looked around at your friends—too perceptive, too smug—and exhaled.

“Because he left,” you said softly. “We were friends, and he didn’t even say goodbye. One day he was there, and the next... he wasn’t. And no one even talked about it. So yeah, I wanted to see him again. I wanted to ask why. Not that it matters now.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, the bravado slipping.

Shoko sipped her drink with a smirk. “Sounds like someone still has a little crush.”

“Oh, stop it, Sho,” you groaned.

“Crush?!” Gojo repeated, incredulous. “You had a crush on him?”

“No!”

“She totally did,” Shoko added with a grin. “Back in second year. Remember the library?”

“I was a kid,” you muttered.

Geto chuckled. “You had a crush on khaki pants? Seriously?”

“He was smart! And kind!” you snapped. “Not that you'd understand.”

Gojo didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to waste this morning talking about Nanami Kento.”

“Thank you,” you huffed, leaning back in your chair, drained from the interrogation.

But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Gojo’s hand curling into a fist beneath the table.

Geto cleared his throat, seizing the lull. “Shoko, did the Sports Committee confirm our slot on the main field next week?” he asked, tapping a knuckle against his sparkling-water glass.

Shoko pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, phone finally forgotten. “Mostly. The junior boys wouldn’t budge on Saturday morning, so women’s soccer has the pitch at 1 p.m. Men’s at 3. That work?”

Geto frowned, thinking it through. “It’s tight, but I’ll take it. I still need to run try-outs for the first-years. You’re set with a full roster already, right?”

Shoko’s lips curved in a half-smirk. “Please. I lost four seniors and still have a deeper bench than you. Maybe ask your midfield to stop treating tactics like an optional philosophy course.”

Geto threw a mock-wounded hand to his heart. “Ouch. Just remember who signed off on your new travel kit.”

“You signed the form,” Shoko countered, “because I drafted the budget. Don’t get delusional, Suguru.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, soft but unmistakably pleased. The banter felt…normal, welcoming after a month of attending formal galas in the guise of vacation.

Gojo lifted an eyebrow, joining the fray while still watching you from the corner of his eye. “Enough domestic squabbling. As incoming school captain, I’d rather not preside over a civil war between my two soccer captains.”

He said it lightly, but you could hear the pride tucked beneath the words. Everyone on campus already knew the results; the formal announcement would drop soon. Gojo Satoru and—you—would share the school-captain duties for the year. Legacy and diplomacy in tandem, the Board had called it.

Geto arched a brow. “Right, Captain. Are you planning to attend any of our morning practices, or will you be too busy shaking hands and cutting ribbons?”

Gojo leaned back, crossing one ankle over a knee. “Delegation is a skill, Suguru. I expect my brilliant vice-captains to run a tight ship while I focus on…vision.”

Shoko snorted. “Vision. Translation: he’ll show up for the team photo and any match with a photographer present.”

You sipped your coffee, amusement playing at the corner of your mouth. “Play nice. Remember, half my new captaincy remit is student well-being. I can start mandatory mindfulness circles if you’d like.”

Geto groaned theatrically. “Please don’t. We’ll be coloring gratitude mandalas before kick-off.”

Gojo finally smiled—genuine, if a touch rueful—and let his gaze settle on you. “If you’re leading it, I doubt anyone will complain.” His fingertips drummed the table again, slower this time, the earlier edge fading but not gone.

A waiter appeared with a silver tray of petits fours you hadn’t ordered. Perks of being who you were. You selected a lemon macaron, breaking it neatly in two. Without thinking, you offered one half to Gojo. He accepted, brushing your fingers for the briefest instant. The touch felt like the smallest treaty ever signed.

Across the table, Shoko clocked the exchange, then turned to Geto with a pointed look that said see? Geto only shrugged, the ghost of a grin on his lips.

Conversation shifted to committee minutiae—funding for new turf lights, a charity scrimmage you’d proposed, logistics for the Orientation Formal’s after-party—but the real current ran quieter beneath it all: Gojo’s simmering jealousy, your quiet resolve to bend the gilded rules, and everyone else’s calculations about what those tensions might mean for the year ahead.

The double doors burst open with a dramatic gust of wind as Utahime all but sprints through the marble foyer of her family's estate. Her heels click frantically on the polished floor, the hem of her pleated skirt swishing as she bypasses a confused housekeeper and yells over her shoulder:

“I need to see Mother—now!”

She doesn't wait for a response. Her manicured fingers push open the tall doors of her mother’s home office, a study wrapped in dark oak, modern art, and ancestral portraits. The scent of peonies and sandalwood diffuses through the air.

Utahime's mother, elegant in a navy Roland Mouret dress, looked up from a stack of papers and removed her reading glasses. “Utahime? What on earth—”

“I have news,” Utahime breathed finally, trying not to sound too breathless. “We’ve been invited to the Orientation Formal.”

Her mother froze then slowly set her pen down. “The Orientation Formal… Elysian Hall’s gala?”

Utahime noded rapidly, trying to contain her excitement. “Yes. She invited us. Y/N. She came over to our table at the Diamond Hill Club and personally asked if we were attending. When we said we hadn’t heard of it, she said she’d send the invite.”

A long pause followed. Then she asked with a heavy sigh, “Are you sure it’s not like the last-”.

“No! It’s not! Please! I need a dress!”. Utahime exclaimed. 

Ayaka silently watched the frantic exchange but mentally took a note to find out what happened last time.

“Get me your father. Now.”

Utahime doesn’t hesitate. She grabbed the ivory phone on the sideboard and dials, tapping her foot impatiently as it rings.

“Darling,” Mrs. Iujiri says calmly once the line connects, “We’ve just received an invitation to Elysian Hall’s Orientation Formal. From Y/N herself. Yes. Her. I don’t know how. Utahime says they spoke at the club.”

There’s silence as she listens, eyes narrowing with sudden clarity.

Ayaka finally asked, voice unsure, “I’m sorry… what’s the big deal?”

Utahime turned to her cousin, face lit up like a chandelier. “Ayaka, you don’t understand. That gala—it’s not just some school event. That’s where next year’s board interns are decided. Heirs get pre-picked for succession. Designers line up to dress the guest list for free. Last year, two hedge fund acquisitions were confirmed at the afterparty.”

She clasped her cousin’s shoulders with intensity. “This… this means we’re being seen. We have to look the part. We have—what—two days? We need to find something vintage but not cliché, bold but still heritage-aligned. I can wear Dior. Shit. Valentino? Khaite? No, Khaite’s too casual—”

Mrs. Iujiri hung up the phone and spoke with steel in her voice. “Call Etsuko. Tell her we need fittings tonight. No ready-to-wear, custom only. If Utahime and Ayaka are entering that ballroom, they will look like they’ve always belonged there.”

“Oh and y/n invited us over for coffee tomorrow.” Utahime added.

Her mother hummed and stared blankly at her. “Well this is a good opportunity. You girls need to go shopping. I doubt Ayaka has anything suitable to wear”.

“Yes! We will go right away”.

Ayaka swallowed harshly. Her heart beat strangely. She didn’t know a fifteen-minute brunch could change everything. And she definitely didn’t know one girl could cause so much movement with just a smile and a handshake.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she replayed the image of you walking toward Gojo, laughing, the pearls at your throat catching the sun. How he stood up without even thinking, pulled out your chair, and looked at you like the rest of the world was a fog.

“Why is she so important?” Ayaka whispered to herself.

Utahime, already on her second phone call, looked up sharply. “She’s the reason half the continent watches what Elysian Hall does. And we just got a seat at her table.”

A little ahead of house No.20 on the Diamond hill the scene was much different….

The Nanami dining room was steeped in quiet opulence—clean lines, warm walnut panels, a Murano glass chandelier above the long table. Everything was precise, much like his father himself, who sat at the head of the table slicing into his duck breast like he was dissecting a business proposition.

Across from him, Nanami Kento, still slightly jet-lagged, sat straight-backed in a crisp button-down, chewing slowly and politely. His mother, graceful and soft-spoken, sat beside his father, delicately sipping from a thin crystal glass.

“How was your flight?” his father asked, not looking up from his plate.

“On time. Comfortable,” Nanami replied with formality, folding his napkin neatly on his lap. “Thank you for arranging the car.”

Mr. Nanami nodded, finally glancing up. “Good. We need to start grounding you here. You’ll be working in Tokyo, after all. International exposure is fine—but it’s useless if it doesn’t translate to Tokyo business etiquette.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. He kept his gaze down as he cut into his fish. “Maybe I don’t want to work in Tokyo,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to be heard.

But his father heard it. He slammed his palm on the table making the vase rattle. The table jumped. Nanami’s water glass rattled in place. “You will take over this company, Kento. That’s not a negotiation,” his father said sharply. “You were born into this. You will honor it.”

Nanami said nothing. The silence that followed was heavy. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his fork, but he didn’t speak. Years of practice taught him how to hold his tongue in a room like this.

His mother cleared her throat softly, cutting the tension like lace. “What did you do today, Kento?”

Nanami finally looked up. His tone was even, measured. “I went to the Diamond Hill Brunch Club. With Utahime and her cousin.”

His mother raised a brow, delicately dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Utahime Iujiri?”

He nodded. 

“Be mindful of who you spend time with,” she said gently. “You’re back now. That comes with expectations.”

Nanami only nodded once. Then spoke with disregard, “I’ll need to be fitted for a suit.”

His father paused, knife in mid-air. “Why?”

Nanami looked directly at him. “I was invited to the Orientation Formal.”

The silence was immediate.

His mother turned her head. His father put his utensils down altogether. “The Orientation Formal?” his father repeated, incredulous. “You were invited?”

Nanami nodded. “I bumped into Y/N today. She personally invited me.”

A long pause. Then Mr. Nanami leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised with sudden delight. The tension from earlier melted into something startlingly close to pride. “Well. Well. My son—first day back and already moving in the right circles.”

He looked at his wife, smiling for the first time that evening. “You see? I told you he had it in him. Making connections already. With her, no less.”

Nanami remained quiet, staring at the remains of his food. He hadn’t done it for his father. He didn’t even know why he said yes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was you.

But he didn’t correct his father. “I’ll arrange for the tailor to come first thing tomorrow,” he said, taking a sip of wine like a deal had just been struck. “We’ll have something custom made. Proper. You need to represent the family well.”

Nanami nodded, quietly. Then excused himself before dessert. He shut the door behind him, loosened his collar, and sat on the edge of the bed. His gaze drifted to the city skyline, glittering beyond the tall glass windows. Tokyo.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers laced. “What am I doing here…”

But even as he whispered it, he could still see your smile in his mind—bright and warm and effortless—as you said his name like you remembered exactly who he was.

He took his phone out and searched for your name on instagram, he found it sooner than expected. He scrolled through your page looking at places you’ve been. To his surprise, you were at the same place he was around the same time on more than one occasion. Yet you never crossed paths. He wondered had he stayed, would he have joined you on your vacation. Then his eyes drifted to the blue eyed man in the background. No chance.

The iron gates groaned open with a slow elegance, revealing a sprawling estate that looked more like a palace than a home. As the car glided up the curved driveway lined with trimmed cypress trees and marble statues, Ayaka’s breath caught in her throat.

“This is… her house?” she whispered, clutching the soft fabric of her new Elie Saab dress—something Utahime had insisted was “middle-tier luxury and appropriate for the visit.” But now, looking out at the sweeping fountain and the grand château beyond, Ayaka felt like she was playing dress-up in someone else’s fairytale.

Utahime, seated beside her, adjusted her sunglasses coolly. “It’s a house. Just big,” she said with a tight smile, clearly suppressing her own awe. She smoothed the lapels of her Max Mara blazer and added quickly, “Don’t stare. And don’t talk about the dress unless she brings it up.”

The car pulled to a halt in front of the arched entryway. A uniformed butler was already waiting. He bowed slightly as he opened the door for them. “Welcome, Ms. Iori. Ms. Ayaka. Miss Y/N is expecting you.”

They stepped out, and Ayaka immediately felt the weight of a hundred invisible eyes—of portraits from the windows, of silent standards of grace and pedigree. The façade of the house was carved with classical reliefs, crowned with ornate balconies and tall, slate-blue roofs. Ivy curled along the white stone walls like time itself had chosen to adorn the estate.

Inside, the atmosphere was no less staggering. High ceilings held antique crystal chandeliers, and the parquet floors beneath their feet gleamed. The scent of lilies and polished wood filled the air. Gold-framed paintings lined the hallway walls, and somewhere faintly, classical music played.

The butler led them past a formal drawing room and through French doors that opened into a vast garden. On one side, a perfectly manicured tennis court lay empty under the afternoon sun. On the other, a modern glasshouse sparkled—inside, the azure shimmer of a full-length swimming pool refracted light onto the marble tiles.

“I didn’t even know private indoor pools were a thing,” Ayaka whispered to Utahime.

“They are, if you don’t want tan lines,” Utahime said crisply, though she herself was glancing at the structure with quiet envy.

They turned a corner, and the butler gestured to a grand side entrance framed by climbing roses. “Miss Y/N’s wing,” he announced. “She will host you here today.”

Wing? She has a whole wing? Ayaka blinked rapidly.

The room they entered was brighter, more intimate—but no less regal. Tall windows lined the far wall, opening onto a marble balcony that overlooked an intricate maze garden below. The room was soft with pastels and creamy textures, antique furnishings balanced with fresh flowers and rare books. It was the kind of beauty that didn’t beg to be noticed—it simply existed, unquestioned.

You were already waiting there, poised like something from a painting. A soft floral Zimmerman dress flowed around your frame, subtle and perfect. A thin diamond bracelet shimmered as you reached for your teacup, and the matching diamond studs on your ears caught the late light.

“Welcome,” you said with a warm smile, rising. “It’s so lovely to have you here.”

Ayaka forgot to respond. She was still trying to understand how someone her age could look so effortless in a place like this—like you were born to command rooms like this, as naturally as she had learned to blend into them.

Utahime stepped forward, her tone suddenly sweeter. “Thank you for having us, Y/N”

Ayaka tried to curtsy—why had she curtsied?!—and ended up mumbling something about the garden being “so green.”

You laughed gently, and the tension in the room loosened just slightly. Still, Ayaka couldn’t shake the chill in her spine.

This wasn’t just a different lifestyle. This was a different world.

“Please, have a seat.” Your voice was gentle but practiced, like the clink of fine china—polished, unwavering. You gestured toward the two cream-upholstered chairs across from you, already seated on a high-back Louis XVI settee, legs crossed elegantly beneath your floral dress.

Both Utahime and Ayaka sat down with polite smiles, the delicate rustle of fabric barely audible in the stillness of the room.

“Your house is beautiful,” Ayaka said after a beat, eyes drifting once more to the ornate ceiling molding and the way the sunlight spilled through the tall French windows.

“Thank you,” you replied with a soft nod. “How are you finding everything here? I know the hill can be… a daunting place.”

“Not too bad,” Ayaka said, leaning into her chair with an unconscious slouch. The words had barely left her mouth before Utahime cleared her throat sharply. Ayaka straightened so quickly it almost looked rehearsed. “Utahime has been showing me around and everything seems… lovely.”

At that moment, three butlers entered in perfect sync, each carrying a silver tray adorned with delicate pastries: rosewater madeleines, gold-dusted croissants, and miniature eclairs topped with sugared violets. They placed the trays neatly onto a rolling tea cart and bowed in unison before exiting.

Ayaka’s eyes followed their every movement, stunned by the quiet precision of it all. But you, untouched by the spectacle, reached casually for a cup of chamomile tea, as if pastries appearing out of thin air was simply the rhythm of life.

“Are you excited for the new term?” you asked, turning your gaze to Utahime with genuine warmth.

“Yes,” she replied quickly, sitting up taller. “I’m sure you’re excited too… especially with the school captainship.”

You gave a light, polished laugh—effortless and practiced. “Yes. But it’s not without pressure. I’ll be relying on your support.”

“Of course!” Utahime’s voice was bright, almost too eager. She shot a side glance at Ayaka, reminding her to keep up.

You turned toward the quieter cousin. “So Ayaka, what extracurricular activities interest you?”

Ayaka reached for her napkin and dabbed at her mouth, her fingers brushing against the soft silk. “Umm… back in my old school, I was the captain for the food drive.”

“Food drive?” Your brow arched slightly.

“We… cooked and packed meals for the… homeless people.” Her voice grew quieter with each word, like a secret she hadn’t meant to share.

Utahime’s smile froze. She nudged Ayaka under the table—a sharp, silent correction.

You tilted your head, intrigued but not unkind. “That sounds interesting. Are you drawn to social impact work?”

Ayaka hesitated. Words scattered like leaves in her head, every one weighed down by the rules she’d been given. “Yeah… I guess you can say that.”

“That’s so fascinating!” you said brightly, leaning forward slightly. “Utahime, do you remember when we did the beach cleanup? About two years ago?”

“Oh, yes! I do. It was… quite fun,” Utahime said, voice strained but smiling.

“I’ve actually been thinking,” you continued, eyes sparkling, “we should start a Social Impact Club at school. Ayaka, would you be willing to help me?” You reached out and gently placed your hand over hers.

Ayaka blinked at your hand. The bracelet around your wrist—an elegant stream of diamonds—glinted in the sun. It felt like another reminder of the world she’d stumbled into.

“Yeah… I’d love to help,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

“Wonderful! It’s decided then.” You pulled your hand back with a graceful smile. “So, what else do you like?”

Ayaka opened her mouth to speak, but Utahime cut in first, “She loves horses.”

Ayaka turned to her cousin, confused, her brow slightly furrowed. “I do?”

But you lit up at the mention. “That’s perfect! We have a fantastic equestrian club. You’ll adore it. Do you miss your horse?”

Ayaka hesitated for only a moment, then let out a small, awkward laugh. “Yeah. I miss my horse. Her name is… Silver.”

“I completely understand. When I went on exchange to France, I missed Princess, my horse, terribly.” You paused, then added generously, “Let me know if you'd like me to arrange for Silver to be brought here.”

Before Ayaka could say anything, Utahime spoke up quickly. “No need. Silver was old. She needed to retire anyway.”

“I see,” you said with a measured smile. But your gaze lingered just a second longer on Ayaka—thoughtful, perhaps aware of the quiet unraveling beneath the surface.

“How was your vacation?”. Utahime asked, gracefully picking up her cup. 

“It was quite good. Satoru, sho, Suguru and I just hung out on an island for the first few weeks and then vacationed with our parents. So it was quite relaxing”.

“An island? Like Jeju?”. Ayaka asked.

You chuckled, “Ummm yes and no. It was more of a private island”.

“I see”. Ayaka smiled. “Are you part of any school clubs?”.

“I used to be but this year I am hoping to be school captain so it would be unfair of me to be part of any school clubs. I am actively on the lookout for new club presidents. Speaking of which, Utahime, would you be interested in taking over as the chair for school paper? We will need to find a co-chair but I have someone in mind already”.

Utahime smiled ear to ear, “I would love that!”.

“Great, then I will nominate you”. You smiled.

“We’ve been working on some curriculum changes this term,” you said, sipping your tea. “They’re planning to restructure how leadership points are tracked. Honestly, it’s a mess.”

“Really?” Utahime leaned in, her brows drawing together. “That’s going to affect a lot of people aiming for council next year.”

You nodded. “Exactly. It’s why I’ve been thinking—maybe it’s time we push for a few more student-led initiatives. Things that are actually meaningful.”

“That makes sense,” Ayaka added, though her voice was quieter, her fingers still fidgeting with the napkin in her lap.

Just then, the large double doors at the far end of the room swung open. Ayaka’s heart skipped a beat so hard it nearly jolted her out of her chair.

Gojo Satoru stepped in—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark navy blazer hanging open over a crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks glinting at his wrists. His sunglasses stayed firmly in place as he walked in like he owned the air, but his expression wasn’t playful—it was… agitated.

“You haven’t been picking up my calls,” he said without preamble, eyes locked on you like no one else existed.

Both Utahime and Ayaka stood instinctively, Utahime with near-military precision and Ayaka a beat late, scrambling to follow. But Gojo didn’t even glance at them. His attention was pinned solely to you.

You gestured lightly toward your guests. “I have company.”

Only then did he turn, slowly removing his sunglasses with a lazy flick of his fingers. Pale blue eyes flicked to Utahime, then Ayaka, pausing on her just long enough for her breath to catch—but not long enough for her to tell whether he recognized her or not.

“Oh,” he said flatly, before turning back to you.

You smiled with that effortless poise again. “Sit. You might as well join us.”

Gojo dropped down beside you without protest, stretching one long arm across the backrest of your chair, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. Ayaka wasn’t sure if it was intentional. She was too focused on the fact that he was sitting directly across from her—the same boy whose photos she’d zoomed in on more times than she would ever admit, the boy who’d once casually posted a story from Milan Fashion Week with the caption: “bored but dressed well.”

“Gojo,” you said, casually tilting your head toward Ayaka, “we were just discussing the idea of starting a Social Impact Club. Ayaka here might lead it.”

Gojo blinked slowly, then turned his gaze toward Ayaka as if seeing her properly for the first time. “Social Impact Club?”

Ayaka swallowed hard. “Um… it’s about giving back to the community. Maybe food drives, or volunteering, things like that.”

Gojo looked genuinely confused. “Wait. Where would we even find homeless people here?”

Utahime’s eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth to step in, but you gently waved her off with a little laugh.

“It’s not just about that,” you said calmly. “It’s about awareness. Doing something outside ourselves for once. I think it could be good for the school.”

Gojo studied you for a long second, then leaned back, his expression softening. “You think so?” He shrugged.

“We will need to workout the budget but that shouldn’t be a problem”. You smiled.

Ayala opened her mouth and thought for a second, “How are the clubs funded?”.

You looked at Utahime for a brief second and then at Ayaka, “Families voluntarily donate money to the student foundation and we use that to run club activities. However we need to draft a budget approval to the chair of the foundation committee for approval”.

“Who is the chair of the foundation?”. Ayaka asked.

“My mother and my future mother-in-law”. Gojo grinned.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head at the casual remark but Ayaka’s heart sank. Were these things decided already?

“But are you sure it aligns with our goal?”. Gojo asked, looking at Ayaka. “All our clubs are designed to suit the needs and interests of students”.

“Umm– yes–I don’t-”. Ayaka struggled to get the words out now that he was talking directly with her.

“I think it’s a great idea”. You added. “It can bring a good cultural change and maybe some humility into people”

Gojo hummed, “Alright. If you think it’s a good idea then sure”.

Ayaka felt her knees go a little weak beneath the table. He had agreed just like that. And all because you had said so.

Gojo leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he turned his full attention to Ayaka. “So, Ayaka... where are you from?”

Ayaka straightened a bit, trying not to fidget under his gaze. “I’m from Hakone. Moved here about a week ago to join Elysian Hall.”

“Hakone?” Gojo echoed, brows lifting slightly. “Nice. That's an onsen country, right?” He flashed a lazy grin. “Do you miss it?”

Before Ayaka could respond, Utahime interjected quickly, her tone breezy. “Her family’s from Hakone, yes. But Ayaka actually did most of her schooling in the U.S.”

Gojo hummed, gaze sharpening ever so subtly as he scanned Ayaka again—though it wasn’t unkind. “Interesting. Yet you don’t have the accent”

Ayaka gave a small, nervous smile and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then shifted her attention away from his piercing blue stare. “Your bracelet is beautiful,” she said suddenly, turning to you. “Where’s it from?”

You were about to answer when Gojo let out a soft laugh, low and amused, clearly anticipating what was coming. You rolled your eyes and reached out to swat his knee lightly with the back of your hand.

“Satoru gave it to me last year,” you said with a fond smile. “He asked me to the Orientation Ball with it.”

Ayaka’s eyes widened slightly, and Utahime blinked. “Wait—you got that as a way of asking someone to a dance?”.

You shook your head gently, still smiling. “It’s not required, obviously. Satoru just likes to be... extra.”

“Overkill is the baseline,” Gojo chimed in with a smirk.

“Do we need to have a date for the ball?”. Utahime asked.

“No. It’s not required”. You shook you head. “Satoru just like the.. Formality of it all”.

“Speaking of formality”, Gojo straightened up and pointed with his brows to your bracelet, “It looks old. Maybe I should get you a new one”.

You scoffed, “Who said I will be going with you? Maybe I will ask Ayaka to be my date”. You winked mischievously at Ayaka. “Besides I have too many bracelets anyway”.

Gojo smiled and stared at you for a second and then turned to Utahime, “You should ask Nanami to be your date. I saw you at the club yesterday with him”.

You didn’t say anything, but your posture shifted—just slightly. Barely perceptible, but to someone like Gojo, it said everything. You stiffened. And that was all it took for something to twist in his chest. Jealousy flared hot and fast.

“Oh no. We are not that close”.

You kept your cup down decisively and looked at Utahime, your smile gone, “How did you end up with Kento in the club then?”.

“I just.. Ran into him on the way. He was on a run and I recognized him”.

“I see”.

Utahime glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the corner, the soft chime of the quarter-hour catching her attention. She stood, smoothing the front of her dress with practiced grace. “We should get going,” she said with a polite smile. “We don’t want to take up more of your afternoon.”

You stood as well, offering a graceful nod. “Of course. It was lovely having you both here.”

Ayaka followed suit, pushing back her chair, but hesitated for a second before speaking. “Um… would it be alright if we took a photo together?”

Utahime’s eyes widened just slightly. “Ayaka—”

But you were already smiling gently. “Of course.”

Ayaka beamed, quickly walking over to stand on your right side. Utahime, clearly trying to maintain composure, stepped to your left. You felt her posture shift ever so slightly—rigid, almost protective. 

“Satoru?” you asked, turning to him without needing to look.

He was already reaching for your phone from the side table. “On it,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. He took the phone from Ayaka and walked in front.

He held up the phone, angling it just right to capture the stately backdrop of your private wing’s drawing room—the cream-paneled walls, the sheer drapes fluttering in the breeze from the balcony, the polished parquet floors gleaming under the filtered afternoon light.

“Say, cheese,” he teased.

Ayaka laughed nervously. Utahime didn’t.

The shutter clicked.

“One more, just in case,” Gojo said, clearly taking his time with the second shot. Then a third, just because he could.

“Got it,” he finally said, handing the phone back to Ayaka. “Though I think this lighting flatters me more than any of you.”

You rolled your eyes, tucking the phone away. “Thank you.”

Utahime gave a quick bow. “Thank you for having us. The pastries were delicious.”

Ayaka, still glowing from the photo, gave a grateful nod. “And thank you for the social impact club. It was… really cool to know that you care.”

You smiled warmly, and with a final wave, you watched the two girls disappear down the corridor, trailed discreetly by the butler.

Gojo, still seated, leaned back with his arms stretched again, eyes trained on the door. “You’re collecting new admirers now?”

You turned to him, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “I am allowed to have friends, am I not?”

He looked at you sideways, the tension still lingering in his jaw. “Of course. Is Nanami a friend?”

“He was always a friend”. You remarked passing by him.

“Just a friend?”. Gojo asked, trying his best to not come off too strong. Your silence was all the answer he needed.

The black sedan glided down the hill, its polished frame reflecting the golden afternoon light. Inside, the silence between Utahime and Ayaka was thick, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel under the tires.

Ayaka clutched her phone, still looking at the photo Gojo had taken. A small smile played on her lips, but it vanished the second she glanced over and caught the tight line of Utahime’s jaw.

“...What?” she asked quietly.

Utahime didn’t respond right away. She inhaled slowly, then turned her head sharply. “What were you thinking?”

Ayaka blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Utahime said, voice clipped, “asking to take a photo with her like she’s some kind of celebrity. In front of Gojo. You put me in such an awkward position.”

“I— I just wanted to have a memory, that’s all.”

“It’s not about that,” Utahime snapped, then lowered her voice, remembering the driver. “It’s about perception. About how you carry yourself. You don’t ask her for a photo. She’s not your favorite pop star, Ayaka. She’s our peer. Technically.”

Ayaka’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry…”

“And don’t even get me started on that food drive nonsense.”

“What was wrong with that?”

Utahime shot her a look. “Everything. The way you brought it up, the way you explained it… Do you know how naïve it sounded? ‘Meals for the homeless’? You made it sound like some charity pamphlet. I had to rescue the conversation.”

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“I told you to be careful about what you share. You’re not back in Hakone. These people grew up differently. Their idea of ‘giving back’ is sponsoring a wing at a hospital, not handing out soup in Tupperware.”

Ayaka looked down at her lap, her fingers tightening around the hem of her dress. “I was just trying to be myself…”

Utahime sighed, rubbing her temples. “And that’s fine. But being yourself doesn't mean being careless. You complimented her bracelet, Ayaka. At that moment? In front of Gojo? Do you know how transparent that looked?”

Ayaka’s cheeks flushed. “It was beautiful…”

“It was a winston. I’m guessing you didn’t even recognize it,” Utahime muttered, shaking her head. “You can’t keep acting like a tourist in their world. Not if you want to survive Elysian Hall. Geez! You looked like a girl desperate to know the brand, to calculate the price, to make a social climb. That world? They sense that kind of thing. You looked gauche, Ayaka. I told you to observe quietly, not start taking notes like it was a field trip.”

Ayaka turned to the window, watching the trees blur past, her throat tight. “Maybe I don’t belong in their world.”

“Then start acting like you do,” Utahime said sharply. “Because I didn’t pull strings to get you into Elysian Hall just so you could embarrass me on day one.”

“Why do you care so much?”. An innocent question.

Utahime sighed, “because– it’s the only way to make it. Do you think I was born into this? No. I saw my father work his way to the top and my mom supported him. You wanna know how we ended up at Diamond hill?”.

“How?”.

Utahime scoffed, “My mother befriended someone who used to live in our current house. An old couple. We had to rent clothes and attend parties as friends of guests. But speaking with the right kind of people gave us the opportunity to be here. When the Woman died she left the estate to my mother and her Husband moved to Osaka handing his company over to my father. Without their help it would have taken us generations to get here”.

“I– I didn’t know that”.

Utahime turned to her, “Remember when you went to private school in Hakone? When- you know your father still had his job?”.

“Yes. But that was a long time ago”.

“Regardless, do you remember the social pressure to do good in school?”.

Ayaka nodded.

“Multiply it by thousands, that’s how serious it is here. You have a good opportunity. Don’t waste it”.

“But y/n was kind. I think she liked me”.

Utahime scoffed, “Ayaka why do you think she invited us?”.

“Because…you’re friends?”.

“No! Because she knew that we didn’t belong to the upper echelon. She knew I had never been to the formal. This was the first time she invited me and she was giving us talking points so we don’t embarrass ourselves at the gala”.

“What?”. Ayaka chuckled.

“Yes. All the talk about clubs and leadership were talking points. This is what I meant when I told you to be observant”

The car lapsed into silence again. Outside, the iron gates of the estate faded into the distance, but the weight of everything Ayaka had just learned clung to her like a second skin.

While the families in the middle echelon busied themselves with preparations—polishing shoes, rehearsing lines, and dressing their children like prized possessions for the spectacle ahead—life at the top operated on an entirely different frequency. There, no one needed to prove anything.

Ironically, the house numbers stopped at five. Not because the street ended, but because beyond that point, numbers were irrelevant. Everyone knew who lived beyond the curve—the top four families existed in a category of their own, beyond labels and beyond needing directions.

Two palatial estates stood side by side on the hill's crest, their grand silhouettes crowned by sweeping terraces, private tennis courts, and twin pools that shimmered like mirrors in the sun. “Mansion” was too modest a word—these were compounds, sanctuaries of old power that gazed down over the valley and the city below like watchful sovereigns.

The L/N, Gojo, Geto, and Sho families had been entwined for generations, their histories braided together like the strands of an unbreakable cord. Every deal was shared, every major investment discussed at long oak tables or during slow walks through private gardens. Transparency wasn’t just a value—it was a necessity. In that elevated world, secrets were too dangerous to keep. And so, none existed.

The informal dining room in your house was still more refined than most hotel ballrooms—chandeliers dimmed to a warm glow, French porcelain plates resting on fine bone-colored placemats, and the faint scent of bergamot wafting from the centerpiece of freshly trimmed flowers. The long walnut table seated just three tonight—your father at the head, your mother at the side closest to the glass doors, and you at your usual seat to the left.

Your father set his wine glass down, glancing at the slim portfolio to his right.

“The Takanashi merger looks promising. If we get them on board at the orientation formal, it might unlock Kyoto’s northern district. Seijuro is interested in it as well” His voice was clipped, businesslike.

Your mother nodded, dabbing her mouth delicately with her napkin. “I already arranged for their executive assistant to be seated next to the Keigo heiress. With any luck, a conversation starts.”

You stabbed your asparagus slowly, listening but not contributing. You were too tired for this—another dinner about power plays dressed in foie gras and etiquette.

“I’ve invited some friends to the ball,” you said abruptly, breaking the rhythm of silver on porcelain.

The conversation halted. Your mother glanced up first, then your father.

“Which friends?” he asked, voice deceptively neutral.

You swallowed.

“Nanami Kento. Utahime. And her cousin.”

There was a beat of silence. Then your father set his fork down with a sharp clink and looked at you directly, expression cool.

“On whose authority did you invite them?”

Your posture didn’t shift, though your stomach turned. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you did it so you used your scapegoat, “Satoru suggested,” you replied calmly. “Since he and I are going to be school captains, he thought we should… seem more relatable. Grounded.”

Your father’s frown softened slightly at the mention of Gojo’s name. A flicker of approval passed over his face, the rare kind he only ever reserved for people he respected.

“Hm. Fine. If it was Satoru’s idea.” He picked up his fork again. “But don’t forget your place, Y/N. We are not here to appease. We lead. Your brother was a school captain, won the business case competition and the EH scholarship. Don’t lose sight of your goal”

“Yes, Father.” You sucked in a sharp breath. “May I be excused? I don’t feel too well”.

“Yes darling”. Your mother smiled before returning to her conversation

You slipped through your bedroom doors, closing them softly behind you like you were sealing away the world.

The room was a symphony of soft neutrals and delicate textures. Cream-paneled walls framed antique paintings. A four-poster bed draped in layers of silk and embroidered linen stood like a crown jewel in the center. Pale golden light from the bedside sconces made the room feel like a still moment inside a snow globe.

You walked through the French doors to your balcony, stepping barefoot on the marble-tiled terrace that overlooked the estate gardens below.

You sat back on the love seat, your arms wrapped loosely around your knees, chin resting on your arms. The night air was cool but still carried the faint scent of the lemon trees that lined the edge of the estate. Somewhere far below, one of the gardeners must have left a light on in the tool shed. A soft yellow glow blinked against the trimmed hedges.

A message lit your phone screen: Gojo – “Look down.”

You blinked, then stood slowly, the silk hem of your dress brushing against your ankles. You leaned over the cool marble of the balcony rail, the moonlight casting soft reflections on your skin like scattered pearls.

There he was.

Grinning up at you like a delinquent prince sneaking into a royal estate, completely out of place yet utterly at home. Satoru Gojo. Dressed in an open-collar navy shirt that caught the wind like sails on a summer yacht, and crisp blue trousers that should’ve made him look formal—if not for the messily rolled cuffs and that impossibly smug expression.

His silver hair was tousled by the breeze, the strands catching moonlight like frost under glass.

You felt your lips lift before you even meant to. “Come up,” you whispered, voice barely louder than the wind.

But he didn’t move toward the stairs.

Of course not.

Instead, he strode over to the ivy-covered column that clung to the side of the house like time itself. Without hesitation—without even looking around—he gripped the stone ledge and began scaling it. Just like he had when you were thirteen, and he’d forgotten his speech notes but still climbed up to your room like a reckless knight who didn’t believe in front doors.

You stepped back instinctively, hands hovering near the railing as he climbed higher, muscles moving with ridiculous ease. He grunted once—not from effort, but to be dramatic—before hoisting himself over the balustrade.

With a soft thud, he landed beside you, brushing non-existent dust from his shirt with a flourish.

You crossed your arms. “Why can’t you just take the stairs like a normal person?”

“This is faster,” he replied, like it was the most logical answer in the world. A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t stay.

The city was quieter at night, the usual hum softened by distance. Your balcony, dimly lit by the glow from your room and the moonlight overhead, felt like a little escape from the polished chaos of your lives.

You were curled up on the love seat with a blanket wrapped around your legs, a mug of something warm in your hands. Gojo sat next to you, white hair catching the silver of the moon like a halo. He looked like he belonged in a dream—too casually beautiful to be real.

But he was real. And he was unusually quiet.

"You good?" you asked gently, tilting your head.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, a slow, crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Just… haven’t been here in a while. Feels different without you."

You blinked. "I have only been gone two weeks."

"Exactly," he said, turning fully now. He came over and dropped into the seat beside you, knee brushing yours. “You were gone forever.”

You laughed into your mug. “You’re so dramatic.”

He leaned back, gaze flicking up to the sky before he said, “I missed you.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

Gojo Satoru didn’t say things like that often—not seriously, anyway.

“Like… more than usual,” he added, quieter this time. “I know you were just off doing your own thing, but this place felt kind of... flat without you.”

You smiled faintly, heart warming. “You mean no one was here to mock your cereal choices and steal your hoodies.”

“That too,” he said, chuckling. “But mostly—” he hesitated, then looked at you, voice softening. “I missed talking to you at night. This. Right here. You always know how to take the edge off the day. No one else does that.”

You felt your chest tighten, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. "I missed you too, Satoru."

He turned to face you more fully, one arm resting along the back of the seat, close enough for your shoulders to touch if you shifted just an inch.

“I tried to act cool about it,” he said. “Kept busy, trained a bit, annoyed Geto for sport. But I kept wondering where you were, what you were doing. If you were thinking about me even half as much as I was thinking about you.”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. “See? Told you I’d get soft one day.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “It suits you.”

The breeze curled gently around the two of you, warm against your skin despite the late hour. You stayed like that for a while—your head on his shoulder, his resting against yours, breathing in sync.

Then Gojo shifted slightly, like he was debating something.

You leaned back a little to look at him. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached into the pocket of his jacket.

“You know how I said I missed you?” he asked, voice a little too casual now.

You narrowed your eyes. “Yeah?”

“Well,” he said, pulling out a small, velvet box, “I had time to think while you were away.”

You blinked. “Satoru—”

He opened the box slowly. Inside was a necklace—delicate white gold with a teardrop-cut diamond in the center, nestled like it had been waiting for you.

Your breath caught.

“I figured,” he said, watching you carefully, “if I was going to ask you to the orientation formal, I might as well do it properly. Our way”

You stared at him. Then at the necklace. Then back at him.

“Satoru—this is... insane.”

“It’s our ritual”, He reached out and gently pulled the necklace from the box, holding it between his fingers. “Come with me,” he said, softer now. “To the formal. Not as co-captains, not as the girl I always annoy before econ class. As you and me.”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs.

“And the necklace?” you whispered.

He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. “That’s just because you said you had too many bracelets.”

You didn’t move, not for a beat. Then you turned, swept your hair aside. “Put it on me, then.”

Gojo’s hands moved gently, his usual playfulness gone, replaced by something more reverent. When the clasp clicked shut at the nape of your neck, his fingertips brushed your skin.

You turned back to face him.

“So... is that a yes?” he asked, voice lower now.

You smiled. “It’s a yes.”

His grin widened. “Good. Because I already bought the tie to match your dress.”

You were still smiling down at the necklace when Gojo suddenly stepped back and extended his hand with exaggerated elegance, like he was on stage at an opera.

“Now that you’ve agreed,” he said, bowing low, “may I have this dance, m’lady?”

You snorted. “You are so dramatic.”

“Only for you.” He wiggled his fingers, hand still outstretched. “Come on. You need to practice. The last thing I want is for us to be the hot mess couple spinning in circles.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who once tripped walking onto a stage.”

“That curtain was an ambush,” he said flatly. “And I was distracted. Anyway—” He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and suddenly soft piano music filtered out, the notes slow and glowing like candlelight. “No more stalling.”

You laughed again but stood. “Fine. One dance.”

As you took his hand, his grin softened into something far more sincere. He pulled you gently toward him, one hand slipping to your waist, the other holding yours with surprising delicacy. 

You glanced up at him. “You’re getting too tall.”

Gojo shrugged. “What can I say? Girls dig it.”

You chuckled, but then he shifted just slightly closer, and the sound caught in your throat. The air between you changed.

There was no ballroom here—just your little balcony, the quiet hum of the city below, and the two of you swaying slowly beneath the stars.

Gojo’s hand at your waist was firm but warm. He wasn’t leading with flair like you expected. No spins, no dips. Just a slow, intimate rhythm. The kind that made it hard to tell whether time was passing at all.

You felt his eyes on you—soft, unreadable. You looked up, and he didn’t look away.

“I thought I was going to be fine while you were gone,” he murmured. “I wasn’t.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone.

“I kept checking my phone like an idiot,” he went on, voice lower now. “Waiting for your name to light up. Even when I knew you were out of range or busy or just… choosing not to think about ..I don’t know.”

You swallowed. “I did think about you”

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Almost every night. The time difference really killed me”

A pause. Just long enough to make your pulse spike. Then Gojo smiled—not the teasing grin, not the smug smirk. This one was small. Gentle. Like it was just for you. “Why didn’t you call?”.

“I got busy”

You stayed close, your bodies moving slowly to the soft rhythm playing from his phone. There wasn’t much space between you now—just the thinnest sliver of restraint. Gojo’s hand rested warm and steady at the small of your back, and your fingers were still curled lightly against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath like it mattered.

And it did. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

“I didn’t like it,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough like it had been waiting at the back of his throat for too long.

You looked up. “Didn’t like what?”

He exhaled once through his nose, like he didn’t want to say it—but he said it anyway. “Seeing other men post stories with you while you were away.”

Your lips parted, caught off guard not by the words, but by the fact that he said them out loud. “You mean… Louis?”

“I mean anyone,” he muttered. “Louis, the guy from the boat, that bar scene in Amalfi—don’t act like I didn’t see it. I saw all of it.”

You blinked. “Were you… watching his stories?”

“I watched everything,” he admitted, gaze locked on yours. “Every post. Every photo. Every comment that didn’t have my name under it.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t even trying to play it cool anymore.

“I told myself I was being stupid,” he continued. “That you were just living your life. That you didn’t owe me anything. But it didn’t stop the way it felt.”

“Which was?” you asked quietly.

“Like I couldn’t breathe.”

The music kept playing, but it was just background now—an echo to the tension humming between your bodies. You weren’t dancing anymore, not really. You were just holding each other. Moving because stillness might’ve made the truth come out too fast.

“You could’ve said something,” you whispered.

“And said what?” he replied, his voice softer now. “That I wanted to crawl through my phone and rip some French guy off your feed? That I hated seeing you smile at a table that didn’t have me at it?”

You were quiet. Wondering where this was coming from.

“It was just a kiss,” you said. 

His jaw tightened. “Just a kiss?”.

“Ugh fine. We made out but that’s it”.

His grip on your hand tightened and you felt your breath hitched. You pressed your hand flat against his chest. “That night, I left early. I went back to the hotel alone”.

“Was he any good?”. He asked in a tone that made you feel he wanted a specific answer.

“I guess. Yeah”.

“The best?”.

“Oh my god. It was just a kiss.But yeah it was pretty good”.

Gojo hummed. 

“If you missed me just say it”. You smiled.

Gojo swallowed hard. His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I didn’t just miss you.”He tilted his head just slightly, enough that your foreheads almost touched. “I wanted you here,” he breathed, “With me. Not with some french douche holding your waist like he owns you”.

“I’m going to kill Sho for ratting me out”. 

“Why? Why can’t I know?”. Gojo asked with a teasing smile.

“Ugh because I knew you’d react this way”. 

You tried to move away but Gojo pulled you into him. “And you never questioned why?”.

“If it makes you feel any better, I am going to call things off with him”.

Gojo stopped moving, his expressions changed to something so dark that even the moon hid behind the clouds, “You’re still seeing him?”.

“Against my will. He is just hard to break up with. Every time I’ve tried he just refuses to accept. On top of it all my dad has invited his family as guests to the ball.”.

Gojo smirked, “And yet you’re going with me?”.

You looked at him, a teasing smile on your face, “Would you rather I go with him?”.

“Over my dead body”

You smirked, your voice light but teasing. “You had your fair share of flings too, didn’t you?”

Gojo chuckled, leaning back slightly but not letting go of your waist. “If you can call women hitting on me against my will a ‘fling,’ then sure.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “I know everything. Sylvia? Ring a bell?”

He groaned dramatically. “You mean the girl who tried to force-feed me strawberries dipped in champagne while calling me mon amour in a fake French accent?”

You raised a brow. “And yet you didn’t leave.”

“I was trapped, thank you very much. She blocked the exit and threatened to cry.”

You snorted. “Oh, the horror. Gojo Satoru, helpless in the face of a crying girl.”

“I didn’t even kiss her,” he said, a little too quickly. “If anything, I should get a medal for resisting that level of aggressive flirting.I blocked her before I reached my hotel”

You gave him a knowing look. “Mmm. But you didn’t block her fast enough to stop her from licking your neck at that gallery opening.”

Gojo’s mouth dropped open. “Okay, wow. Who’s feeding you this intel?”

“I have spies,” you said proudly. “You forget I’m very well-connected.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re dangerously smug right now.”

“I’m just saying,” you added playfully, stepping back with a grin, “you’ve had options, Satoru.”

He moved with you, closing the distance in two lazy strides. “And yet…” His voice dropped just slightly, teasing but not unserious. “…I’m here.”. He pulled you closer until your bodies were flush against each other, like it was the most natural thing to do.

You laughed, and his mouth twitched with it—like he couldn’t help but be a little enchanted by the way you sounded when you were teasing him.

The song faded into silence, but neither of you moved. The stillness stretched between you, humming with the weight of everything unsaid. Gojo’s hand remained at your waist, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric like a brand. His breath, shallow and steady, was the only thing that told you time hadn’t stopped entirely.

He looked at you—really looked. And whatever line existed between memory and now, he stepped over it without hesitation. You have changed.

No more pigtails, no awkward grins, no childish laughter echoing across a playground. That girl was gone. In her place stood a woman with fire behind her eyes and softness he wanted to touch just to see if it burned.

His gaze drifted, slow and deliberate—your eyes, your nose, your lips.

So delicate. Like a glass petal. Something he wanted to cradle in his palm... and crush between his fingers just to see if you'd come back together again.

The curve of your body pressed against him, and his fingers curled just slightly at your side—whether it was to hold you tighter or stop himself from doing something reckless, even he didn’t know.

And you? You weren’t doing any better.

You stared up at him, drinking him in like you hadn’t seen him in years—not really. His shoulder was broader now, more solid beneath your touch. His frame, tall and commanding, wrapped around you like a promise he wasn’t ready to make but couldn’t stop hinting at.

He held you like a man who didn’t ask permission. And some part of you—treacherous, breathless—didn’t want him to let go. Your hand slid up to rest against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the calm on his face.

“You know,” you said, a teasing smile playing on your lips, “you’ve got everyone fooled with your whole ‘too dangerous to love’ routine…”

You took a slow step forward, letting your fingers ghost just barely along the hem of his shirt, like a challenge.

“…but I see through it.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t flicker. Not right away. He just stared at you, head tilted slightly, lips parted in something between a smirk and something much more dangerous.

“You think so?” he asked, voice like velvet stretched over something sharp.

You nodded, eyes glinting. “I know so. You deflect when you feel too much. You joke. You disappear. But you watch people too closely to be detached. You care more than you’ll admit—”

He cut you off with a soft laugh, low and bitter. “You talk like you’ve figured me out.”

Your breath hitched as his hand circled your waist—slowly, firmly, like he was daring you to stop him.

“I’ve watched you,” he said, eyes burning into yours now. “Walk into rooms like you don’t know what you do to people. Touch someone like it means nothing. Smile like it doesn’t drive me insane.”

His grip tightened. “You think I play aloof because I don’t care?” he whispered, brushing his lips near your cheek, not quite touching. “No. I stay away because I don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to.

“Say something,” he breathed. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I don’t see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

You swallowed hard. “Satoru—”

“I’m right here,” he cut in, eyes locked on your mouth now. “So stop pretending you want anyone else.”

He paused. Just for a breath. “Because I won’t share. Not you. Not ever.”

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a Wish: Mastermind

Warning: Strong themes. Manipulation.

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Word count: 13k

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

You hummed softly to Matilda as the orchards blurred past, their blossoms flickering like ghosts of memories you weren’t quite ready to touch. Gojo tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel — rhythm absent, mind clearly elsewhere. Tangled in thoughts. Tangled in you.

Your confession had landed like a brick to the chest. You saw the flicker in his expression, mistaking his silence for disbelief. But there was nothing for him to question. He had always known. Every word you’d spoken rang true.

He should have said something right then — told you what he remembered, what he carried with him every day. But speaking the truth aloud would have fractured the fragile thing growing between you. And he couldn’t risk that. Not when, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you were looking at him like he was something more than the man who had failed you.

So he stayed quiet. If pretending meant keeping you close a little longer, he’d carry the lie all the way to the grave. From the corner of his eye, he watched you. Peaceful. A little distant. Beautiful in the kind of quiet way that undid him.

He cleared his throat. “How did it feel… coming back? The whole thing?”

You turned toward him, smiling gently. “So you do believe me now?”

“I always believed you,” he replied, his voice light with effort. “I just want to understand.”

You shifted in your seat, eyes drifting to the window. “It was... unnerving at first. Terrifying. But once the shock wore off—” you inhaled deeply “—it felt exhilarating.”

His brow lifted. “Exhilarating? Why?”

But he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to trace every fracture in the old version of himself — the one who let you slip away — so he’d never make the same mistake again.

You exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “Because I’d been stuck. In this loop. Pain, loss, silence… pretending everything was fine. Coming back felt like breaking out of that. Like I was finally breathing again. Like I had a second chance.”

“Pain…” he echoed. “Loss?”

You paused. The air in the car shifted.

“Yeah. Loss of my footing. My peace. Maybe even my sanity,” you said with a laugh that was almost too quiet, too sad.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you said softly. “But not you-you. The other you. The one who kept me a secret. Who chose his clan’s approval over me.”

He swallowed hard. “But I’m still him, aren’t I? Same face. Same voice.”

You turned to him, expression gentle. “No, Satoru. That version of you lived in fear. You…” you smiled faintly, “…you listen. You chose me.”

A silence settled between you, soft but heavy.

Then, as if afraid to break it, he asked, “How did we even start dating?”

You let out a small laugh. “One-night stand. After a company party. We weren’t supposed to catch feelings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Classy. Sounds like me.”

“Terrible behavior, really.”

“So does this mean you trust me?” he asked, taking another smooth turn.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

He glanced at you again. “Then… your walls. Ready to let them down?”

You smirked. “My walls?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “You don’t let me spoil you. You flinch every time I try to take care of you. Sometimes, your independence feels like rebellion. Like you’re guarding yourself from me.”

You huffed. “Wow. Didn’t know you noticed me so much.”

“What can I say?” he murmured. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, but sometimes… it feels like I’m not allowed to be. Like if I show too much, you’ll run.”

You studied his face. Even with the glasses, you could see the sadness in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Even if things are different now… I’m still not over a lot.”

“Yet here you are,” he said softly. “You should’ve told me you needed time. I would’ve waited.”

The words struck you silently. He was right. You’d kept him close, but always at arm’s length. Your heart sank.

Gojo noticed the shift in your expression. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just—this is a lot.”

“It’s alright.” You gave him a fragile smile.

After a pause, he said gently, “Tell me something I did right. Just one thing.”

You looked out the window, thinking. “You were a good friend. Always there for others. My family. Always ready to help.”

He hummed quietly, nodding. But everything you said, while true, felt distant. Detached. Not about him and you.

“What’s something I did for you,” he asked, “that you actually liked?”

You rubbed your arm, struggling. “I… I guess I liked how you always said the right thing. You always knew what to say.”

He nodded again, silent. It wasn’t quite the answer he was hoping for — but maybe it was the only one you could give.

Nanami flipped through the file with surgical precision, each turn of the page more agitated than the last. His jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed like he might shatter a molar. The frown etched on his face had settled into something permanent over the past few days, but now it deepened to something almost dangerous.

Finally, he slammed the file shut with a sharp thud that echoed through the sterile silence of his office. Papers inside shuddered at the impact. He exhaled through his nose—controlled, cold, and deliberate—then picked up the phone.

“Miwa. Come in.”

His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of a storm building on the horizon.

The door creaked open within seconds. Miwa entered with quick, polite steps, notepad already in hand.

“Yes, sir?”

Nanami held the file beside his face like it offended him. “You expect me to submit this to investors?”

She blinked, confused. “I— I reviewed the numbers three times. I thought—”

He didn’t let her finish. He slid the file across the desk like a dealer tossing a losing hand.

“You have two hours. Fix everything and bring it back before lunch.”

Miwa hesitated, catching the file with both hands. “But sir, the investor meeting isn’t until tomor—”

“Do you give me deadlines now?” Nanami’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even. His brow arched slightly, a cold challenge in his eyes.

Miwa’s lips parted, then closed. Her shoulders stiffened, and she bowed her head.

“Understood,” she said quietly.

She turned and walked out, her breath shallow as she pulled the door shut behind her. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she nearly bumped into Maya, who had been standing nearby, having overheard enough.

“Miwa,” Maya said, reaching out. Her face was knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

Miwa nodded quickly, trying to seem unfazed, but her fingers clutched the file a little too tightly. “It’s my fault. I should’ve double-checked everything.”

“Are you sure?” Maya asked gently.

“I’ll fix it,” Miwa insisted with a forced smile, the edges of her professionalism cracking slightly. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

And with that, she rushed toward her desk, flipping open her laptop with practiced urgency. Maya stood in place, her arms folding across her chest, her thoughts racing.

She'd been watching Nanami all week. There was a pattern. He hadn’t just snapped at Miwa—Hitoshi had been on the receiving end of a biting comment yesterday, and even his usual coffee run had gone untouched this morning. He hadn’t spoken more than five words in the team briefing. This wasn’t the Nanami she knew — thoughtful, composed, meticulous in words as much as in numbers. This version was distant. Cold. Preoccupied.

Something was very wrong.

She pulled out her phone and typed quickly.

Maya: Y/n, you need to talk to Nanami. Something’s off. The whole office is tense. Y/n: What happened? Maya: No clue. But it’s not just a bad day. It feels bigger. Y/n: I’m back soon. I’ll talk to him first thing.

Maya stared at the screen for a moment after sending the last message, her reflection dim in the glass of the office window. She didn’t know what was going on, but something told her this wasn’t just about a few missed calculations.

Still unsettled, Maya headed toward the break area, where she found Hitoshi hunched over a vending machine, aggressively tapping the "C2" button.

“You know that button’s not gonna listen to you faster if you bully it,” she said, attempting a light tone.

Hitoshi glanced up, chuckling as the machine finally coughed up his can of cold brew. “It fears me. That's why it obeys.”

Maya smiled faintly, then leaned against the counter. “I just saw Miwa. Nanami really tore into her.”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi sighed, popping the tab and taking a sip. “I heard the door slam. He’s been like that all week. Short-tempered. Snappy. Kind of… off.”

“So it’s not just me,” Maya said, her voice dropping slightly.

“Nope,” Hitoshi replied. “He even gave me grief for submitting the new vendor shortlist. And I triple-checked that thing.” He raised a brow. “Maybe he’s just missing Y/n.”

Maya let out a short breath of amusement. “I wish it were something that simple.”

Hitoshi tilted his head. “You think it’s something else?”

Maya hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t want to overthink it, but… a few nights ago, I forgot my phone in the office. When I came back to get it, everyone had left. Lights were off except in Nanami’s office.”

Hitoshi straightened slightly. “Okay…”

“I peeked through the glass to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything. He was in there with a man and a woman I’ve never seen before. They weren’t dressed like clients. The woman had this… corporate air, but not from our usual circles.”

“You’re sure they weren’t new clients?” Hitoshi asked, frowning. “Nanami handles a lot of private consults. He’s always discreet about them.”

“I know,” Maya said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything then. But it wasn’t a typical meeting. No documents, no presentations. They were talking, but the vibe was tense. Like something serious was being decided.”

Hitoshi sipped his drink, watching her carefully. “You think it has something to do with his mood lately?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “But my gut says yes. I’ve worked with Nanami long enough to know he doesn’t unravel without reason. And something’s unraveling.”

“Maybe he’s trying to keep something under wraps,” Hitoshi said. “Wouldn’t be the first time leadership deals with high-stakes stuff behind closed doors.”

“Yeah… but this feels personal,” Maya murmured, more to herself than to him. “And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to affect more than just him.”

She looked toward the hallway that led to Nanami’s office — now quiet, the door closed, the storm temporarily sealed behind wood and glass.

“I just hope Y/n gets back soon,” she added softly. “He listens to her. If anyone can get through to him… it’s her.”

Hitoshi nodded, thoughtful now. “Let’s hope it’s not already too late.”

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of clothes being folded and tucked away. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your suitcase open beside you, half-packed and slightly chaotic — a reflection of your thoughts.

You were folding your sweater when the door clicked open.

Gojo stepped inside, shades pushed up into his hair, wind still clinging to him like the scent of the cherry orchards. “Hey,” he said softly. “How’s the packing?”

You shrugged, not looking up. “Therapeutic. Kind of. Helps me think.”

He wandered in, lazily draping himself across the armchair like it was his throne. “What time’s the flight?”

“Same route back,” you said, eyes still focused on a tangled pair of headphones. “Early morning. The one with the layover in Helsinki.”

There was a pause. You felt him watching you. And then, for some reason, you stopped.

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes.

“…Are you planning to come with me?”

Gojo didn’t answer at first. He simply reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a boarding pass, waving it in the air with a triumphant little grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You laughed — warm, genuine — but then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second one. A different one.

Now he was holding a ticket in each hand, one on either side of his face, like a magician about to perform a trick.

“I brought options,” he said, voice light. “Your commercial flight… or my jet. No pressure.”

Your eyes widened, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Your jet?”

He nodded, grinning. “Private. Smooth. No layovers. Less crying babies. Bonus points for having me all to yourself.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but the offer stands. If you trust me.”

You bit your lip, heart stuttering a little. “I do trust you.”

“Then?” he prompted, eyes hopeful.

“…But I still want to be independent,” you added quietly. “It matters to me.”

Gojo nodded slowly, smile fading into something softer. “I get that. I do. But you said you’d try to let me in. Just a little.”

You looked away, guilt suddenly heavy in your chest. Your hands paused on your suitcase, unmoving.

He noticed. “What is it?”

You exhaled, the words catching in your throat. “I feel awful. You’ve gone through all of this— every twist, every hard moment — and most of it wasn’t even your fault. I blamed you for things… things that belonged to someone else. Another version of you.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s still me. Past or present. I don’t get to dodge that.”

“I punished you anyway,” you whispered.

“You were hurting,” he said simply. “And I was part of that pain, even if I didn’t mean to be. I’ll take it — if it means I get to be here now.”

You blinked quickly, swallowing the emotion rising in your throat.

He smiled, tilting his head. “So… what’s it going to be? Cabin 14A with a window view and a crying toddler behind us? Or cherry wine and custom playlists on my jet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a hard sell.”

“Just being honest.”

You sighed, picking up your sweater and pressing it to your chest like a shield. “Fine. We’ll take your jet.”

He beamed like a kid who’d won at a claw machine. “You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.”

“You’re still going to cuddle me mid-flight.”

“No promises.”

“You say that now.” He stood up and crossed to your suitcase, casually tossing in one of his hoodies. “You always get cold midair.”

You looked up at him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you. For not giving up.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and said, quietly, “Never even crossed my mind.”

“And since when do you need a ticket for your private jet?”. You corked your head to the side and smiled.

“Oh it’s my boarding pass for our old flight, did it for the dramatics”. He grinned.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Yet you love me”. 

Gojo leaned on his knuckles, elbows propped lazily on the armrest as he watched you, eyebrows pinched together in focus while you typed away furiously on your phone. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Who are you texting?” he asked, voice casual, but with a thread of curiosity threading through.

The soft hum of his private jet filled the cabin, punctuating the silence that followed.

“Oh, just Maya,” you murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“All okay?” he asked, straightening up from his slouch.

You hesitated, thumbs still hovering over your keyboard. “Umm... I don’t know,” you muttered, the small frown between your brows deepening.

Gojo narrowed his eyes, interest officially piqued. “Can I help?”

You let out a dry chuckle and finally looked up at him, offering a half-smile. “It’s about Nanami.”

Gojo’s face twisted, barely perceptible but undeniably bitter. “What did he do now?”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t new. It tugged at the tail end of what had been one of the most serene holidays he'd ever had — and Nanami’s name had to sour it.

You sighed, your fingers slackening as you placed the phone on the glossy mahogany table between you. “He didn’t do anything. But Maya says he’s been acting weird.”

Gojo cocked a brow. “Weird? So... like himself?” he said with a smirk.

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, sure. Maya said he’s been on edge. Irritable.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the corners of his lips twitching. “Again — like himself.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms. “Come on, I’m being serious. Everyone’s worried.”

He scoffed and looked away, jaw tightening. “Everyone? Or you?” A beat. “And why are you even worried about him? He’s nothing but a conniving bastard.”

Your eyes sharpened. “Why do you hate him so much? He’s done nothing to you. He’s your business partner — you should have some respect.”

Gojo laughed. Not the joyful kind. The sharp, cutting kind. “Respect? For Nanami?” He tilted his head mockingly. “He’s not my partner. I’m his boss. I own his company.”

Your arms folded tighter as you leaned back, your tone clipped. “Well, he clearly built something lucrative enough for you to want to buy it and that deserves respect”

Gojo’s smirk vanished. His voice dropped an octave. “The only lucrative thing he did was hire you. I bought a loss-making company — overpaid for it, even — just to get close to you.”

You blinked. “Wh-what?”

He exhaled, tension surfacing. “Yes. The only reason I bought the company was because I— I found out you worked there. It was the only way I could... truly know who the woman from my dream was”

Silence fell. You stared at him, eyes wide. “You couldn’t just move to Kyoto? You had to buy a company?”

“Yes,” Gojo said without hesitation, tone suddenly raw. “Because it was the only organic way I could think of. Do you have any idea how pissed I was when I found out you worked for Nanami?”

Your tone turned sharp, defensive. “What’s wrong with working for Nanami?”

He shifted, jaw clenched. “I— never mind.”

You leaned forward, fed up. “Because of Mishki?”

Gojo froze mid-breath, the color draining slightly from his face. He turned his head slowly toward you. “What... what did you just say?”

Your chest tightened. But it was too late now. You inhaled sharply. “He told me. About Mishki.”

Gojo studied you — a long, unreadable stare. He could barely keep the fury from leaking into his tone. “And... what exactly did he tell you?”

“That... he was dating her. And you— you took her from him. Then mocked him when he confronted you.”

Gojo leaned back, slowly, lips curling into a dry smirk. “I took Mishki? From him?”

That look on his face made your blood boil. “Yes.”

“You believe him?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”. You shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to believe Nanami.

Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I told you my side of the story?”

You lifted your shoulders in a slow shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You sighed, voice softer now. “You had history with Mishki. Not now, but... in the other life.”

His eyes darkened, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “And what history did I have with her in the other life?”

You hesitated, then said it plainly. “You cheated on me with her.”

Gojo’s fists clenched in his lap. He wanted to shout, to scream it wasn’t true — but he couldn’t risk it. One misstep and he’d give away too much. “Did I?” he said quietly. “How did you find out?”

“I saw the messages. The late-night calls. You ditched me for her, over and over.” You shook your head, bitterly. “So when Nanami told me about her, I had every reason to believe you’d do it again. That you’d take her from him, too.”

Gojo’s thoughts spun. Two lies — one from Nanami, one from the past. He took a breath. “Does Nanami know about your... thing?”

“What?! No! Why would I tell him?”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “Well, I didn’t take Mishki from Nanami. It’s true they were together. But there’s more to the story.”

Your voice was cautious. “Like what?”

Gojo gave a sad smile. “Where do I even begin?” He picked up the glass, took a long sip, and placed it down with care. “Nanami used to work with me. He was family. Even my father admired him — he was loyal, smart, dependable. Suguru hated him, though. Said something was off. He wasn’t wrong.”

You listened in silence.

“Nanami met Mishki at my birthday gala. I introduced them. Mishki’s family handles our North America ops. Nanami liked her immediately. I knew she was trouble — but I let it go. Until he started slipping. Missing meetings. Skipping work. Obsessed.”

You blinked slowly.

“One day, my accountant found that Nanami was embezzling money. Millions. Properties, gifts — all in Mishki’s name. I was terrified. If my father found out... Nanami wouldn’t walk away with just a termination letter.”

You leaned in, barely breathing.

“So I threw a party. Invited them both. Tried to talk to Mishki first. She denied being with him. Said he was stalking her — buying her apartments, gifts, begging for attention. I didn’t believe her because I knew the truth”

“The truth?”

“Mishki was hitting on me for years. Even when Nanami thought she was his girlfriend. Once he lied and said they went on vacation together. Turns out she was with her friends. Nanami was just... funding it. Alone.”

You crossed your arms, uneasy. “So he was giving her money and she was taking it but she wasn’t his— girlfriend?”.

“That’s who Mishki is”. Gojo’s voice dropped.

“What happened at the party?”

“At that party, I texted Mishki to meet me. I offered her money to leave him alone. She didn’t want the money — she wanted me. She... came on to me. And right then, Nanami walked in.”

Silence again. Your throat felt tight. “Even if that’s true... why mock him?”

“I didn’t,” Gojo said. “I tried to protect him. She twisted everything. Told him I stole her. He didn’t believe my texts, photos — anything. Said I forced her. I lost it. That was the final straw. Soon after, my father found out, and Nanami was gone.”

Your heart pounded. It didn’t sound like Nanami. But...

Gojo saw your hesitation. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I... I don’t know what to believe.”

Gojo’s heart clenched. You were never going to believe him. He wanted to scream and tell you that he didn’t cheat on you. He wanted to tell you that MIshki was doing the same thing again. That she was threatening him with the photos taken secretly during his birthday. That he did what he did just to save you but he ended up hurting you. He wanted to tell you that yes he was wrong to hide things, but he was tired. The pressure of his clan, the company, Mishki, all with a common goal of taking you away and he did what he did to keep you with him and it all crashed on him in the end.How could he tell you that what happened with you was the aftermath of what happened with Nanami and Mishki .He had a bad feeling that the future will repeat itself.

“I understand," he whispered under his breath. It’s all he could offer. His understanding. 

You didn’t want to believe that Nanami was the man Gojo was painting him to be but if not that then you’d have to believe, accept that Gojo was lying again for selfish reasons and it pained you to think that you were making the same mistake again. 

“Did you ever have feelings for Nanami?” Gojo asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His tone was even, too even, like he was trying to play it cool, trying being the operative word.

You hesitated for just a breath, then nodded. “I did.”

Gojo nodded too, mechanically. His knuckles clenched into the leather armrest beside him, blood boiling under the skin. He looked away for a moment, jaw ticking, then brought his eyes back to you with forced casualness. “What changed?”

You exhaled softly. “You showed up. He backed off. Things changed.”

Gojo’s heart twisted. He leaned back slowly, like the movement would keep him grounded. “So if I hadn’t come to Kyoto… you’d be with Nanami?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Maybe.”

That word—maybe—stabbed him. The worst part wasn’t the uncertainty. It was the possibility.

He tried to laugh, but it came out bitter and dry. “Why Nanami?”

You met his eyes, calm and steady. “He’s kind. Sensitive. He understands me. He appreciates me. And…”—your lips curled slightly—“he has a nice smile.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He laughed again, quiet this time, a low scoff masked as amusement. But his fingers were digging crescents into his palms.

He watched you as you said it—all of it—and something ugly settled in his chest. You were here, sitting in his jet, tangled in his world, but a part of you still lived in that soft corner Nanami once occupied.

Even if you were with Gojo now, you weren’t entirely over him.

And for someone like Gojo—who had the world at his feet—not having all of you was unbearable.

He nodded slowly, biting back the million things he wanted to say. The jet’s soft hum filled the silence again, almost mocking its constancy.

“Right,” he murmured, lips pressed tight. “Nice smile. Why me?”. Gojo asked, looking straight into your eyes.

You sighed and leaned back, for a moment neither of you said anything, “Maybe parts of it were remnants from the other life, but most of it was you. You showed me that you were not the same person. You were kind, sensitive, even though I pushed you away you didn’t hold it against me. You cared for my friends, family, and even me.”

Gojo smiled, but the pain spread through his chest. You loved him in comparison to what he used to be. He couldn’t blame you. 

Suzume sat up straighter in her chair, spine rigid, eyes locked on the screen. Her corner desk was tucked away from the main floor—half-hidden behind a filing cabinet, shielded by tall bookshelves and the lazy hum of the old air vent. Usually, she appreciated the solitude. Today, she was grateful for the cover.

Because she wasn’t working on the financial projections she’d been assigned. She was scrolling through your Instagram.

Images bled into one another on the screen: the slate-grey fjord against golden-hour light, a candlelit table at a rooftop restaurant, that blurred shot of the northern lights glowing like a celestial fire. Gojo was in most of them. Gojo was beside you in all of them.

It wasn’t the location that stung. She didn’t care about the fjord or the Michelin-star meals or the private jet snaps. That life—Gojo’s life—was too far removed from hers to even envy. What she did envy, almost bitterly, was the fact that you were with him.

The man she’d fallen for. She knew about his feelings for you. Everyone did. She wasn’t an idiot.

She’d watched him light up around you. Watch him invent reasons to stop by your desk. Bringing you coffee when you look tired. Sneaking you snacks during late meetings. That dumb smirk on his face when you rolled your eyes at his jokes, and the soft look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Suzume watched and she didn’t understand. Because you? You didn’t even try. Half the time, you looked like you were barely tolerating him. You dismissed his kindness like it was annoying background noise. And yet there he was—Gojo Satoru, the man who could charm his way into any heart, wagging his tail behind you like a stray mutt.

She didn’t hate you. Not really. But she couldn’t help the bile that rose in her throat every time she asked herself the same question: Why you?

You were ordinary. Safe. Pleasant in that forgettable way. Suzume had eyes. She knew she was more striking. Thinner. Sleeker. Smarter. Sharper. So why the hell wasn’t it enough?

She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the high backrest. Her teeth gnawed absently at the blue cap of her pen. Her gaze stayed fixed on the latest photo you’d posted: a long-exposure shot of the aurora borealis. She could practically feel him beside you in the cold—his arm likely draped over your shoulder, that stupid grin on his face, dimples out, sunglasses probably still on like an idiot.

She kicked her foot against the desk. Once. Twice. Again—harder—until the dull thud in her shin began to match the sharp twist in her chest.

She remembered the first time she saw him in the office. He’d walked in on a Monday,  hair sticking up in chaotic spikes. He looked nothing like the executives she was used to. No rigid formality. No ego. He gave the receptionist a high-five. He called the interns by name. And when she spilled her lunch on her skirt at her desk two weeks later, mortified, he’d appeared out of nowhere with an emergency Tide pen and a bag of clean sweatpants from the company gym.

He’d winked. “I carry spares. HR disaster-proofing.”

She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day.

Then there were the late nights when the office was nearly empty. Just her and him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. He’d stop by her desk with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose, tired but still smiling. He always asked about her ideas in meetings. Genuinely listened. He teased her, but never meanly. And he noticed things—like when she started wearing glasses, or when she switched to oat milk in her coffee.

He made her feel seen. And maybe that’s all it took. But all of that—every shared smile, every late-night report they finished together, every inside joke—meant nothing. Because his eyes were only ever on you.

And no matter how many nights she dreamed otherwise, Gojo Satoru had never looked at her the way he looked at you.

Suzume needed air.

She grabbed her mug with more force than necessary and walked briskly toward the break room. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum, each step a reminder of how hard she had kicked the desk earlier. There was a dull throb in her shin now, but it still hurt less than the thought of Gojo sharing a private dinner under the northern lights with someone who didn't even seem to see him the way she did.

As she turned the corner by the hallway, she collided with something—no, someone—solid.

Her mug tilted, but a steady hand reached out just in time to stop the spill.

“Suzume,” Nanami said, brows furrowed. “You alright?”

She stepped back, blinking up at him. “Sorry—I wasn’t watching.”

Nanami looked down, then slowly back  at her. “You’re limping.”

Suzume straightened. “I’m fine. Just bumped my leg earlier. Nothing serious.”

He didn’t press. Not directly. Instead, he tilted his head, observing her like one might examine a file they weren’t sure about yet. “Mm. Still,” he said calmly, “you look… tense.”

She attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nanami glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor. “Why don’t you come to my office for a minute? You could use a break.”

Suzume hesitated. “Is this… work-related?”

He gave a barely-there shrug. “It can be.”

Something in his tone—nonchalant but warm—made it hard to say no.

She followed him. Nanami’s office was clinical but sleek, he poured her a cup of tea without asking, placing it in front of her as he settled behind his desk.

“Drink,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Suzume cupped the mug in her hands. The warmth helped. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Nanami didn’t rush her. He leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze careful and unreadable.

After a moment, he asked, “Long day?”

She gave a soft laugh. “You could say that.”

“Or… something else?” he said, voice gentle, almost curious.

She raised her eyes to meet his, but he didn’t look interrogative. Just… attentive. Safe.

She shook her head slowly. “It’s silly.”

“I don’t think you’re the type to get thrown by silly things,” he replied, with quiet assurance. “But I could be wrong.”

Suzume toyed with the edge of the cup. The steam fogged her glasses faintly. “It’s just—there’s someone I like,” she said, voice low, words curling cautiously from her lips, “but he’s… with someone else.”

Nanami kept his expression neutral, not a single twitch of surprise. But inside, he already knew. Her glances, her tension, the way her eyes followed Gojo around the office like a lost thread of light — it had been obvious for a while. But now, hearing her say it out loud, was confirmation. “Hmm,” he said, as though weighing a market trend. “That can be difficult.”

Suzume nodded, staring down at the swirl of tea. “It’s not just that he’s with her… I don’t get it. She’s not—” She stopped herself. “It’s confusing. Like I’m invisible. Like nothing I do would ever be enough.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder if she’d said too much. Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes people only see what they want to. And sometimes, they’re so focused on chasing one thing, they miss what’s already right in front of them.”

Suzume looked up. There was something comforting in his tone. Not quite sympathy. Not quite advice. Something in between. “You think so?” she asked.

Nanami gave the smallest smile. “I do.”

He watched her nod, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Does he know how you feel?”

Suzume shook her head quickly, suddenly guarded. “No. God, no.”

He hummed. “Maybe he should.”

She looked away. Nanami leaned back again, pleased. He didn’t show it, of course. But there was a flicker of satisfaction behind his eyes. Her little crush on Gojo wasn’t just office gossip anymore—it was leverage. Delicate. Useful. He masked his smirk by adjusting his tie, sipping his tea as if the room hadn't just shifted in his favor.

Nanami glanced over the rim of his cup, his voice smooth, casual.

“By the way… do you know when Y/N is getting back?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as though it were an afterthought.

He didn’t miss the way Suzume’s expression shifted—just a flicker, but enough. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. A dull shadow crossing her eyes.

“Monday,” she replied, curt and clipped. She set her cup down a little harder than necessary on the coaster.

Nanami smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in amusement. “Ah. Took a long break, didn’t she?”

It wasn’t really a question.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, adopting a thoughtful air. This was the moment. Time to drop the hook.

“Since we’re talking,” he said, voice dropping an octave into something quieter, more vulnerable, “can I… confess something?”

Suzume blinked and nodded, instinctively leaning forward. “Of course. I’m here for you,” she said warmly, offering a small, encouraging smile.

Nanami lowered his gaze, playing the part of reluctant sharer. “I’m in a similar situation, actually. The woman I—” he paused, allowing his breath to hitch slightly for effect, “the woman I love is in love with someone else.”

Suzume’s lips parted slightly, eyes widening with empathy.

“I had a chance,” Nanami continued, his voice soft and wounded, “a brief one. But I misread the moment. And before I could do anything… another man swooped in like a hawk. Took her from me. Effortlessly.” He chuckled, sad and self-deprecating, before shaking his head. “So I understand,” he murmured. “What you’re feeling. It’s not easy—watching someone give their affection to someone who doesn’t even realize how lucky they are.”

Suzume’s shoulders slumped, heart pinched by the unexpected vulnerability in him. “I know,” she said quietly. “We all know.”

Nanami raised a brow, a mask of subtle confusion. “Know what?”

She gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “About your feelings for Y/N.”

Nanami stilled. Not enough to seem alarmed—just enough to feign surprise. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Believe me,” Suzume continued, “I’m on your team. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She seems… lighter. Calmer. Happier, when she’s with you.”

Nanami’s lips curved into something gentle—grateful on the outside, victorious on the inside. “I appreciate your confidence,” he said, voice wrapped in restraint. “But…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Never mind all that.”

“No, no,” Suzume said quickly. She reached forward on instinct, placing her hand gently over his. “Please. Let me help you.”

Nanami looked down at her hand—delicate, sincere, eager—and lifted his eyes slowly, with just the right amount of hesitance. “How, Suzume?” he asked, his smile tinged with sorrow. “No one can help me.”

“Yes, I can,” she said, nodding earnestly. “Y/N is my friend. And I want what’s best for her. I won’t sway her, but I can help her see. Help her realize that you’re the right man for her.”

Nanami blinked, like the idea had never occurred to him. Like it was too generous to believe. “You’d do that?” he asked, softly. “For me?”

“Yes,” Suzume said, with unwavering conviction. “I will.”

Nanami leaned back, hand still under hers, and smiled. A quiet, deadly smile. She had no idea she had just made a deal with the devil.

“I have a feeling something bad is going to happen”, Maya said as she slowly brought the coffe mug to her lips.

“Why?”Hitoshi asked mindlessly as he chewed on his muffin. “Y/n is coming back today, you should be happy”.

“I am happy, but..”, She trailed off as her eyes fixed on Suzume walking through the double glass door of the cafeteria. She looked, different. Her hair, usually in a pony tale, was now open and cascading down her shoulder in delicate curls. Her usual attire of straight pants, shirt and cardigan now replaced by a dress. Her tennis shoes now  replaced by pencil heels. She even had make up on. “Is that–”.

Hitoshi followed Maya’s gaze and his mouth hung open. “Oh my god. Why is she dressed like y/n?”.

“What?!”, Maya scoffed as she turned her attention to Hitohshi.

“Yes, She looks like y/n. The hair, makeup, even the dress. I think y/n has the same dress, no?”. He shrugged.

Maya hummed to herself. He was right. “Suzume!”. She called out and raised her hand to get her attention. 

Suzume smiled when she saw Maya and Hitoshi. She walked over to them with her coffee in hand. “Hello!”. She said cheerfully.

“Hello to you!”. Hitoshi exclaimed. “What’s with the new change?”.

Suzume smiled as she gracefully sat down between Maya and Hitoshi, “Oh I just wanted to experiment”.

“Experiment?”, Maya questione.

“Yeah”, She shrugged, “Do I not look good?”. She asked, looking at Maya and Hitoshi.

The surprised pair exchanged questioning looks. Hitoshi knew Maya would never ask this so he took one for the team, “You look so much like y/n”.

“What?!”. 

“Yeah”. Hitoshi shrugged.

Suzume felt attacked. She knew what she was doing but being confronted like this didn’t sit well with her. “I don’t think y/n owns a particular style”. She fidgeted with the hand of her coffee mug. “I just wanted to try something new. I thought you guys would be supportive”.

Maya sensed her agitation and gently put her hand on top of Suzume’s, “You look beautiful”. She smiled warmly. 

Maya’s voice barely left her lips before Suzume stood abruptly. “I should get back,” she said with a polite smile, brushing invisible crumbs from her dress. “Client call in ten.”. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her coffee and walked away, her heels clicking steadily down the corridor. But her pace slowed as she turned the corner leading to her cabin.

There he was. Gojo. Coming out of your office, running a hand through his silver hair with that same half-smirk he wore whenever he was satisfied with himself. Suzume froze mid-step, ducking slightly behind the wall. Her breath caught. He looked… smug. Relaxed. That soft confidence that always made her heart twitch. But seeing it now, right outside your door—it stung like salt in an open wound.

She waited. When he disappeared down the hallway, she emerged, walking briskly toward your office. She didn’t knock—just pushed the door open.

You had just set your bag down on the couch and turned around, surprised. “Suzume!” Your voice was warm and genuine. “I was about to head to the cafeteria to see you and Maya.”

Suzume forced a smile, trying not to let her eyes drift, but they had already locked on it. The necklace. A delicate, glinting emerald resting on your collarbone. Elegant. Expensive. Real. Suzume knew the clarity, the depth of green—it wasn’t costume jewelry. She came from a family of jewelers; she could identify a genuine emerald from across a room. Gojo. It had to be him. Her chest tightened like a fist.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you said, tilting your head with a sincere smile. “That color really suits you.”

Suzume blinked, yanked from her spiral. She looked at you, really looked—and for a moment, her heart twisted with something sharp and ugly. But she kept the smile on.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I… I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Welcome back.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” you replied, and she hated that you meant it.

Suzume’s eyes darted once more to the emerald on your chest. “I actually have a call,just stopped by to see if you were back” she added quickly, stepping back, “so I should head.”

You nodded, still smiling. 

But Suzume was already out the door. Her composure cracked the moment she turned the corner. Her breath sped up, her heels clicked faster, her grip tightened around her coffee cup until the lid popped off.

She didn’t care anymore. The bubbling jealousy, the polished mask, the forced smiles—she had shed them all by the time she marched down the corridor toward Gojo’s office. Her heels clicked with purpose against the tiles, and she barely paused before pushing open the frosted-glass door.

Gojo looked up, his thumb still mid-text. He was alone, seated in his usual relaxed sprawl, but his bright eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “Suzume?”

She closed the door behind her gently, slipping into the room with a too-bright smile. “Good morning!”

He returned her greeting, still clearly puzzled. “Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing urgent,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, her voice light, breezy. “Just wanted to ask—how was your trip?”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly. “Uh, it was good.” He smiled politely, still trying to gauge what this was about. “Relaxing, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, taking a step closer before tilting her head innocently. “By the way, have you seen Y/N this morning?”

There was a beat. Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room shifted subtly. “Ye– Why?”

Suzume gave a shrug, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes flickered, sharpening with calculated mischief. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. Nanami was looking for her. Said he had something important to tell her.”

Gojo frowned slightly, lowering his phone. “Tell her what?”

“Well…” she trailed off, as if hesitant to continue, then leaned in just a little—enough to make it seem like she was trusting him with something fragile. “We don’t really know, but... word is, it might be a confession.”

“A confession?” Gojo’s voice lost its playful edge, and now he was watching her more carefully. “Suzume, be straight with me.”

She drew back, laughing nervously. “I mean, it’s just office gossip, so who knows, right? But please—don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t want to be dragged into this.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away. His jaw ticked once, and though he nodded, there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Right. No, I haven’t seen her,” he finally said, lying with practiced ease.

Suzume smiled sweetly, knowing exactly what he was doing. “I see. Well, I should get back to work. Have a good day, Gojo.”

She turned and walked out, her expression cool and composed until the door clicked shut behind her. Once out of sight, she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message.

Suzume: It’s done.

Nanami: Good.

Suzume: Now what?

Nanami: Wait. I’ll tell you when the time is right.

Suzume locked her screen and slid the phone back into her pocket, her heels echoing once again as she disappeared down the corridor—this time with a quiet, dangerous satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips.

Nanami placed his phone down like he was laying a relic on an altar. His smile crept in slowly, curling his lips into something unnatural. With a smooth, silent motion, he turned his chair toward the window, bathing himself in the golden morning light. It fell across his face like a halo, warm and soft—ironic, really, given the thoughts boiling beneath his skull. It felt like a divine signal, a blessing from whatever god still dared to watch. Victory, yes. That’s what this glow was. The light of inevitability.

He had been worried for weeks. The plan—his perfect, intricate plan—had been threatened by delays, unforeseen variables, Gojo’s arrogant presence. But then Suzume walked in. So eager. So desperate to be seen. And just like that, fate had handed him a scalpel. She would cut the way forward while his true machinery turned behind the scenes. Maybe, if he nudged her just right, she could even start a fire he could never be blamed for.

Let them call him evil if they wanted. Let them whisper about his darkness behind closed doors. He wasn’t evil. No. He was in love. A love so pure, so absolute, that it demanded sacrifice. When he first saw you—eyes bright with ambition, lips parted nervously in your interview—he had felt it crack open inside him. A knowing. Like the universe had ripped itself apart and whispered your name into the hollow of his soul. He had watched you through glass and paper and screens, your résumé memorized, your past dissected like a sacred text. Every friend, every interest, every secret you thought you had—he knew them already. But it wasn’t stalking. No. It was preparation. You can’t love someone if you don’t know them completely.

And when you chose his company over Domain Dynamics, he had wept. Literally fell to his knees and wept, because the gods had listened. You belonged to him. The first time you kissed—his fingers in your hair, your breath catching like a bird trapped in his hands—he felt the world stop spinning. Time slowed, warped, broke. Nothing else existed. He’d tasted you and knew: this was home. You were home.

But then… then you left. The moment Gojo arrived, it was like you forgot. Forgot the late nights, the trembling confessions, the way you said his name when no one was listening. You abandoned him. For him. A clown in a suit. A fool with a smile. A thief. You didn’t even hesitate. And that… that was where you failed him.

He could’ve given you everything. Power, money, worship. He would’ve sold his soul—his company—brick by brick to build you a palace. But you couldn’t wait. You were too blinded by Gojo’s laugh, his charm, his glinting lies. Nanami’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as the fury burned hot under his skin. It wasn’t your fault, not really. You were soft. Easily misled. Like a lamb. And Gojo? Gojo was the wolf. He knew what he was doing when he set eyes on you. He knew Nanami loved you. And he took you anyway.

But he wouldn’t have you for long.

Nanami leaned forward, his hands folded like a man in prayer. But his eyes were empty, cold pits of calculation. You would come back to him. You would realize your mistake. Even if he had to break the world to make it happen. Even if he had to burn everything Gojo touched and salt the ashes.

He would have you again. One way or another. A soft knock at the door shattered Nanami’s thoughts like glass underfoot. His head snapped toward the sound, every muscle in his body tensing—and then relaxing in slow, stunned waves as you stepped inside.

You.

The light from the hallway pooled behind you like a halo, making it hard to see your face at first. But he didn’t need to. He’d memorized your silhouette long ago. His heart kicked violently in his chest, thudding against his ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape. You smiled—soft, easy—and closed the door gently behind you.

“Hey,” you said with a casual warmth, walking toward the chair opposite his desk. You moved with the unbothered grace of someone who didn’t know you were the sun in someone else’s orbit. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, almost too quickly. “Not at all,” he said, voice unusually tight. “Please.” He gestured to the chair, already watching your every movement with obsessive intensity. You sat down and opened your bag, pulling something out wrapped in tissue paper.

“I got you something,” you said with a small laugh, setting it down on his desk. “Just a little souvenir. I saw it in this tiny shop in Bergen and thought of you.”

He stared at the package like it was a holy artifact. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it, unwrapping the paper with a carefulness reserved for relics. Inside was a polished piece of carved wood—a traditional Norwegian troll figurine, its expression somewhere between mischievous and wise. Beside it, a small leather keychain stamped with a Viking ship.

Nanami’s breath caught.

You thought of him. In a foreign country. While with Gojo. In spite of Gojo. He felt the earth tilt slightly beneath his feet. You remembered him. You still remembered him.

“I know it’s a bit silly,” you said, brushing hair behind your ear, “but the shopkeeper said trolls are meant to bring good luck. And I figured you could use a little luck”

“It’s not silly,” Nanami replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect.”

He meant it. You had no idea what that meant to him. You could’ve given him a rock from the side of the road and he would’ve kept it in a glass case. But this—this was something you chose for him.

“How was the trip?” he managed to ask, willing his voice to stay even.

“It was amazing,” you said, your smile widening. “We went on this hike outside of Oslo—up to the top of this ridge where the fjords just stretch forever. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought I was going to pass out halfway through, but Gojo somehow made it look easy. Of course.”

The name made Nanami flinch internally, but he held the smile on his face like a mask stapled into place. He clung to your words—I thought I was going to pass out. He made it look easy. You weren’t impressed. You were tired. You didn’t enjoy it as much as you could have. You would’ve enjoyed it more with someone like him. Someone who would’ve let you rest, who would’ve carried your bag, wiped the sweat from your brow like a lover should.

He pictured the two of you on that ridge instead. Your legs over his lap. Your laughter echoing over the fjords. His jacket on your shoulders. Not Gojo’s. Never Gojo’s.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said softly, the words laced with deeper meaning you didn’t catch. “Things weren’t the same here without you.”

You smiled kindly, eyes bright. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

You didn’t see the way his hand tightened into a fist under the desk, veins bulging with restrained impulse. You didn’t hear the scream inside his mind that begged him to reach out, to tell you how everything—everything—he was doing was for you.

“How have you been? Things have been quite intense here with all the new projects, right?”. You smiled.

“I am better now. It was stressful but-”, Nanami looked down at the little figurine, “I feel it was all worth it”.

“That’s good to hear. Don’t stress yourself too much Kento. We are all here for you”.

Nanami smiled. He didn’t know what it was about you but your presence brought him peace. Just being in your presence felt like finding an oasis in the desert. “Thank you y/n, it means a lot”.

“I should get going”, You stood up and smiled at him, “Lots of work to catch up on”.  

As you turned toward the door, Nanami’s voice stopped you mid-step. “I was wondering…” he began, striving for nonchalance, “would you like to grab lunch today? I’d love to hear more about your trip and I could catch you up on what you missed.”

You looked back at him, tilting your head slightly. “Sure,” you said with a smile that could melt iron. “That sounds good. It’s been a while.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. You said yes. So easily. So warmly. You wanted to spend time with him. You chose to. “Great,” he replied with quiet composure. “I’ll message you when I’m free.”

With a soft “see you then,” you stepped out of his office, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing like a slow exhale through his chest.

Nanami stared at the little wooden troll on his desk, the one you'd just handed him moments ago. It sat there, tiny and grinning, and yet in his eyes, it radiated something sacred. He reached for it gently, as though it might shatter if he held it too roughly. His thumb traced its carved smile.

You didn’t have a bag. That meant you had carried this in your hand. Through the corridors, past others—unconcerned about what anyone thought. You brought it straight to him. A piece of your trip. A piece of your time. Given only to him.

He closed his eyes and clutched the figurine to his chest. The heat of it, faint and imagined, felt like your warmth. Like a pulse in wood. “She thought of me,” he whispered, lips curling. “Even while she was with him.”

He leaned back, slow and reverent, placing the troll on his desk like it was a religious idol. He adjusted it carefully, so it would face him directly—as though it might speak, as though your voice could pass through it.

She hadn’t forgotten. No matter what mask you wore with Gojo—no matter how you smiled or laughed or touched his arm—your heart hadn’t changed. Nanami could feel it. Like a wire humming under the floorboards. You were still his. You had to be.

Lunch today would be just the beginning. He would listen. He would remember every word. Every pause. He’d find the tension in your stories. The disappointments. The subtle shadows you didn’t even know were there. He’d press, gently, carefully—until Gojo started to crumble in your eyes and when you were finally ready to see things clearly—when your heart remembered the truth—Nanami would be waiting. He always had been. The little troll sat smiling back at him, unaware it had become a symbol of devotion, obsession… and destiny.

There was too much to do and not enough time to breathe. The morning had been a blur of half-finished reports, emails demanding immediate attention, and forms that seemed to multiply every time you blinked. You were knee-deep in departmental approvals when your phone buzzed on your desk. A message from Gojo lit up the screen.

Gojo: Lunch? Just us?

You paused, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second, you considered changing your plans. But the polite smile Nanami gave when he asked you earlier flickered in your mind—and more importantly, the fact that it was a work lunch. You typed back:

You: I have lunch with Nanami today. He wanted to catch up on the Norway trip and go over some work stuff I missed.

You didn’t get a reply.

You assumed Gojo was busy. So were you. You buried yourself back into the digital avalanche.

An hour slipped by. You were focused on redlining a supplier contract when the door to your cabin burst open.

“Why are you having lunch with Nanami?” Gojo stood at the doorway, his brows drawn tight, his usual easy smile nowhere in sight.

Your eyes snapped up from your screen, startled. “Gojo, what are you doing?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “He asked me. He wanted to hear about the trip and update me on some things I missed while I was away.”

“Yeah, and why does he need to hear about your trip?” Gojo stepped fully into the room now, voice sharper than you were used to hearing.

You straightened in your chair, surprised by the edge in his tone. “It’s not that deep. It’s lunch. We work together.”

Gojo folded his arms, jaw clenched. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Why would I do that?” you asked, blinking in disbelief. “I’ve barely spoken to him since I got back. He was being polite.”

Gojo scoffed. “Nanami doesn’t do anything just to be polite.”

“What are you trying to say?” your voice rose slightly. “That I shouldn’t have lunch with someone just because you don’t like them?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “I’m saying I don’t trust him. You don’t know what he’s like behind that boring façade.”

You stood now too, closing the laptop with a soft snap. “Gojo, this isn’t high school. It’s one meal, not a confession of loyalty.”

“And what about us?” he asked. “You think I want to sit around wondering what Nanami’s whispering to you over coffee and spreadsheets?”

You stared at him, stunned by the jealousy flickering just beneath his words. “You don’t get to control who I eat with, Gojo.”

The room was thick with silence. For a moment, you both just stood there—he breathing heavily, you glaring back at him, pulse quickened not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

“Lunch is lunch,” you said, voice calm but firm. “If you have a problem, maybe talk to me like an adult instead of barging in here like this.”

Gojo’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched your face, the fire in them slowly retreating. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, stepping back. “Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and sat back down. The lunch hadn’t even started, and somehow, it already felt like the beginning of something much more complicated.

Nanami had chosen a quiet, tucked-away bistro with soft lighting and minimal chatter—perfectly suited for private conversations. The little troll figurine you’d given him earlier that morning still sat proudly on the table beside his bento, as if it had been given a place of honor. You smiled faintly at the sight, touched by the gesture, and took your seat across from him.

He poured you a cup of tea without asking, and the two of you exchanged light pleasantries. You told him about the mountain hike, the freezing wind, and how the fog had rolled over the cliffs like a moving wall. Nanami listened closely, nodding occasionally, his expression warm—invested.

But even as he smiled and responded with quiet attentiveness, his gaze never left your face. He was reading you. Measuring every pause, every breath.

“You’re back, but you don’t seem all the way back,” he said, tone casual. “Something still on your mind?”

You gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. “Just a lot to catch up on. You know how it is.”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully and lifted his tea to his lips, studying you over the rim. “Gojo seems a bit… unsettled today. Did something happen?”

You blinked at him, mildly surprised. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to,” he replied smoothly. “He practically slammed a door in the hallway. Not like him to be that graceless.”

You laughed softly. “He can be dramatic sometimes.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, keeping his voice light and conversational. “Let me guess—he’s not thrilled you’re here with me?”

You looked down at your food, your expression faltering just for a second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Nanami said gently, almost teasing.

You sighed, letting your guard down without realizing it. “He just… asked me not to have lunch with you. Said it was about work, but I think he got weirdly possessive.”

“Hmm,” Nanami murmured, his voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “That sounds like him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nanami set down his chopsticks and looked at you with an air of reluctant honesty, his tone carefully measured. “Gojo doesn’t like sharing attention. Or space. Or people. Especially not when he thinks something belongs to him.”

You straightened slightly, bristling. “I’m not a thing to be shared.”

“No,” Nanami said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re not. Of course not. That’s what makes it so frustrating to watch.”

You let the silence linger a moment, sipping your tea. Nanami leaned forward just slightly, his voice quiet, tinged with concern. “Look… if my presence is creating tension between you two, I don’t want to cause problems. If it’s easier for you, I’m happy to step back.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Nanami, no. That’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not going to cut off a good friend just because Gojo can’t handle it.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small, sad smile. “You’re too kind.”

You returned to your meal, unaware of how precisely you’d been steered into that exchange. Nanami picked up his chopsticks again, but he didn’t eat right away. Instead, he watched you—his fingertips brushing the troll figurine as if it were a talisman.

She defends me. Even against him. She trusts me. She chose to tell me.

The seed had been planted. And Nanami knew exactly how to make it bloom.

Gojo sat motionless at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the glowing screen in front of him, but his mind was adrift—caught somewhere between rage and restraint. The cursor blinked in the silence like a metronome ticking toward something he didn’t want to face.

He shut his eyes and drew in a long, steady breath, trying to anchor himself. You can’t mess this up again, Satoru. Not like last time. Not with her.

But how was he supposed to stay calm when Nanami was whispering poison into your ears, turning you against him with that polished restraint and deliberate calmness? Gojo knew exactly the kind of game Nanami played—subtle, precise, emotionally manipulative in the most maddeningly rational way.

He was playing from a disadvantage—he always had been. But this time, he wasn’t going to retreat and lick his wounds. No. If Nanami expected him to burn out and spiral, Gojo would do the opposite. If Nanami thought he had the upper hand, Gojo would shift the rules entirely.

He shut his laptop with a sharp click, the sound final and decisive. Rising from his chair, he left his office without another glance. His steps were fast, purposeful—cutting through the hallways like a blade. That’s when he ran into her again.

Suzume.

She almost stumbled when their paths crossed. Gojo caught her arm, steadying her.

“Suzume,” he said, polite but unreadable.

“Mr. Gojo,” she blinked, clearly flustered. “You haven’t gone for lunch yet?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not yet. What’s in the bag?”

Suzume’s eyes widened as she instinctively tucked the paper bag behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing—just a delivery for Mr. Nanami. He wasn’t in, so I picked it up for him.”

Gojo’s gaze darkened slightly. “Then why are you hiding it?”

Her smile faltered. She looked away, unsure whether to lie again or fold under the weight of his stare.

“Suzume.” His voice dropped lower. Stern. Cold.

She hesitated, then slowly brought the bag in front of her, reluctantly handing it over like a child caught sneaking sweets.

Gojo opened the bag, pulled out the velvet box inside, and let the packaging drop to the floor without care. He opened the box and stared.

A necklace. A delicate butterfly pendant, glittering faintly beneath the lights—an imitation diamond piece on a chain too thick for your taste.

He let out a shaky breath, but it wasn’t relief—it was disgust, coiled and venomous. “Tell Nanami,” Gojo said quietly, snapping the box shut with a sound that echoed off the tiles, “that if it’s for Y/N, she doesn’t wear fake diamonds. Also…” he paused, offering a cruel smile, “the chain’s too heavy for her neck. She hates feeling caged.”

He pressed the box back into Suzume’s shaking hands. She didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Gojo leaned in just a little, enough for only her to hear. “He should’ve known better. Or maybe he does… but still likes playing with things that aren’t his.”

Gojo had barely taken three steps when he felt a hesitant tug at his wrist. He stopped, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as he turned around.

Suzume was gripping his hand—not tightly, but enough to stop him. Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d just done. She quickly let go, her hand recoiling like it had been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and looking down at the floor. “I just… um… I was wondering if you might… want to grab lunch with me?”

Her voice was light, nervous. A soft flush rose to her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or something else, he couldn’t tell. For a moment, Gojo’s instinct flared—his pride wounded, his mood poisoned by the pendant still etched in his memory.

He was about to refuse. Polite but distant. He didn’t have the patience for small talk or clumsy flirtations, not today.

But then, a thought struck him.

Suzume. Nervous. Observant. A little too eager.

She was clearly trying to get on someone’s good side—and it wasn’t his. Not at first. She’s closer to Nanami than I realized. And if she’s playing messenger for him, maybe she’s hearing things too.

Gojo's expression softened instantly—like flipping a switch. He smiled, slow and disarming.

“Lunch?” he echoed, the sharpness melting from his voice. “You know what… that actually sounds good.”

Suzume blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change.

“Really?” she asked, a small hopeful lilt in her voice.

“Yeah.” He slid his hands into his pockets, gaze leveling on her. “Lead the way.”

As they began walking side by side, Gojo's eyes flicked briefly to the velvet box still clutched in her hand. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t have to. The pieces were already moving.

Let’s see what you know, Suzume, he thought, keeping his expression light. And let’s see how much you’re willing to say if I smile long enough.

They sat across from each other at a small café tucked between office buildings, a warm breeze brushing past the awning above them. Gojo stirred his iced coffee absentmindedly, eyes flicking over Suzume as she glanced shyly down at her menu.

She had dressed up a little more than usual today. Lighter lipstick, earrings that caught the light just enough, and that tentative, hopeful look she gave him over the rim of her glass—he saw it now.

And it clicked. She liked him. Oh. Gojo leaned back in his chair, a slow grin creeping across his lips. This could be useful.

“You know, Suzume,” he said lazily, propping an arm up on the back of his chair, “I didn’t realize how cute you looked when you’re nervous.”

Suzume blinked. “W-What?”

“Just saying.” He sipped his drink with casual arrogance. “It’s kind of endearing. You should smile more—you have the kind of face that makes other people smile back.”

A visible flush bloomed across her cheeks. Suzume tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a tiny, flustered laugh. “I… didn’t think you even noticed me most days.”

“I notice more than you think,” Gojo said, his voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You’re sharp. Efficient. Kind of wasted doing Nanami’s grunt work, honestly.”

Suzume looked away, visibly flattered. “He just trusts me with stuff, that’s all.”

“Does he?” Gojo leaned forward slightly, pretending interest while quietly watching her squirm. “Or does he just like keeping you close?”

She looked up in surprise. “You think Nanami—?”

“I think Nanami doesn’t do anything without a reason,” Gojo said simply, then gave her a wink. “But hey, I’m glad he’s careless enough to let someone like you slip through the cracks.”

Suzume giggled softly, taking a sip of her water to hide the grin. Then, hesitantly she asked, “Does Y/N… mind? You having lunch with me, I mean.”

Gojo raised a brow. “Why would she?”

Suzume shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seem… close.”

Gojo gave a soft, amused chuckle and leaned in, resting his chin in his palm. “Let me be clear about something, Suzume.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“No one tells me what to do. Not Y/N, not Nanami, no one. If I want to have lunch with a beautiful and intelligent woman who clearly deserves more attention than she’s been getting…” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Then I’m going to do exactly that.”

Suzume practically glowed.

He tilted his head slightly. “Unless you don’t want to have lunch with me. I’d understand. Could always go eat alone, sulking in a dark corner of the office.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I’m really happy you agreed. I mean—I didn’t think you would, but—”

Gojo smiled. “Good. I like being unpredictable.”

Their food arrived, and as Suzume eagerly launched into a story about a client she dealt with that morning, Gojo nodded along, half-listening. Under the table, he tapped his foot slowly, rhythmically. A quiet beat of strategy.

Suzume had a crush. Nanami was distracted.

If this was going to be a game, then he’d play it with the same recklessness that had always kept people guessing and now, he had a new pawn on the board. Willing, eager, and completely unaware.

Gojo smiled again, this time to himself. Let the game begin.

The office was unusually quiet that morning. The kind of stillness that settled like fog before a storm. Suzume walked in with a little spring in her step, still replaying yesterday’s lunch in her mind—Gojo’s laughter, his voice, the way he said beautiful and intelligent. She’d barely slept.

She reached her desk, fingers adjusting the collar of her blouse, and stopped dead in her tracks.

A box. Not just any box—a Cartier box.

It sat there, perfectly centered on her desk like it had been waiting just for her. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out and touched the velvet red case, the unmistakable gold trim shimmering under the office lights.

She glanced around—no one was watching. With a shaky breath, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate Cartier Love necklace. Rose gold. Classic. Elegant. Undeniably expensive.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Tucked into the satin lid was a small note, cream-colored, embossed in neat calligraphy:

Only the best for a woman like you. —G.S.

For a full second, her mind blanked.

G.S.

Her lips parted, barely forming the words.

“Gojo Satoru…”

Her fingers traced the fine curve of the pendant. She had admired this exact design online more times than she could count. Daydreamed about someone thinking her worthy of something so precious. But this—this wasn’t a dream.

She unfastened the chain, almost too eagerly, and slipped it around her neck. The metal was cold against her skin, sending a chill down her spine. She clasped it shut and looked down at the reflection in her phone screen.

It looked perfect. Like it belonged there. She brushed her fingers lightly over the charm and smiled. Her cheeks flushed, her heart hammering against her chest.

She turned to grab her coffee, but something in the air shifted. A quiet voice in the back of her mind asked, Why would Gojo Satoru give you this? But she crushed it quickly, like snuffing out a candle. He noticed me. He said I deserved more attention.This necklace—this wasn’t just a gift. It was a message. He saw her and now, she was wearing proof around her neck.

The café across the street from the headquarters was buzzing, but your table in the corner had a little pocket of calm to it. You sat across from Suzumeand Hitoshi, Maya and Gojo sat beside you, leisurely sipping his iced coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You were halfway through your salad when a glint of light caught your eye—rose gold, delicate, unmistakably Cartier. Your gaze flicked up.

Around Suzume’s neck hung a Cartier Love necklace, the rose-gold band sitting perfectly against her skin like it had been made for her.

You swallowed and casually asked, “That’s a nice necklace. Where did you get it?”

Suzume’s fork paused mid-air. Her eyes darted to yours for a moment too long. Something about your tone made her shoulders tighten.

She gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s… from someone I’ve recently started seeing.”

There was something defensive in her voice. As if she thought you were mocking her—questioning whether someone like her could really wear something like that. Your brows lifted ever so slightly, not in judgment but in curiosity, though Suzume seemed to misread it completely.

Before you could say anything else, Gojo leaned forward, eyes flicking to the necklace.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said smoothly, voice low and warm. 

Suzume’s face lit up. She tilted her chin down slightly, fingertips brushing the pendant as if to draw more attention to it. “Thanks,” she said, breathy.

Gojo offered her a small, knowing wink—quick, almost imperceptible.

Maya’s interest immediately perked up. “Oh? A new guy? Tell us more!”

Suzume leaned in, confidence blooming like a slow flower. “He’s amazing. Really thoughtful. Always knows what I like without me having to say it. Honestly, he’s the best man I’ve ever been with.”

Across the table, Hitoshi whistled, raising his brows. “He must be loaded if he’s giving you Cartier.”

Suzume gave him a look—half-playful, half-dismissive. “It’s not about the money, Hitoshi. It’s the effort. He notices the little things.”

Her eyes slid to Gojo as she said it, and she smiled again. Gojo didn’t miss the cue. He returned her smile with one of his own—charming and just vague enough to be misread by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But Maya was paying attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the smile pass between them like an invisible thread.

You tilted your head, tone light but curious. “He sounds like a catch. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Suzume blinked. Her smile tightened just a little. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

You raised an eyebrow at her response, but before the moment stretched too far, she turned sharply toward Gojo. “So, Mr. Gojo, how was your trip?”

Gojo took a sip of his drink, eyes still glinting. “It was great. Norway’s always beautiful. The fjords, the little towns, the air—nothing like it.”

He kept his voice smooth and steady, dancing around any details that might tie his experience to you. He didn’t mention the quiet moments you shared on that secluded hike, or the way your laughter echoed down mountain paths. None of that would help him now.

Suzume listened intently, nodding as if she was memorizing every word. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It was,” Gojo said, glancing at you just once from the corner of his eye—just enough to see if you caught anything in his tone. Then his attention swung back to Suzume. “But it’s always good to be back.”

Suzume’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go to Norway. It looks like a dream.”

“Maybe you can go with your new man”. Hitoshi commented with a wink.

“Maybe I will”. She quipped.

Gojo glanced at her with a lopsided smile. “Maybe we should.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “We should all go.”

You nodded, thinking nothing of it. “I wouldn’t mind going again”

Maya arched a brow at the suggestion but said nothing, simply sipping her drink.

Hitoshi chuckled. “If someone’s paying, I’m packing tonight.”

Everyone laughed, the moment light again. Suzume, however, was glowing. She turned her head, letting the pendant catch the light again, clearly relishing every second. And Gojo? He leaned into the moment, calm and unreadable, every move intentional

Nanami’s office was quiet, awash in the mellow glow of a desk lamp as late afternoon light spilled through the blinds. The hum of conversation and clacking keyboards beyond the glass was faint, almost muffled — a soft reminder that the day was still ticking forward.

Maya stood by his desk, holding a tablet, flipping through reports on the latest client onboarding metrics.

“I think if we stagger the internal review with client comms, we can bring the close date forward by at least two days,” she explained.

Nanami nodded, eyes scanning the document she’d just handed him. “That would work. Good call.”

There was a moment of silence as he leaned back, the chair creaking slightly.

Then, in a casual tone, Nanami asked, “By the way... how’s Suzume doing?”

Maya blinked, caught off guard. “Suzume?”

“Yes.” Nanami tapped his pen against the armrest, feigning disinterest. “Just noticed she’s seemed... a bit distracted lately. Not in a disruptive way — just not quite her usual self.”

Maya paused, unsure where this was going. “I guess... she’s been a little more talkative than usual. But I haven’t noticed anything serious.”

Nanami gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it hardly mattered. “Mm. I only ask because I’ve seen a few moments — in the team meetings especially — where she seemed a bit… off. And maybe a little cold toward you?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Cold how?”

He held up his hands slightly. “Could be nothing. Maybe I’m reading into things. But she barely acknowledged your idea in yesterday’s review — which was strange, considering she usually backs your suggestions without question.”

Maya folded her arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

Nanami offered a smooth smile. “Just making sure there’s no tension in the team that could affect delivery. That’s all.”

Maya hesitated. Her instincts told her to be careful. But the concern in Nanami’s voice — so calm, so reasonable — made her guard falter.

She exhaled slowly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to someone about it, actually.”

Nanami leaned forward slightly, just enough to signal interest without pushing. “Go on.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Maya began, lowering her voice slightly. “But I think Suzume might be... infatuated with Gojo.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of recognition. “Really?”

Maya nodded, frustration creeping into her voice. “She keeps staring at him in meetings. Laughing a little too hard at his jokes. And last week at lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at him. She even wore a Cartier necklace and claimed some mystery man gave it to her.”

Nanami leaned back again, arms crossed. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like Gojo. He’s... not exactly subtle if he’s involved with someone. He’d flaunt it.”

Maya frowned. “I didn’t say Gojo’s reciprocating. I’m just saying something feels off.”

“I see.” Nanami tapped the pen against his desk once, twice. Then stopped. “Maybe you should talk to Y/N about it.”

Maya blinked. “Why?”

Nanami met her eyes. “Because if something’s really going on — even if it’s one-sided — Y/N should know. Especially if it’s going to turn messy.”

Maya looked down, conflicted.

“You’re close to her,” Nanami added, voice low and measured. “She’ll trust you. Better it comes from you than someone else.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Maya gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”

Nanami smiled faintly and returned to the file on his desk. “Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Maya walked out, still unsure whether she’d done the right thing — while behind her, Nanami’s smile slowly faded, replaced by something far more calculating.

The soft golden hue of the setting sun stretched across the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows against the pavement. Trees rustled gently with the spring breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another as Maya waited outside your door, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. The look on her face was unreadable — a blend of concern, hesitation, and quiet resolve.

You opened the door, surprised to see her.

“Maya? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” She gave a tight smile. “Thought you might like to go for a walk. Clear our heads. You’ve been cooped up with those campaign reviews all day.”

You hesitated for a beat — her tone was casual, but you knew Maya well enough to sense when something was off.

“Sure. Just give me a sec to grab a sweater.”

A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the quiet, tree-lined street, the occasional car humming past. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your lungs feel clean, and for a while, neither of you spoke. You appreciated the silence — Maya often gave you space to think when she sensed you needed it. But today, she was the one struggling with her thoughts.

Finally, she spoke.

“You ever get a gut feeling about someone and you can’t shake it?”

You glanced at her. “This about work?”

She sighed. “Sort of. It’s about Suzume.”

You stopped mid-step, then resumed walking slowly. “Okay… what about her?”

Maya took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve been watching her the past week or so — not in a weird way, just… observing. And something’s changed. She’s constantly hovering around Gojo. Sitting closer in meetings. Laughing at things that aren’t even funny.”

You frowned. “Suzume’s always been a little… eager around new people. Maybe she’s just trying to fit in?”

“It’s not just that,” Maya said firmly. “She’s... infatuated. And I think she’s trying to get his attention. Honestly, I think she has it.”

You stopped walking. The word infatuated echoed in your mind longer than it should have. You stared ahead, lips pressed in a thin line.

“She’s been wearing that new necklace every day,” Maya added. “Said it was from someone she’s started seeing. At lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at Gojo. He even winked at her.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression even. “That could mean anything.”

Maya gave you a long look. “I know how this sounds, okay? I’m not trying to make you suspicious for no reason. I just… something feels off. And I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you.”

You stayed silent, the wind brushing strands of hair across your face.

Internally, your thoughts swirled. A week ago, you might’ve believed every word Maya just said. But now? Things between you and Gojo had shifted. He’d opened up to you. Let you see a part of him he rarely shared with anyone. You couldn’t let your past — the betrayal you swore you’d never let happen again — cloud your judgment.

“I appreciate you telling me,” you said quietly. “I really do. But you don’t have any actual proof.”

Maya stopped walking. “So you’re not going to say anything?”

You met her eyes. “Not yet. If something is going on, it’ll come to light. But until then… I trust him.”

Maya looked unconvinced, but she didn’t push. “Okay. Just... be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “I will.”

The two of you continued walking, but the silence now felt heavier — weighted with things unspoken. Behind you, the shadows of the street grew longer, the sun dipping just beneath the horizon, as if warning that some truths were better seen in the dark.

Somewhere behind you, hidden in the folds of the night, a pair of eyes watched from across the street — from the shadows behind a parked car.

A phone screen dimmed.

Someone walked away, unseen, happy that his bait had landed.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @concretewishes

[thehighpriestess1]

One thing, everytime flashback gojo tells y/n she should go back to where she came from he sounds like donald trump IM SO SORRY I KNOW IT'S A SRS MATTER but omg torunald trump make jujutsukaisen great again 😔

ANYWAY hello my sweet love, im sorry for being mia. Life's been extremely hard these days, i got fired and had to drop out of school cz of it and clinical depression is kicking my thicc jiggly ass.

I dont have much energy to read these days, but i just wanted to say i miss you and hope you stay well and write to your heart's content. I'm always cheering for you (anonbae)

Torunald trump lmao!!!!!! Killed me 😂😂😂😂 I am so sorry to hear about your job. I hope you're getting all the help you need. Even though we are strangers please know that you can always talk to me. You can get through this anon!! You are kind, funny, and you have motivated me to write on days when I could barely leave my bed. Your messages were like sunshine for me! I am cheering for you my anonbae <3

[thehighpriestess1]

I am so excited for almost mine! I have rarely seen a fic where the reader isn’t a poor peasant lmao. When will the first chapter come? No pressure I am just excited! Also is this yandere gojo?

Hi Anon, chapter 1 will be out in two days! Ig you could say it’s yandere gojo 🥲

[thehighpriestess1]

Almost Mine

In the shadows of Tokyo’s elite, perfection is just a mask — and everyone bleeds behind it.

Atop Diamond Hill, Elysian Hall stands like a cathedral for the powerful — a place where legacies are forged, alliances are fragile, and secrets are deadlier than weapons. Nanami Kento’s return was unexpected. But it’s not just him who walks through those iron gates. He brings with him someone new... someone the halls weren’t prepared for.

Y/n, Gojo Satoru, Suguru Geto, and Shoko Ieiri have long reigned as the untouchable elite of Elysian Hall. Beautiful. Brilliant. Brutal. They control the school like a kingdom — until Ayaka arrives.

A new student. A new threat. A spark in a room full of gasoline.

In this world of cold smiles and hidden knives, trust is a weakness, and love might just be lethal.

Welcome to Elysian Hall. You're either chosen — or you're hunted.

Genre: Drama, angst, smut, fluff Taglist : Open Pairing: Nanami x y/n, Gojo x y/n

Chapter 1 (Coming soon)

[thehighpriestess1]

Almost mine it is!

Vote on the fic name for the next Gojo fic. Hint: the fic is set in an elite school.

[thehighpriestess1]

Vote on the fic name for the next Gojo fic. Hint: the fic is set in an elite school.

[thehighpriestess1]

Are you going to write the other gojo fic you were talking about? I love make a wish and I love your writing style!

Yes. It is still in works. Struggling to decide on a name. It is set in an elite high school. I was watching gossip girl again and I got the idea from it. Please suggest a good name for a fic like that!

[thehighpriestess1]

gojo n yn's relationship is like,

yn: i can do it

gojo: i know but let me help you

🥹🥹🥹 anw, maya supremacy. i only trust her now‼️💖 (hopefully it ends well.)

Hahahha yeah. Maya is a queen!

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a Wish: Mastermind

Warning: Strong themes. Manipulation.

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Word count: 13k

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

You hummed softly to Matilda as the orchards blurred past, their blossoms flickering like ghosts of memories you weren’t quite ready to touch. Gojo tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel — rhythm absent, mind clearly elsewhere. Tangled in thoughts. Tangled in you.

Your confession had landed like a brick to the chest. You saw the flicker in his expression, mistaking his silence for disbelief. But there was nothing for him to question. He had always known. Every word you’d spoken rang true.

He should have said something right then — told you what he remembered, what he carried with him every day. But speaking the truth aloud would have fractured the fragile thing growing between you. And he couldn’t risk that. Not when, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you were looking at him like he was something more than the man who had failed you.

So he stayed quiet. If pretending meant keeping you close a little longer, he’d carry the lie all the way to the grave. From the corner of his eye, he watched you. Peaceful. A little distant. Beautiful in the kind of quiet way that undid him.

He cleared his throat. “How did it feel… coming back? The whole thing?”

You turned toward him, smiling gently. “So you do believe me now?”

“I always believed you,” he replied, his voice light with effort. “I just want to understand.”

You shifted in your seat, eyes drifting to the window. “It was... unnerving at first. Terrifying. But once the shock wore off—” you inhaled deeply “—it felt exhilarating.”

His brow lifted. “Exhilarating? Why?”

But he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to trace every fracture in the old version of himself — the one who let you slip away — so he’d never make the same mistake again.

You exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “Because I’d been stuck. In this loop. Pain, loss, silence… pretending everything was fine. Coming back felt like breaking out of that. Like I was finally breathing again. Like I had a second chance.”

“Pain…” he echoed. “Loss?”

You paused. The air in the car shifted.

“Yeah. Loss of my footing. My peace. Maybe even my sanity,” you said with a laugh that was almost too quiet, too sad.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you said softly. “But not you-you. The other you. The one who kept me a secret. Who chose his clan’s approval over me.”

He swallowed hard. “But I’m still him, aren’t I? Same face. Same voice.”

You turned to him, expression gentle. “No, Satoru. That version of you lived in fear. You…” you smiled faintly, “…you listen. You chose me.”

A silence settled between you, soft but heavy.

Then, as if afraid to break it, he asked, “How did we even start dating?”

You let out a small laugh. “One-night stand. After a company party. We weren’t supposed to catch feelings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Classy. Sounds like me.”

“Terrible behavior, really.”

“So does this mean you trust me?” he asked, taking another smooth turn.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

He glanced at you again. “Then… your walls. Ready to let them down?”

You smirked. “My walls?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “You don’t let me spoil you. You flinch every time I try to take care of you. Sometimes, your independence feels like rebellion. Like you’re guarding yourself from me.”

You huffed. “Wow. Didn’t know you noticed me so much.”

“What can I say?” he murmured. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, but sometimes… it feels like I’m not allowed to be. Like if I show too much, you’ll run.”

You studied his face. Even with the glasses, you could see the sadness in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Even if things are different now… I’m still not over a lot.”

“Yet here you are,” he said softly. “You should’ve told me you needed time. I would’ve waited.”

The words struck you silently. He was right. You’d kept him close, but always at arm’s length. Your heart sank.

Gojo noticed the shift in your expression. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just—this is a lot.”

“It’s alright.” You gave him a fragile smile.

After a pause, he said gently, “Tell me something I did right. Just one thing.”

You looked out the window, thinking. “You were a good friend. Always there for others. My family. Always ready to help.”

He hummed quietly, nodding. But everything you said, while true, felt distant. Detached. Not about him and you.

“What’s something I did for you,” he asked, “that you actually liked?”

You rubbed your arm, struggling. “I… I guess I liked how you always said the right thing. You always knew what to say.”

He nodded again, silent. It wasn’t quite the answer he was hoping for — but maybe it was the only one you could give.

Nanami flipped through the file with surgical precision, each turn of the page more agitated than the last. His jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed like he might shatter a molar. The frown etched on his face had settled into something permanent over the past few days, but now it deepened to something almost dangerous.

Finally, he slammed the file shut with a sharp thud that echoed through the sterile silence of his office. Papers inside shuddered at the impact. He exhaled through his nose—controlled, cold, and deliberate—then picked up the phone.

“Miwa. Come in.”

His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of a storm building on the horizon.

The door creaked open within seconds. Miwa entered with quick, polite steps, notepad already in hand.

“Yes, sir?”

Nanami held the file beside his face like it offended him. “You expect me to submit this to investors?”

She blinked, confused. “I— I reviewed the numbers three times. I thought—”

He didn’t let her finish. He slid the file across the desk like a dealer tossing a losing hand.

“You have two hours. Fix everything and bring it back before lunch.”

Miwa hesitated, catching the file with both hands. “But sir, the investor meeting isn’t until tomor—”

“Do you give me deadlines now?” Nanami’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even. His brow arched slightly, a cold challenge in his eyes.

Miwa’s lips parted, then closed. Her shoulders stiffened, and she bowed her head.

“Understood,” she said quietly.

She turned and walked out, her breath shallow as she pulled the door shut behind her. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she nearly bumped into Maya, who had been standing nearby, having overheard enough.

“Miwa,” Maya said, reaching out. Her face was knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

Miwa nodded quickly, trying to seem unfazed, but her fingers clutched the file a little too tightly. “It’s my fault. I should’ve double-checked everything.”

“Are you sure?” Maya asked gently.

“I’ll fix it,” Miwa insisted with a forced smile, the edges of her professionalism cracking slightly. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

And with that, she rushed toward her desk, flipping open her laptop with practiced urgency. Maya stood in place, her arms folding across her chest, her thoughts racing.

She'd been watching Nanami all week. There was a pattern. He hadn’t just snapped at Miwa—Hitoshi had been on the receiving end of a biting comment yesterday, and even his usual coffee run had gone untouched this morning. He hadn’t spoken more than five words in the team briefing. This wasn’t the Nanami she knew — thoughtful, composed, meticulous in words as much as in numbers. This version was distant. Cold. Preoccupied.

Something was very wrong.

She pulled out her phone and typed quickly.

Maya: Y/n, you need to talk to Nanami. Something’s off. The whole office is tense. Y/n: What happened? Maya: No clue. But it’s not just a bad day. It feels bigger. Y/n: I’m back soon. I’ll talk to him first thing.

Maya stared at the screen for a moment after sending the last message, her reflection dim in the glass of the office window. She didn’t know what was going on, but something told her this wasn’t just about a few missed calculations.

Still unsettled, Maya headed toward the break area, where she found Hitoshi hunched over a vending machine, aggressively tapping the "C2" button.

“You know that button’s not gonna listen to you faster if you bully it,” she said, attempting a light tone.

Hitoshi glanced up, chuckling as the machine finally coughed up his can of cold brew. “It fears me. That's why it obeys.”

Maya smiled faintly, then leaned against the counter. “I just saw Miwa. Nanami really tore into her.”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi sighed, popping the tab and taking a sip. “I heard the door slam. He’s been like that all week. Short-tempered. Snappy. Kind of… off.”

“So it’s not just me,” Maya said, her voice dropping slightly.

“Nope,” Hitoshi replied. “He even gave me grief for submitting the new vendor shortlist. And I triple-checked that thing.” He raised a brow. “Maybe he’s just missing Y/n.”

Maya let out a short breath of amusement. “I wish it were something that simple.”

Hitoshi tilted his head. “You think it’s something else?”

Maya hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t want to overthink it, but… a few nights ago, I forgot my phone in the office. When I came back to get it, everyone had left. Lights were off except in Nanami’s office.”

Hitoshi straightened slightly. “Okay…”

“I peeked through the glass to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything. He was in there with a man and a woman I’ve never seen before. They weren’t dressed like clients. The woman had this… corporate air, but not from our usual circles.”

“You’re sure they weren’t new clients?” Hitoshi asked, frowning. “Nanami handles a lot of private consults. He’s always discreet about them.”

“I know,” Maya said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything then. But it wasn’t a typical meeting. No documents, no presentations. They were talking, but the vibe was tense. Like something serious was being decided.”

Hitoshi sipped his drink, watching her carefully. “You think it has something to do with his mood lately?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “But my gut says yes. I’ve worked with Nanami long enough to know he doesn’t unravel without reason. And something’s unraveling.”

“Maybe he’s trying to keep something under wraps,” Hitoshi said. “Wouldn’t be the first time leadership deals with high-stakes stuff behind closed doors.”

“Yeah… but this feels personal,” Maya murmured, more to herself than to him. “And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to affect more than just him.”

She looked toward the hallway that led to Nanami’s office — now quiet, the door closed, the storm temporarily sealed behind wood and glass.

“I just hope Y/n gets back soon,” she added softly. “He listens to her. If anyone can get through to him… it’s her.”

Hitoshi nodded, thoughtful now. “Let’s hope it’s not already too late.”

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of clothes being folded and tucked away. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your suitcase open beside you, half-packed and slightly chaotic — a reflection of your thoughts.

You were folding your sweater when the door clicked open.

Gojo stepped inside, shades pushed up into his hair, wind still clinging to him like the scent of the cherry orchards. “Hey,” he said softly. “How’s the packing?”

You shrugged, not looking up. “Therapeutic. Kind of. Helps me think.”

He wandered in, lazily draping himself across the armchair like it was his throne. “What time’s the flight?”

“Same route back,” you said, eyes still focused on a tangled pair of headphones. “Early morning. The one with the layover in Helsinki.”

There was a pause. You felt him watching you. And then, for some reason, you stopped.

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes.

“…Are you planning to come with me?”

Gojo didn’t answer at first. He simply reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a boarding pass, waving it in the air with a triumphant little grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You laughed — warm, genuine — but then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second one. A different one.

Now he was holding a ticket in each hand, one on either side of his face, like a magician about to perform a trick.

“I brought options,” he said, voice light. “Your commercial flight… or my jet. No pressure.”

Your eyes widened, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Your jet?”

He nodded, grinning. “Private. Smooth. No layovers. Less crying babies. Bonus points for having me all to yourself.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but the offer stands. If you trust me.”

You bit your lip, heart stuttering a little. “I do trust you.”

“Then?” he prompted, eyes hopeful.

“…But I still want to be independent,” you added quietly. “It matters to me.”

Gojo nodded slowly, smile fading into something softer. “I get that. I do. But you said you’d try to let me in. Just a little.”

You looked away, guilt suddenly heavy in your chest. Your hands paused on your suitcase, unmoving.

He noticed. “What is it?”

You exhaled, the words catching in your throat. “I feel awful. You’ve gone through all of this— every twist, every hard moment — and most of it wasn’t even your fault. I blamed you for things… things that belonged to someone else. Another version of you.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s still me. Past or present. I don’t get to dodge that.”

“I punished you anyway,” you whispered.

“You were hurting,” he said simply. “And I was part of that pain, even if I didn’t mean to be. I’ll take it — if it means I get to be here now.”

You blinked quickly, swallowing the emotion rising in your throat.

He smiled, tilting his head. “So… what’s it going to be? Cabin 14A with a window view and a crying toddler behind us? Or cherry wine and custom playlists on my jet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a hard sell.”

“Just being honest.”

You sighed, picking up your sweater and pressing it to your chest like a shield. “Fine. We’ll take your jet.”

He beamed like a kid who’d won at a claw machine. “You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.”

“You’re still going to cuddle me mid-flight.”

“No promises.”

“You say that now.” He stood up and crossed to your suitcase, casually tossing in one of his hoodies. “You always get cold midair.”

You looked up at him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you. For not giving up.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and said, quietly, “Never even crossed my mind.”

“And since when do you need a ticket for your private jet?”. You corked your head to the side and smiled.

“Oh it’s my boarding pass for our old flight, did it for the dramatics”. He grinned.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Yet you love me”. 

Gojo leaned on his knuckles, elbows propped lazily on the armrest as he watched you, eyebrows pinched together in focus while you typed away furiously on your phone. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Who are you texting?” he asked, voice casual, but with a thread of curiosity threading through.

The soft hum of his private jet filled the cabin, punctuating the silence that followed.

“Oh, just Maya,” you murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“All okay?” he asked, straightening up from his slouch.

You hesitated, thumbs still hovering over your keyboard. “Umm... I don’t know,” you muttered, the small frown between your brows deepening.

Gojo narrowed his eyes, interest officially piqued. “Can I help?”

You let out a dry chuckle and finally looked up at him, offering a half-smile. “It’s about Nanami.”

Gojo’s face twisted, barely perceptible but undeniably bitter. “What did he do now?”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t new. It tugged at the tail end of what had been one of the most serene holidays he'd ever had — and Nanami’s name had to sour it.

You sighed, your fingers slackening as you placed the phone on the glossy mahogany table between you. “He didn’t do anything. But Maya says he’s been acting weird.”

Gojo cocked a brow. “Weird? So... like himself?” he said with a smirk.

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, sure. Maya said he’s been on edge. Irritable.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the corners of his lips twitching. “Again — like himself.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms. “Come on, I’m being serious. Everyone’s worried.”

He scoffed and looked away, jaw tightening. “Everyone? Or you?” A beat. “And why are you even worried about him? He’s nothing but a conniving bastard.”

Your eyes sharpened. “Why do you hate him so much? He’s done nothing to you. He’s your business partner — you should have some respect.”

Gojo laughed. Not the joyful kind. The sharp, cutting kind. “Respect? For Nanami?” He tilted his head mockingly. “He’s not my partner. I’m his boss. I own his company.”

Your arms folded tighter as you leaned back, your tone clipped. “Well, he clearly built something lucrative enough for you to want to buy it and that deserves respect”

Gojo’s smirk vanished. His voice dropped an octave. “The only lucrative thing he did was hire you. I bought a loss-making company — overpaid for it, even — just to get close to you.”

You blinked. “Wh-what?”

He exhaled, tension surfacing. “Yes. The only reason I bought the company was because I— I found out you worked there. It was the only way I could... truly know who the woman from my dream was”

Silence fell. You stared at him, eyes wide. “You couldn’t just move to Kyoto? You had to buy a company?”

“Yes,” Gojo said without hesitation, tone suddenly raw. “Because it was the only organic way I could think of. Do you have any idea how pissed I was when I found out you worked for Nanami?”

Your tone turned sharp, defensive. “What’s wrong with working for Nanami?”

He shifted, jaw clenched. “I— never mind.”

You leaned forward, fed up. “Because of Mishki?”

Gojo froze mid-breath, the color draining slightly from his face. He turned his head slowly toward you. “What... what did you just say?”

Your chest tightened. But it was too late now. You inhaled sharply. “He told me. About Mishki.”

Gojo studied you — a long, unreadable stare. He could barely keep the fury from leaking into his tone. “And... what exactly did he tell you?”

“That... he was dating her. And you— you took her from him. Then mocked him when he confronted you.”

Gojo leaned back, slowly, lips curling into a dry smirk. “I took Mishki? From him?”

That look on his face made your blood boil. “Yes.”

“You believe him?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”. You shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to believe Nanami.

Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I told you my side of the story?”

You lifted your shoulders in a slow shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You sighed, voice softer now. “You had history with Mishki. Not now, but... in the other life.”

His eyes darkened, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “And what history did I have with her in the other life?”

You hesitated, then said it plainly. “You cheated on me with her.”

Gojo’s fists clenched in his lap. He wanted to shout, to scream it wasn’t true — but he couldn’t risk it. One misstep and he’d give away too much. “Did I?” he said quietly. “How did you find out?”

“I saw the messages. The late-night calls. You ditched me for her, over and over.” You shook your head, bitterly. “So when Nanami told me about her, I had every reason to believe you’d do it again. That you’d take her from him, too.”

Gojo’s thoughts spun. Two lies — one from Nanami, one from the past. He took a breath. “Does Nanami know about your... thing?”

“What?! No! Why would I tell him?”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “Well, I didn’t take Mishki from Nanami. It’s true they were together. But there’s more to the story.”

Your voice was cautious. “Like what?”

Gojo gave a sad smile. “Where do I even begin?” He picked up the glass, took a long sip, and placed it down with care. “Nanami used to work with me. He was family. Even my father admired him — he was loyal, smart, dependable. Suguru hated him, though. Said something was off. He wasn’t wrong.”

You listened in silence.

“Nanami met Mishki at my birthday gala. I introduced them. Mishki’s family handles our North America ops. Nanami liked her immediately. I knew she was trouble — but I let it go. Until he started slipping. Missing meetings. Skipping work. Obsessed.”

You blinked slowly.

“One day, my accountant found that Nanami was embezzling money. Millions. Properties, gifts — all in Mishki’s name. I was terrified. If my father found out... Nanami wouldn’t walk away with just a termination letter.”

You leaned in, barely breathing.

“So I threw a party. Invited them both. Tried to talk to Mishki first. She denied being with him. Said he was stalking her — buying her apartments, gifts, begging for attention. I didn’t believe her because I knew the truth”

“The truth?”

“Mishki was hitting on me for years. Even when Nanami thought she was his girlfriend. Once he lied and said they went on vacation together. Turns out she was with her friends. Nanami was just... funding it. Alone.”

You crossed your arms, uneasy. “So he was giving her money and she was taking it but she wasn’t his— girlfriend?”.

“That’s who Mishki is”. Gojo’s voice dropped.

“What happened at the party?”

“At that party, I texted Mishki to meet me. I offered her money to leave him alone. She didn’t want the money — she wanted me. She... came on to me. And right then, Nanami walked in.”

Silence again. Your throat felt tight. “Even if that’s true... why mock him?”

“I didn’t,” Gojo said. “I tried to protect him. She twisted everything. Told him I stole her. He didn’t believe my texts, photos — anything. Said I forced her. I lost it. That was the final straw. Soon after, my father found out, and Nanami was gone.”

Your heart pounded. It didn’t sound like Nanami. But...

Gojo saw your hesitation. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I... I don’t know what to believe.”

Gojo’s heart clenched. You were never going to believe him. He wanted to scream and tell you that he didn’t cheat on you. He wanted to tell you that MIshki was doing the same thing again. That she was threatening him with the photos taken secretly during his birthday. That he did what he did just to save you but he ended up hurting you. He wanted to tell you that yes he was wrong to hide things, but he was tired. The pressure of his clan, the company, Mishki, all with a common goal of taking you away and he did what he did to keep you with him and it all crashed on him in the end.How could he tell you that what happened with you was the aftermath of what happened with Nanami and Mishki .He had a bad feeling that the future will repeat itself.

“I understand," he whispered under his breath. It’s all he could offer. His understanding. 

You didn’t want to believe that Nanami was the man Gojo was painting him to be but if not that then you’d have to believe, accept that Gojo was lying again for selfish reasons and it pained you to think that you were making the same mistake again. 

“Did you ever have feelings for Nanami?” Gojo asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His tone was even, too even, like he was trying to play it cool, trying being the operative word.

You hesitated for just a breath, then nodded. “I did.”

Gojo nodded too, mechanically. His knuckles clenched into the leather armrest beside him, blood boiling under the skin. He looked away for a moment, jaw ticking, then brought his eyes back to you with forced casualness. “What changed?”

You exhaled softly. “You showed up. He backed off. Things changed.”

Gojo’s heart twisted. He leaned back slowly, like the movement would keep him grounded. “So if I hadn’t come to Kyoto… you’d be with Nanami?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Maybe.”

That word—maybe—stabbed him. The worst part wasn’t the uncertainty. It was the possibility.

He tried to laugh, but it came out bitter and dry. “Why Nanami?”

You met his eyes, calm and steady. “He’s kind. Sensitive. He understands me. He appreciates me. And…”—your lips curled slightly—“he has a nice smile.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He laughed again, quiet this time, a low scoff masked as amusement. But his fingers were digging crescents into his palms.

He watched you as you said it—all of it—and something ugly settled in his chest. You were here, sitting in his jet, tangled in his world, but a part of you still lived in that soft corner Nanami once occupied.

Even if you were with Gojo now, you weren’t entirely over him.

And for someone like Gojo—who had the world at his feet—not having all of you was unbearable.

He nodded slowly, biting back the million things he wanted to say. The jet’s soft hum filled the silence again, almost mocking its constancy.

“Right,” he murmured, lips pressed tight. “Nice smile. Why me?”. Gojo asked, looking straight into your eyes.

You sighed and leaned back, for a moment neither of you said anything, “Maybe parts of it were remnants from the other life, but most of it was you. You showed me that you were not the same person. You were kind, sensitive, even though I pushed you away you didn’t hold it against me. You cared for my friends, family, and even me.”

Gojo smiled, but the pain spread through his chest. You loved him in comparison to what he used to be. He couldn’t blame you. 

Suzume sat up straighter in her chair, spine rigid, eyes locked on the screen. Her corner desk was tucked away from the main floor—half-hidden behind a filing cabinet, shielded by tall bookshelves and the lazy hum of the old air vent. Usually, she appreciated the solitude. Today, she was grateful for the cover.

Because she wasn’t working on the financial projections she’d been assigned. She was scrolling through your Instagram.

Images bled into one another on the screen: the slate-grey fjord against golden-hour light, a candlelit table at a rooftop restaurant, that blurred shot of the northern lights glowing like a celestial fire. Gojo was in most of them. Gojo was beside you in all of them.

It wasn’t the location that stung. She didn’t care about the fjord or the Michelin-star meals or the private jet snaps. That life—Gojo’s life—was too far removed from hers to even envy. What she did envy, almost bitterly, was the fact that you were with him.

The man she’d fallen for. She knew about his feelings for you. Everyone did. She wasn’t an idiot.

She’d watched him light up around you. Watch him invent reasons to stop by your desk. Bringing you coffee when you look tired. Sneaking you snacks during late meetings. That dumb smirk on his face when you rolled your eyes at his jokes, and the soft look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Suzume watched and she didn’t understand. Because you? You didn’t even try. Half the time, you looked like you were barely tolerating him. You dismissed his kindness like it was annoying background noise. And yet there he was—Gojo Satoru, the man who could charm his way into any heart, wagging his tail behind you like a stray mutt.

She didn’t hate you. Not really. But she couldn’t help the bile that rose in her throat every time she asked herself the same question: Why you?

You were ordinary. Safe. Pleasant in that forgettable way. Suzume had eyes. She knew she was more striking. Thinner. Sleeker. Smarter. Sharper. So why the hell wasn’t it enough?

She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the high backrest. Her teeth gnawed absently at the blue cap of her pen. Her gaze stayed fixed on the latest photo you’d posted: a long-exposure shot of the aurora borealis. She could practically feel him beside you in the cold—his arm likely draped over your shoulder, that stupid grin on his face, dimples out, sunglasses probably still on like an idiot.

She kicked her foot against the desk. Once. Twice. Again—harder—until the dull thud in her shin began to match the sharp twist in her chest.

She remembered the first time she saw him in the office. He’d walked in on a Monday,  hair sticking up in chaotic spikes. He looked nothing like the executives she was used to. No rigid formality. No ego. He gave the receptionist a high-five. He called the interns by name. And when she spilled her lunch on her skirt at her desk two weeks later, mortified, he’d appeared out of nowhere with an emergency Tide pen and a bag of clean sweatpants from the company gym.

He’d winked. “I carry spares. HR disaster-proofing.”

She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day.

Then there were the late nights when the office was nearly empty. Just her and him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. He’d stop by her desk with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose, tired but still smiling. He always asked about her ideas in meetings. Genuinely listened. He teased her, but never meanly. And he noticed things—like when she started wearing glasses, or when she switched to oat milk in her coffee.

He made her feel seen. And maybe that’s all it took. But all of that—every shared smile, every late-night report they finished together, every inside joke—meant nothing. Because his eyes were only ever on you.

And no matter how many nights she dreamed otherwise, Gojo Satoru had never looked at her the way he looked at you.

Suzume needed air.

She grabbed her mug with more force than necessary and walked briskly toward the break room. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum, each step a reminder of how hard she had kicked the desk earlier. There was a dull throb in her shin now, but it still hurt less than the thought of Gojo sharing a private dinner under the northern lights with someone who didn't even seem to see him the way she did.

As she turned the corner by the hallway, she collided with something—no, someone—solid.

Her mug tilted, but a steady hand reached out just in time to stop the spill.

“Suzume,” Nanami said, brows furrowed. “You alright?”

She stepped back, blinking up at him. “Sorry—I wasn’t watching.”

Nanami looked down, then slowly back  at her. “You’re limping.”

Suzume straightened. “I’m fine. Just bumped my leg earlier. Nothing serious.”

He didn’t press. Not directly. Instead, he tilted his head, observing her like one might examine a file they weren’t sure about yet. “Mm. Still,” he said calmly, “you look… tense.”

She attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nanami glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor. “Why don’t you come to my office for a minute? You could use a break.”

Suzume hesitated. “Is this… work-related?”

He gave a barely-there shrug. “It can be.”

Something in his tone—nonchalant but warm—made it hard to say no.

She followed him. Nanami’s office was clinical but sleek, he poured her a cup of tea without asking, placing it in front of her as he settled behind his desk.

“Drink,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Suzume cupped the mug in her hands. The warmth helped. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Nanami didn’t rush her. He leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze careful and unreadable.

After a moment, he asked, “Long day?”

She gave a soft laugh. “You could say that.”

“Or… something else?” he said, voice gentle, almost curious.

She raised her eyes to meet his, but he didn’t look interrogative. Just… attentive. Safe.

She shook her head slowly. “It’s silly.”

“I don’t think you’re the type to get thrown by silly things,” he replied, with quiet assurance. “But I could be wrong.”

Suzume toyed with the edge of the cup. The steam fogged her glasses faintly. “It’s just—there’s someone I like,” she said, voice low, words curling cautiously from her lips, “but he’s… with someone else.”

Nanami kept his expression neutral, not a single twitch of surprise. But inside, he already knew. Her glances, her tension, the way her eyes followed Gojo around the office like a lost thread of light — it had been obvious for a while. But now, hearing her say it out loud, was confirmation. “Hmm,” he said, as though weighing a market trend. “That can be difficult.”

Suzume nodded, staring down at the swirl of tea. “It’s not just that he’s with her… I don’t get it. She’s not—” She stopped herself. “It’s confusing. Like I’m invisible. Like nothing I do would ever be enough.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder if she’d said too much. Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes people only see what they want to. And sometimes, they’re so focused on chasing one thing, they miss what’s already right in front of them.”

Suzume looked up. There was something comforting in his tone. Not quite sympathy. Not quite advice. Something in between. “You think so?” she asked.

Nanami gave the smallest smile. “I do.”

He watched her nod, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Does he know how you feel?”

Suzume shook her head quickly, suddenly guarded. “No. God, no.”

He hummed. “Maybe he should.”

She looked away. Nanami leaned back again, pleased. He didn’t show it, of course. But there was a flicker of satisfaction behind his eyes. Her little crush on Gojo wasn’t just office gossip anymore—it was leverage. Delicate. Useful. He masked his smirk by adjusting his tie, sipping his tea as if the room hadn't just shifted in his favor.

Nanami glanced over the rim of his cup, his voice smooth, casual.

“By the way… do you know when Y/N is getting back?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as though it were an afterthought.

He didn’t miss the way Suzume’s expression shifted—just a flicker, but enough. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. A dull shadow crossing her eyes.

“Monday,” she replied, curt and clipped. She set her cup down a little harder than necessary on the coaster.

Nanami smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in amusement. “Ah. Took a long break, didn’t she?”

It wasn’t really a question.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, adopting a thoughtful air. This was the moment. Time to drop the hook.

“Since we’re talking,” he said, voice dropping an octave into something quieter, more vulnerable, “can I… confess something?”

Suzume blinked and nodded, instinctively leaning forward. “Of course. I’m here for you,” she said warmly, offering a small, encouraging smile.

Nanami lowered his gaze, playing the part of reluctant sharer. “I’m in a similar situation, actually. The woman I—” he paused, allowing his breath to hitch slightly for effect, “the woman I love is in love with someone else.”

Suzume’s lips parted slightly, eyes widening with empathy.

“I had a chance,” Nanami continued, his voice soft and wounded, “a brief one. But I misread the moment. And before I could do anything… another man swooped in like a hawk. Took her from me. Effortlessly.” He chuckled, sad and self-deprecating, before shaking his head. “So I understand,” he murmured. “What you’re feeling. It’s not easy—watching someone give their affection to someone who doesn’t even realize how lucky they are.”

Suzume’s shoulders slumped, heart pinched by the unexpected vulnerability in him. “I know,” she said quietly. “We all know.”

Nanami raised a brow, a mask of subtle confusion. “Know what?”

She gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “About your feelings for Y/N.”

Nanami stilled. Not enough to seem alarmed—just enough to feign surprise. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Believe me,” Suzume continued, “I’m on your team. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She seems… lighter. Calmer. Happier, when she’s with you.”

Nanami’s lips curved into something gentle—grateful on the outside, victorious on the inside. “I appreciate your confidence,” he said, voice wrapped in restraint. “But…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Never mind all that.”

“No, no,” Suzume said quickly. She reached forward on instinct, placing her hand gently over his. “Please. Let me help you.”

Nanami looked down at her hand—delicate, sincere, eager—and lifted his eyes slowly, with just the right amount of hesitance. “How, Suzume?” he asked, his smile tinged with sorrow. “No one can help me.”

“Yes, I can,” she said, nodding earnestly. “Y/N is my friend. And I want what’s best for her. I won’t sway her, but I can help her see. Help her realize that you’re the right man for her.”

Nanami blinked, like the idea had never occurred to him. Like it was too generous to believe. “You’d do that?” he asked, softly. “For me?”

“Yes,” Suzume said, with unwavering conviction. “I will.”

Nanami leaned back, hand still under hers, and smiled. A quiet, deadly smile. She had no idea she had just made a deal with the devil.

“I have a feeling something bad is going to happen”, Maya said as she slowly brought the coffe mug to her lips.

“Why?”Hitoshi asked mindlessly as he chewed on his muffin. “Y/n is coming back today, you should be happy”.

“I am happy, but..”, She trailed off as her eyes fixed on Suzume walking through the double glass door of the cafeteria. She looked, different. Her hair, usually in a pony tale, was now open and cascading down her shoulder in delicate curls. Her usual attire of straight pants, shirt and cardigan now replaced by a dress. Her tennis shoes now  replaced by pencil heels. She even had make up on. “Is that–”.

Hitoshi followed Maya’s gaze and his mouth hung open. “Oh my god. Why is she dressed like y/n?”.

“What?!”, Maya scoffed as she turned her attention to Hitohshi.

“Yes, She looks like y/n. The hair, makeup, even the dress. I think y/n has the same dress, no?”. He shrugged.

Maya hummed to herself. He was right. “Suzume!”. She called out and raised her hand to get her attention. 

Suzume smiled when she saw Maya and Hitoshi. She walked over to them with her coffee in hand. “Hello!”. She said cheerfully.

“Hello to you!”. Hitoshi exclaimed. “What’s with the new change?”.

Suzume smiled as she gracefully sat down between Maya and Hitoshi, “Oh I just wanted to experiment”.

“Experiment?”, Maya questione.

“Yeah”, She shrugged, “Do I not look good?”. She asked, looking at Maya and Hitoshi.

The surprised pair exchanged questioning looks. Hitoshi knew Maya would never ask this so he took one for the team, “You look so much like y/n”.

“What?!”. 

“Yeah”. Hitoshi shrugged.

Suzume felt attacked. She knew what she was doing but being confronted like this didn’t sit well with her. “I don’t think y/n owns a particular style”. She fidgeted with the hand of her coffee mug. “I just wanted to try something new. I thought you guys would be supportive”.

Maya sensed her agitation and gently put her hand on top of Suzume’s, “You look beautiful”. She smiled warmly. 

Maya’s voice barely left her lips before Suzume stood abruptly. “I should get back,” she said with a polite smile, brushing invisible crumbs from her dress. “Client call in ten.”. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her coffee and walked away, her heels clicking steadily down the corridor. But her pace slowed as she turned the corner leading to her cabin.

There he was. Gojo. Coming out of your office, running a hand through his silver hair with that same half-smirk he wore whenever he was satisfied with himself. Suzume froze mid-step, ducking slightly behind the wall. Her breath caught. He looked… smug. Relaxed. That soft confidence that always made her heart twitch. But seeing it now, right outside your door—it stung like salt in an open wound.

She waited. When he disappeared down the hallway, she emerged, walking briskly toward your office. She didn’t knock—just pushed the door open.

You had just set your bag down on the couch and turned around, surprised. “Suzume!” Your voice was warm and genuine. “I was about to head to the cafeteria to see you and Maya.”

Suzume forced a smile, trying not to let her eyes drift, but they had already locked on it. The necklace. A delicate, glinting emerald resting on your collarbone. Elegant. Expensive. Real. Suzume knew the clarity, the depth of green—it wasn’t costume jewelry. She came from a family of jewelers; she could identify a genuine emerald from across a room. Gojo. It had to be him. Her chest tightened like a fist.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you said, tilting your head with a sincere smile. “That color really suits you.”

Suzume blinked, yanked from her spiral. She looked at you, really looked—and for a moment, her heart twisted with something sharp and ugly. But she kept the smile on.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I… I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Welcome back.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” you replied, and she hated that you meant it.

Suzume’s eyes darted once more to the emerald on your chest. “I actually have a call,just stopped by to see if you were back” she added quickly, stepping back, “so I should head.”

You nodded, still smiling. 

But Suzume was already out the door. Her composure cracked the moment she turned the corner. Her breath sped up, her heels clicked faster, her grip tightened around her coffee cup until the lid popped off.

She didn’t care anymore. The bubbling jealousy, the polished mask, the forced smiles—she had shed them all by the time she marched down the corridor toward Gojo’s office. Her heels clicked with purpose against the tiles, and she barely paused before pushing open the frosted-glass door.

Gojo looked up, his thumb still mid-text. He was alone, seated in his usual relaxed sprawl, but his bright eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “Suzume?”

She closed the door behind her gently, slipping into the room with a too-bright smile. “Good morning!”

He returned her greeting, still clearly puzzled. “Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing urgent,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, her voice light, breezy. “Just wanted to ask—how was your trip?”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly. “Uh, it was good.” He smiled politely, still trying to gauge what this was about. “Relaxing, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, taking a step closer before tilting her head innocently. “By the way, have you seen Y/N this morning?”

There was a beat. Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room shifted subtly. “Ye– Why?”

Suzume gave a shrug, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes flickered, sharpening with calculated mischief. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. Nanami was looking for her. Said he had something important to tell her.”

Gojo frowned slightly, lowering his phone. “Tell her what?”

“Well…” she trailed off, as if hesitant to continue, then leaned in just a little—enough to make it seem like she was trusting him with something fragile. “We don’t really know, but... word is, it might be a confession.”

“A confession?” Gojo’s voice lost its playful edge, and now he was watching her more carefully. “Suzume, be straight with me.”

She drew back, laughing nervously. “I mean, it’s just office gossip, so who knows, right? But please—don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t want to be dragged into this.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away. His jaw ticked once, and though he nodded, there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Right. No, I haven’t seen her,” he finally said, lying with practiced ease.

Suzume smiled sweetly, knowing exactly what he was doing. “I see. Well, I should get back to work. Have a good day, Gojo.”

She turned and walked out, her expression cool and composed until the door clicked shut behind her. Once out of sight, she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message.

Suzume: It’s done.

Nanami: Good.

Suzume: Now what?

Nanami: Wait. I’ll tell you when the time is right.

Suzume locked her screen and slid the phone back into her pocket, her heels echoing once again as she disappeared down the corridor—this time with a quiet, dangerous satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips.

Nanami placed his phone down like he was laying a relic on an altar. His smile crept in slowly, curling his lips into something unnatural. With a smooth, silent motion, he turned his chair toward the window, bathing himself in the golden morning light. It fell across his face like a halo, warm and soft—ironic, really, given the thoughts boiling beneath his skull. It felt like a divine signal, a blessing from whatever god still dared to watch. Victory, yes. That’s what this glow was. The light of inevitability.

He had been worried for weeks. The plan—his perfect, intricate plan—had been threatened by delays, unforeseen variables, Gojo’s arrogant presence. But then Suzume walked in. So eager. So desperate to be seen. And just like that, fate had handed him a scalpel. She would cut the way forward while his true machinery turned behind the scenes. Maybe, if he nudged her just right, she could even start a fire he could never be blamed for.

Let them call him evil if they wanted. Let them whisper about his darkness behind closed doors. He wasn’t evil. No. He was in love. A love so pure, so absolute, that it demanded sacrifice. When he first saw you—eyes bright with ambition, lips parted nervously in your interview—he had felt it crack open inside him. A knowing. Like the universe had ripped itself apart and whispered your name into the hollow of his soul. He had watched you through glass and paper and screens, your résumé memorized, your past dissected like a sacred text. Every friend, every interest, every secret you thought you had—he knew them already. But it wasn’t stalking. No. It was preparation. You can’t love someone if you don’t know them completely.

And when you chose his company over Domain Dynamics, he had wept. Literally fell to his knees and wept, because the gods had listened. You belonged to him. The first time you kissed—his fingers in your hair, your breath catching like a bird trapped in his hands—he felt the world stop spinning. Time slowed, warped, broke. Nothing else existed. He’d tasted you and knew: this was home. You were home.

But then… then you left. The moment Gojo arrived, it was like you forgot. Forgot the late nights, the trembling confessions, the way you said his name when no one was listening. You abandoned him. For him. A clown in a suit. A fool with a smile. A thief. You didn’t even hesitate. And that… that was where you failed him.

He could’ve given you everything. Power, money, worship. He would’ve sold his soul—his company—brick by brick to build you a palace. But you couldn’t wait. You were too blinded by Gojo’s laugh, his charm, his glinting lies. Nanami’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as the fury burned hot under his skin. It wasn’t your fault, not really. You were soft. Easily misled. Like a lamb. And Gojo? Gojo was the wolf. He knew what he was doing when he set eyes on you. He knew Nanami loved you. And he took you anyway.

But he wouldn’t have you for long.

Nanami leaned forward, his hands folded like a man in prayer. But his eyes were empty, cold pits of calculation. You would come back to him. You would realize your mistake. Even if he had to break the world to make it happen. Even if he had to burn everything Gojo touched and salt the ashes.

He would have you again. One way or another. A soft knock at the door shattered Nanami’s thoughts like glass underfoot. His head snapped toward the sound, every muscle in his body tensing—and then relaxing in slow, stunned waves as you stepped inside.

You.

The light from the hallway pooled behind you like a halo, making it hard to see your face at first. But he didn’t need to. He’d memorized your silhouette long ago. His heart kicked violently in his chest, thudding against his ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape. You smiled—soft, easy—and closed the door gently behind you.

“Hey,” you said with a casual warmth, walking toward the chair opposite his desk. You moved with the unbothered grace of someone who didn’t know you were the sun in someone else’s orbit. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, almost too quickly. “Not at all,” he said, voice unusually tight. “Please.” He gestured to the chair, already watching your every movement with obsessive intensity. You sat down and opened your bag, pulling something out wrapped in tissue paper.

“I got you something,” you said with a small laugh, setting it down on his desk. “Just a little souvenir. I saw it in this tiny shop in Bergen and thought of you.”

He stared at the package like it was a holy artifact. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it, unwrapping the paper with a carefulness reserved for relics. Inside was a polished piece of carved wood—a traditional Norwegian troll figurine, its expression somewhere between mischievous and wise. Beside it, a small leather keychain stamped with a Viking ship.

Nanami’s breath caught.

You thought of him. In a foreign country. While with Gojo. In spite of Gojo. He felt the earth tilt slightly beneath his feet. You remembered him. You still remembered him.

“I know it’s a bit silly,” you said, brushing hair behind your ear, “but the shopkeeper said trolls are meant to bring good luck. And I figured you could use a little luck”

“It’s not silly,” Nanami replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect.”

He meant it. You had no idea what that meant to him. You could’ve given him a rock from the side of the road and he would’ve kept it in a glass case. But this—this was something you chose for him.

“How was the trip?” he managed to ask, willing his voice to stay even.

“It was amazing,” you said, your smile widening. “We went on this hike outside of Oslo—up to the top of this ridge where the fjords just stretch forever. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought I was going to pass out halfway through, but Gojo somehow made it look easy. Of course.”

The name made Nanami flinch internally, but he held the smile on his face like a mask stapled into place. He clung to your words—I thought I was going to pass out. He made it look easy. You weren’t impressed. You were tired. You didn’t enjoy it as much as you could have. You would’ve enjoyed it more with someone like him. Someone who would’ve let you rest, who would’ve carried your bag, wiped the sweat from your brow like a lover should.

He pictured the two of you on that ridge instead. Your legs over his lap. Your laughter echoing over the fjords. His jacket on your shoulders. Not Gojo’s. Never Gojo’s.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said softly, the words laced with deeper meaning you didn’t catch. “Things weren’t the same here without you.”

You smiled kindly, eyes bright. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

You didn’t see the way his hand tightened into a fist under the desk, veins bulging with restrained impulse. You didn’t hear the scream inside his mind that begged him to reach out, to tell you how everything—everything—he was doing was for you.

“How have you been? Things have been quite intense here with all the new projects, right?”. You smiled.

“I am better now. It was stressful but-”, Nanami looked down at the little figurine, “I feel it was all worth it”.

“That’s good to hear. Don’t stress yourself too much Kento. We are all here for you”.

Nanami smiled. He didn’t know what it was about you but your presence brought him peace. Just being in your presence felt like finding an oasis in the desert. “Thank you y/n, it means a lot”.

“I should get going”, You stood up and smiled at him, “Lots of work to catch up on”.  

As you turned toward the door, Nanami’s voice stopped you mid-step. “I was wondering…” he began, striving for nonchalance, “would you like to grab lunch today? I’d love to hear more about your trip and I could catch you up on what you missed.”

You looked back at him, tilting your head slightly. “Sure,” you said with a smile that could melt iron. “That sounds good. It’s been a while.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. You said yes. So easily. So warmly. You wanted to spend time with him. You chose to. “Great,” he replied with quiet composure. “I’ll message you when I’m free.”

With a soft “see you then,” you stepped out of his office, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing like a slow exhale through his chest.

Nanami stared at the little wooden troll on his desk, the one you'd just handed him moments ago. It sat there, tiny and grinning, and yet in his eyes, it radiated something sacred. He reached for it gently, as though it might shatter if he held it too roughly. His thumb traced its carved smile.

You didn’t have a bag. That meant you had carried this in your hand. Through the corridors, past others—unconcerned about what anyone thought. You brought it straight to him. A piece of your trip. A piece of your time. Given only to him.

He closed his eyes and clutched the figurine to his chest. The heat of it, faint and imagined, felt like your warmth. Like a pulse in wood. “She thought of me,” he whispered, lips curling. “Even while she was with him.”

He leaned back, slow and reverent, placing the troll on his desk like it was a religious idol. He adjusted it carefully, so it would face him directly—as though it might speak, as though your voice could pass through it.

She hadn’t forgotten. No matter what mask you wore with Gojo—no matter how you smiled or laughed or touched his arm—your heart hadn’t changed. Nanami could feel it. Like a wire humming under the floorboards. You were still his. You had to be.

Lunch today would be just the beginning. He would listen. He would remember every word. Every pause. He’d find the tension in your stories. The disappointments. The subtle shadows you didn’t even know were there. He’d press, gently, carefully—until Gojo started to crumble in your eyes and when you were finally ready to see things clearly—when your heart remembered the truth—Nanami would be waiting. He always had been. The little troll sat smiling back at him, unaware it had become a symbol of devotion, obsession… and destiny.

There was too much to do and not enough time to breathe. The morning had been a blur of half-finished reports, emails demanding immediate attention, and forms that seemed to multiply every time you blinked. You were knee-deep in departmental approvals when your phone buzzed on your desk. A message from Gojo lit up the screen.

Gojo: Lunch? Just us?

You paused, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second, you considered changing your plans. But the polite smile Nanami gave when he asked you earlier flickered in your mind—and more importantly, the fact that it was a work lunch. You typed back:

You: I have lunch with Nanami today. He wanted to catch up on the Norway trip and go over some work stuff I missed.

You didn’t get a reply.

You assumed Gojo was busy. So were you. You buried yourself back into the digital avalanche.

An hour slipped by. You were focused on redlining a supplier contract when the door to your cabin burst open.

“Why are you having lunch with Nanami?” Gojo stood at the doorway, his brows drawn tight, his usual easy smile nowhere in sight.

Your eyes snapped up from your screen, startled. “Gojo, what are you doing?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “He asked me. He wanted to hear about the trip and update me on some things I missed while I was away.”

“Yeah, and why does he need to hear about your trip?” Gojo stepped fully into the room now, voice sharper than you were used to hearing.

You straightened in your chair, surprised by the edge in his tone. “It’s not that deep. It’s lunch. We work together.”

Gojo folded his arms, jaw clenched. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Why would I do that?” you asked, blinking in disbelief. “I’ve barely spoken to him since I got back. He was being polite.”

Gojo scoffed. “Nanami doesn’t do anything just to be polite.”

“What are you trying to say?” your voice rose slightly. “That I shouldn’t have lunch with someone just because you don’t like them?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “I’m saying I don’t trust him. You don’t know what he’s like behind that boring façade.”

You stood now too, closing the laptop with a soft snap. “Gojo, this isn’t high school. It’s one meal, not a confession of loyalty.”

“And what about us?” he asked. “You think I want to sit around wondering what Nanami’s whispering to you over coffee and spreadsheets?”

You stared at him, stunned by the jealousy flickering just beneath his words. “You don’t get to control who I eat with, Gojo.”

The room was thick with silence. For a moment, you both just stood there—he breathing heavily, you glaring back at him, pulse quickened not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

“Lunch is lunch,” you said, voice calm but firm. “If you have a problem, maybe talk to me like an adult instead of barging in here like this.”

Gojo’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched your face, the fire in them slowly retreating. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, stepping back. “Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and sat back down. The lunch hadn’t even started, and somehow, it already felt like the beginning of something much more complicated.

Nanami had chosen a quiet, tucked-away bistro with soft lighting and minimal chatter—perfectly suited for private conversations. The little troll figurine you’d given him earlier that morning still sat proudly on the table beside his bento, as if it had been given a place of honor. You smiled faintly at the sight, touched by the gesture, and took your seat across from him.

He poured you a cup of tea without asking, and the two of you exchanged light pleasantries. You told him about the mountain hike, the freezing wind, and how the fog had rolled over the cliffs like a moving wall. Nanami listened closely, nodding occasionally, his expression warm—invested.

But even as he smiled and responded with quiet attentiveness, his gaze never left your face. He was reading you. Measuring every pause, every breath.

“You’re back, but you don’t seem all the way back,” he said, tone casual. “Something still on your mind?”

You gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. “Just a lot to catch up on. You know how it is.”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully and lifted his tea to his lips, studying you over the rim. “Gojo seems a bit… unsettled today. Did something happen?”

You blinked at him, mildly surprised. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to,” he replied smoothly. “He practically slammed a door in the hallway. Not like him to be that graceless.”

You laughed softly. “He can be dramatic sometimes.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, keeping his voice light and conversational. “Let me guess—he’s not thrilled you’re here with me?”

You looked down at your food, your expression faltering just for a second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Nanami said gently, almost teasing.

You sighed, letting your guard down without realizing it. “He just… asked me not to have lunch with you. Said it was about work, but I think he got weirdly possessive.”

“Hmm,” Nanami murmured, his voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “That sounds like him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nanami set down his chopsticks and looked at you with an air of reluctant honesty, his tone carefully measured. “Gojo doesn’t like sharing attention. Or space. Or people. Especially not when he thinks something belongs to him.”

You straightened slightly, bristling. “I’m not a thing to be shared.”

“No,” Nanami said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re not. Of course not. That’s what makes it so frustrating to watch.”

You let the silence linger a moment, sipping your tea. Nanami leaned forward just slightly, his voice quiet, tinged with concern. “Look… if my presence is creating tension between you two, I don’t want to cause problems. If it’s easier for you, I’m happy to step back.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Nanami, no. That’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not going to cut off a good friend just because Gojo can’t handle it.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small, sad smile. “You’re too kind.”

You returned to your meal, unaware of how precisely you’d been steered into that exchange. Nanami picked up his chopsticks again, but he didn’t eat right away. Instead, he watched you—his fingertips brushing the troll figurine as if it were a talisman.

She defends me. Even against him. She trusts me. She chose to tell me.

The seed had been planted. And Nanami knew exactly how to make it bloom.

Gojo sat motionless at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the glowing screen in front of him, but his mind was adrift—caught somewhere between rage and restraint. The cursor blinked in the silence like a metronome ticking toward something he didn’t want to face.

He shut his eyes and drew in a long, steady breath, trying to anchor himself. You can’t mess this up again, Satoru. Not like last time. Not with her.

But how was he supposed to stay calm when Nanami was whispering poison into your ears, turning you against him with that polished restraint and deliberate calmness? Gojo knew exactly the kind of game Nanami played—subtle, precise, emotionally manipulative in the most maddeningly rational way.

He was playing from a disadvantage—he always had been. But this time, he wasn’t going to retreat and lick his wounds. No. If Nanami expected him to burn out and spiral, Gojo would do the opposite. If Nanami thought he had the upper hand, Gojo would shift the rules entirely.

He shut his laptop with a sharp click, the sound final and decisive. Rising from his chair, he left his office without another glance. His steps were fast, purposeful—cutting through the hallways like a blade. That’s when he ran into her again.

Suzume.

She almost stumbled when their paths crossed. Gojo caught her arm, steadying her.

“Suzume,” he said, polite but unreadable.

“Mr. Gojo,” she blinked, clearly flustered. “You haven’t gone for lunch yet?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not yet. What’s in the bag?”

Suzume’s eyes widened as she instinctively tucked the paper bag behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing—just a delivery for Mr. Nanami. He wasn’t in, so I picked it up for him.”

Gojo’s gaze darkened slightly. “Then why are you hiding it?”

Her smile faltered. She looked away, unsure whether to lie again or fold under the weight of his stare.

“Suzume.” His voice dropped lower. Stern. Cold.

She hesitated, then slowly brought the bag in front of her, reluctantly handing it over like a child caught sneaking sweets.

Gojo opened the bag, pulled out the velvet box inside, and let the packaging drop to the floor without care. He opened the box and stared.

A necklace. A delicate butterfly pendant, glittering faintly beneath the lights—an imitation diamond piece on a chain too thick for your taste.

He let out a shaky breath, but it wasn’t relief—it was disgust, coiled and venomous. “Tell Nanami,” Gojo said quietly, snapping the box shut with a sound that echoed off the tiles, “that if it’s for Y/N, she doesn’t wear fake diamonds. Also…” he paused, offering a cruel smile, “the chain’s too heavy for her neck. She hates feeling caged.”

He pressed the box back into Suzume’s shaking hands. She didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Gojo leaned in just a little, enough for only her to hear. “He should’ve known better. Or maybe he does… but still likes playing with things that aren’t his.”

Gojo had barely taken three steps when he felt a hesitant tug at his wrist. He stopped, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as he turned around.

Suzume was gripping his hand—not tightly, but enough to stop him. Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d just done. She quickly let go, her hand recoiling like it had been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and looking down at the floor. “I just… um… I was wondering if you might… want to grab lunch with me?”

Her voice was light, nervous. A soft flush rose to her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or something else, he couldn’t tell. For a moment, Gojo’s instinct flared—his pride wounded, his mood poisoned by the pendant still etched in his memory.

He was about to refuse. Polite but distant. He didn’t have the patience for small talk or clumsy flirtations, not today.

But then, a thought struck him.

Suzume. Nervous. Observant. A little too eager.

She was clearly trying to get on someone’s good side—and it wasn’t his. Not at first. She’s closer to Nanami than I realized. And if she’s playing messenger for him, maybe she’s hearing things too.

Gojo's expression softened instantly—like flipping a switch. He smiled, slow and disarming.

“Lunch?” he echoed, the sharpness melting from his voice. “You know what… that actually sounds good.”

Suzume blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change.

“Really?” she asked, a small hopeful lilt in her voice.

“Yeah.” He slid his hands into his pockets, gaze leveling on her. “Lead the way.”

As they began walking side by side, Gojo's eyes flicked briefly to the velvet box still clutched in her hand. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t have to. The pieces were already moving.

Let’s see what you know, Suzume, he thought, keeping his expression light. And let’s see how much you’re willing to say if I smile long enough.

They sat across from each other at a small café tucked between office buildings, a warm breeze brushing past the awning above them. Gojo stirred his iced coffee absentmindedly, eyes flicking over Suzume as she glanced shyly down at her menu.

She had dressed up a little more than usual today. Lighter lipstick, earrings that caught the light just enough, and that tentative, hopeful look she gave him over the rim of her glass—he saw it now.

And it clicked. She liked him. Oh. Gojo leaned back in his chair, a slow grin creeping across his lips. This could be useful.

“You know, Suzume,” he said lazily, propping an arm up on the back of his chair, “I didn’t realize how cute you looked when you’re nervous.”

Suzume blinked. “W-What?”

“Just saying.” He sipped his drink with casual arrogance. “It’s kind of endearing. You should smile more—you have the kind of face that makes other people smile back.”

A visible flush bloomed across her cheeks. Suzume tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a tiny, flustered laugh. “I… didn’t think you even noticed me most days.”

“I notice more than you think,” Gojo said, his voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You’re sharp. Efficient. Kind of wasted doing Nanami’s grunt work, honestly.”

Suzume looked away, visibly flattered. “He just trusts me with stuff, that’s all.”

“Does he?” Gojo leaned forward slightly, pretending interest while quietly watching her squirm. “Or does he just like keeping you close?”

She looked up in surprise. “You think Nanami—?”

“I think Nanami doesn’t do anything without a reason,” Gojo said simply, then gave her a wink. “But hey, I’m glad he’s careless enough to let someone like you slip through the cracks.”

Suzume giggled softly, taking a sip of her water to hide the grin. Then, hesitantly she asked, “Does Y/N… mind? You having lunch with me, I mean.”

Gojo raised a brow. “Why would she?”

Suzume shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seem… close.”

Gojo gave a soft, amused chuckle and leaned in, resting his chin in his palm. “Let me be clear about something, Suzume.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“No one tells me what to do. Not Y/N, not Nanami, no one. If I want to have lunch with a beautiful and intelligent woman who clearly deserves more attention than she’s been getting…” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Then I’m going to do exactly that.”

Suzume practically glowed.

He tilted his head slightly. “Unless you don’t want to have lunch with me. I’d understand. Could always go eat alone, sulking in a dark corner of the office.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I’m really happy you agreed. I mean—I didn’t think you would, but—”

Gojo smiled. “Good. I like being unpredictable.”

Their food arrived, and as Suzume eagerly launched into a story about a client she dealt with that morning, Gojo nodded along, half-listening. Under the table, he tapped his foot slowly, rhythmically. A quiet beat of strategy.

Suzume had a crush. Nanami was distracted.

If this was going to be a game, then he’d play it with the same recklessness that had always kept people guessing and now, he had a new pawn on the board. Willing, eager, and completely unaware.

Gojo smiled again, this time to himself. Let the game begin.

The office was unusually quiet that morning. The kind of stillness that settled like fog before a storm. Suzume walked in with a little spring in her step, still replaying yesterday’s lunch in her mind—Gojo’s laughter, his voice, the way he said beautiful and intelligent. She’d barely slept.

She reached her desk, fingers adjusting the collar of her blouse, and stopped dead in her tracks.

A box. Not just any box—a Cartier box.

It sat there, perfectly centered on her desk like it had been waiting just for her. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out and touched the velvet red case, the unmistakable gold trim shimmering under the office lights.

She glanced around—no one was watching. With a shaky breath, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate Cartier Love necklace. Rose gold. Classic. Elegant. Undeniably expensive.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Tucked into the satin lid was a small note, cream-colored, embossed in neat calligraphy:

Only the best for a woman like you. —G.S.

For a full second, her mind blanked.

G.S.

Her lips parted, barely forming the words.

“Gojo Satoru…”

Her fingers traced the fine curve of the pendant. She had admired this exact design online more times than she could count. Daydreamed about someone thinking her worthy of something so precious. But this—this wasn’t a dream.

She unfastened the chain, almost too eagerly, and slipped it around her neck. The metal was cold against her skin, sending a chill down her spine. She clasped it shut and looked down at the reflection in her phone screen.

It looked perfect. Like it belonged there. She brushed her fingers lightly over the charm and smiled. Her cheeks flushed, her heart hammering against her chest.

She turned to grab her coffee, but something in the air shifted. A quiet voice in the back of her mind asked, Why would Gojo Satoru give you this? But she crushed it quickly, like snuffing out a candle. He noticed me. He said I deserved more attention.This necklace—this wasn’t just a gift. It was a message. He saw her and now, she was wearing proof around her neck.

The café across the street from the headquarters was buzzing, but your table in the corner had a little pocket of calm to it. You sat across from Suzumeand Hitoshi, Maya and Gojo sat beside you, leisurely sipping his iced coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You were halfway through your salad when a glint of light caught your eye—rose gold, delicate, unmistakably Cartier. Your gaze flicked up.

Around Suzume’s neck hung a Cartier Love necklace, the rose-gold band sitting perfectly against her skin like it had been made for her.

You swallowed and casually asked, “That’s a nice necklace. Where did you get it?”

Suzume’s fork paused mid-air. Her eyes darted to yours for a moment too long. Something about your tone made her shoulders tighten.

She gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s… from someone I’ve recently started seeing.”

There was something defensive in her voice. As if she thought you were mocking her—questioning whether someone like her could really wear something like that. Your brows lifted ever so slightly, not in judgment but in curiosity, though Suzume seemed to misread it completely.

Before you could say anything else, Gojo leaned forward, eyes flicking to the necklace.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said smoothly, voice low and warm. 

Suzume’s face lit up. She tilted her chin down slightly, fingertips brushing the pendant as if to draw more attention to it. “Thanks,” she said, breathy.

Gojo offered her a small, knowing wink—quick, almost imperceptible.

Maya’s interest immediately perked up. “Oh? A new guy? Tell us more!”

Suzume leaned in, confidence blooming like a slow flower. “He’s amazing. Really thoughtful. Always knows what I like without me having to say it. Honestly, he’s the best man I’ve ever been with.”

Across the table, Hitoshi whistled, raising his brows. “He must be loaded if he’s giving you Cartier.”

Suzume gave him a look—half-playful, half-dismissive. “It’s not about the money, Hitoshi. It’s the effort. He notices the little things.”

Her eyes slid to Gojo as she said it, and she smiled again. Gojo didn’t miss the cue. He returned her smile with one of his own—charming and just vague enough to be misread by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But Maya was paying attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the smile pass between them like an invisible thread.

You tilted your head, tone light but curious. “He sounds like a catch. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Suzume blinked. Her smile tightened just a little. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

You raised an eyebrow at her response, but before the moment stretched too far, she turned sharply toward Gojo. “So, Mr. Gojo, how was your trip?”

Gojo took a sip of his drink, eyes still glinting. “It was great. Norway’s always beautiful. The fjords, the little towns, the air—nothing like it.”

He kept his voice smooth and steady, dancing around any details that might tie his experience to you. He didn’t mention the quiet moments you shared on that secluded hike, or the way your laughter echoed down mountain paths. None of that would help him now.

Suzume listened intently, nodding as if she was memorizing every word. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It was,” Gojo said, glancing at you just once from the corner of his eye—just enough to see if you caught anything in his tone. Then his attention swung back to Suzume. “But it’s always good to be back.”

Suzume’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go to Norway. It looks like a dream.”

“Maybe you can go with your new man”. Hitoshi commented with a wink.

“Maybe I will”. She quipped.

Gojo glanced at her with a lopsided smile. “Maybe we should.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “We should all go.”

You nodded, thinking nothing of it. “I wouldn’t mind going again”

Maya arched a brow at the suggestion but said nothing, simply sipping her drink.

Hitoshi chuckled. “If someone’s paying, I’m packing tonight.”

Everyone laughed, the moment light again. Suzume, however, was glowing. She turned her head, letting the pendant catch the light again, clearly relishing every second. And Gojo? He leaned into the moment, calm and unreadable, every move intentional

Nanami’s office was quiet, awash in the mellow glow of a desk lamp as late afternoon light spilled through the blinds. The hum of conversation and clacking keyboards beyond the glass was faint, almost muffled — a soft reminder that the day was still ticking forward.

Maya stood by his desk, holding a tablet, flipping through reports on the latest client onboarding metrics.

“I think if we stagger the internal review with client comms, we can bring the close date forward by at least two days,” she explained.

Nanami nodded, eyes scanning the document she’d just handed him. “That would work. Good call.”

There was a moment of silence as he leaned back, the chair creaking slightly.

Then, in a casual tone, Nanami asked, “By the way... how’s Suzume doing?”

Maya blinked, caught off guard. “Suzume?”

“Yes.” Nanami tapped his pen against the armrest, feigning disinterest. “Just noticed she’s seemed... a bit distracted lately. Not in a disruptive way — just not quite her usual self.”

Maya paused, unsure where this was going. “I guess... she’s been a little more talkative than usual. But I haven’t noticed anything serious.”

Nanami gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it hardly mattered. “Mm. I only ask because I’ve seen a few moments — in the team meetings especially — where she seemed a bit… off. And maybe a little cold toward you?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Cold how?”

He held up his hands slightly. “Could be nothing. Maybe I’m reading into things. But she barely acknowledged your idea in yesterday’s review — which was strange, considering she usually backs your suggestions without question.”

Maya folded her arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

Nanami offered a smooth smile. “Just making sure there’s no tension in the team that could affect delivery. That’s all.”

Maya hesitated. Her instincts told her to be careful. But the concern in Nanami’s voice — so calm, so reasonable — made her guard falter.

She exhaled slowly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to someone about it, actually.”

Nanami leaned forward slightly, just enough to signal interest without pushing. “Go on.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Maya began, lowering her voice slightly. “But I think Suzume might be... infatuated with Gojo.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of recognition. “Really?”

Maya nodded, frustration creeping into her voice. “She keeps staring at him in meetings. Laughing a little too hard at his jokes. And last week at lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at him. She even wore a Cartier necklace and claimed some mystery man gave it to her.”

Nanami leaned back again, arms crossed. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like Gojo. He’s... not exactly subtle if he’s involved with someone. He’d flaunt it.”

Maya frowned. “I didn’t say Gojo’s reciprocating. I’m just saying something feels off.”

“I see.” Nanami tapped the pen against his desk once, twice. Then stopped. “Maybe you should talk to Y/N about it.”

Maya blinked. “Why?”

Nanami met her eyes. “Because if something’s really going on — even if it’s one-sided — Y/N should know. Especially if it’s going to turn messy.”

Maya looked down, conflicted.

“You’re close to her,” Nanami added, voice low and measured. “She’ll trust you. Better it comes from you than someone else.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Maya gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”

Nanami smiled faintly and returned to the file on his desk. “Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Maya walked out, still unsure whether she’d done the right thing — while behind her, Nanami’s smile slowly faded, replaced by something far more calculating.

The soft golden hue of the setting sun stretched across the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows against the pavement. Trees rustled gently with the spring breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another as Maya waited outside your door, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. The look on her face was unreadable — a blend of concern, hesitation, and quiet resolve.

You opened the door, surprised to see her.

“Maya? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” She gave a tight smile. “Thought you might like to go for a walk. Clear our heads. You’ve been cooped up with those campaign reviews all day.”

You hesitated for a beat — her tone was casual, but you knew Maya well enough to sense when something was off.

“Sure. Just give me a sec to grab a sweater.”

A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the quiet, tree-lined street, the occasional car humming past. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your lungs feel clean, and for a while, neither of you spoke. You appreciated the silence — Maya often gave you space to think when she sensed you needed it. But today, she was the one struggling with her thoughts.

Finally, she spoke.

“You ever get a gut feeling about someone and you can’t shake it?”

You glanced at her. “This about work?”

She sighed. “Sort of. It’s about Suzume.”

You stopped mid-step, then resumed walking slowly. “Okay… what about her?”

Maya took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve been watching her the past week or so — not in a weird way, just… observing. And something’s changed. She’s constantly hovering around Gojo. Sitting closer in meetings. Laughing at things that aren’t even funny.”

You frowned. “Suzume’s always been a little… eager around new people. Maybe she’s just trying to fit in?”

“It’s not just that,” Maya said firmly. “She’s... infatuated. And I think she’s trying to get his attention. Honestly, I think she has it.”

You stopped walking. The word infatuated echoed in your mind longer than it should have. You stared ahead, lips pressed in a thin line.

“She’s been wearing that new necklace every day,” Maya added. “Said it was from someone she’s started seeing. At lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at Gojo. He even winked at her.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression even. “That could mean anything.”

Maya gave you a long look. “I know how this sounds, okay? I’m not trying to make you suspicious for no reason. I just… something feels off. And I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you.”

You stayed silent, the wind brushing strands of hair across your face.

Internally, your thoughts swirled. A week ago, you might’ve believed every word Maya just said. But now? Things between you and Gojo had shifted. He’d opened up to you. Let you see a part of him he rarely shared with anyone. You couldn’t let your past — the betrayal you swore you’d never let happen again — cloud your judgment.

“I appreciate you telling me,” you said quietly. “I really do. But you don’t have any actual proof.”

Maya stopped walking. “So you’re not going to say anything?”

You met her eyes. “Not yet. If something is going on, it’ll come to light. But until then… I trust him.”

Maya looked unconvinced, but she didn’t push. “Okay. Just... be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “I will.”

The two of you continued walking, but the silence now felt heavier — weighted with things unspoken. Behind you, the shadows of the street grew longer, the sun dipping just beneath the horizon, as if warning that some truths were better seen in the dark.

Somewhere behind you, hidden in the folds of the night, a pair of eyes watched from across the street — from the shadows behind a parked car.

A phone screen dimmed.

Someone walked away, unseen, happy that his bait had landed.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @concretewishes

[thehighpriestess1]

Can you please please pretty please give a hint about the next part of make a wish? I have waited so long I am starving!

I know the wait has been long but the next part is definitely coming! Here’s a little something for you :)

[thehighpriestess1]

LOVED THE LATEST CHAPTER!

When will you post the next chapter?

In a week or so. Just been busy with job search and personal issues. Sorry to keep you waiting.

[thehighpriestess1]

In Make a Wish, Yn reminds me of that quote “That girl didn’t want to die, she just wanted out of that house.”

Yess! She just wanted to leave the house! you said it better than I did!

[thehighpriestess1]

i just downloaded this app and found your account .. and its such a healing thru the hard time i face. your writings its just like magic and i love your stories and i love the way you make me drowning into your stories and i love you.. and thank you ehe

Thank you anon! I hope you find the strength and get through the tough times :) Love you too :)

[thehighpriestess1]

I love your make a wish series!!

When are you going to upload the next chapter

Soon. I have just been busy with job hunt lately. Apologies for the delay.

[thehighpriestess1]

Will it be weird if I write two Gojo fics at the same time? 👀👀👀

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a wish: Confession

Warning: Strong themes. Mentions self harm. Angst

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Word count: 18k

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The sound of the zipper on your suitcase cut through the heavy silence of the bedroom. You shoved another handful of clothes inside, your movements stiff and jerky, fueled by frustration, heartbreak, and exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you folded a sweater—one of Gojo’s that you had stolen and worn to sleep countless times. Now, the fabric felt foreign in your grasp. You dropped it into the suitcase without a second thought.

The door creaked open behind you. Gojo’s voice was casual, almost amused. “Going somewhere?”

You didn’t answer. You just grabbed another stack of clothes and kept packing. You felt him move closer, his presence like static in the air. “Y/N.” His tone darkened. “Where the hell are you going?”

Still, you didn’t reply.

That was when he grabbed your wrist—not forcefully, but firm enough to make you pause. “I asked you a question.”

You yanked your arm away and finally turned to face him, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “I’m leaving, Gojo.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression, but it was gone before you could grasp it. “The hell you are.”

You let out a sharp breath. “I’m done.”

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no real humor behind it. “Oh, you’re done, huh? And where exactly do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Kyoto.”

His face fell. “You’re running back to your mother?”

“At least she gives a damn about me.”

Gojo scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. What is this even about, Y/N? You’re really this pissed because I’ve been busy?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Busy? That’s what we’re calling it now? Disappearing for days without a single message? Coming home at three in the morning, reeking of alcohol and someone else’s perfume? You think I don’t fucking notice?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re being paranoid.”

You took a step closer, voice shaking. “I’m being ignored.”

Gojo clenched his jaw, his usual carefree demeanor slipping. “You knew what you were signing up for, Y/N. My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let him see how much that hurt. “Yeah, I got that loud and clear.” You gestured around the room. “This—whatever this is—has become a joke, Gojo. I spend my nights alone, wondering if you’ll even come home. I wait, and wait, and all I get is silence. I’m tired of being a fucking afterthought.”

Gojo’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “And you’re acting like a selfish bastard”

The words hung between you like a blade. Gojo inhaled sharply, stepping back as if you had physically struck him. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Then, with an eerie calmness, he exhaled and said, “So, what? You’re just gonna leave? Just like that?”

Your throat tightened. “You left first.”

Gojo remained silent for a few seconds and then walked out. You continued shoving things in your bag wanting to get out as soon as possible. It took you 1 hour to pack 2 years of your existence. You deliberately left out everything Gojo had got for you. All the expensive bags and shoes were kept neatly in the walk-in. You didn’t want to carry any part of him with you.

As you walked out of the bedroom and made your way to the main door you saw Gojo sitting on the couch but you didn’t bother saying anything. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words, until your phone rang. You flinched at the sudden noise, fishing it out of your pocket. Mom.

You swallowed hard and picked up. “Mom?” Your voice wavered, the exhaustion seeping into your tone.

“Y/N.” Her voice was sharp, laced with disappointment. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“Gojo just called me. He told me you were leaving.”

Your fingers curled around the phone and you turned to him. “Yeah. I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

You frowned. “Mom—”

“Do you have any idea what that man has done for you?” she snapped. “For us? He paid for your brother’s college tuition. He made sure you were safe when you moved to Tokyo. He gave you everything, and this is how you repay him? You abandon him when things get tough? That’s not how relationships work”

The floor beneath you felt like it was crumbling. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“No, but he did it anyway, because he loves you, Y/N.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to make sense of her words. “I’ll explain everything when I get home.”

Her response came like a knife to the chest. “Don’t. Fix things with Gojo.”

Your heart stopped. The call ended. You stood there, phone still clutched in your shaking hands, unable to breathe. There was no home to go back to. Slowly, you turned, vision blurry with tears. Gojo was still standing there, watching you, arms crossed, face unreadable.

The weight of everything crashed down on you all at once. “You called my mother.”

Gojo shrugged. “Had to make sure you didn’t do something stupid.”

Your chest ached, your voice cracked, “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” he shot back. “You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m not letting you walk out just because you’re throwing a tantrum.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. “A tantrum?”

Gojo sighed, rubbing his temple. “Listen, I get it. I’ve been busy, I’ve been distant, whatever. But you knew what this was. You knew what I was.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “I wanted you, Gojo. Just you. Not your money, not your influence, just you. But you never gave me a chance.”

His expression finally cracked, something raw flickering across his face. But before he could respond, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Since you have your bag ready anyway, let’s make good use of it”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed. “We’re leaving.”

Your brows furrowed. “Leaving?”

Gojo grabbed his coat and tossed you yours. “We need a vacation. Just us.”

Your heart twisted. “Gojo—”

“You want my attention? Fine. You’ve got it. Let’s go.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out if this was some twisted attempt at making things right, or just another way for him to avoid the real issue.

You sat quietly on the steps of your house, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. The night air was cool, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. Your mother was resting inside, and Gojo—ever persistent—had offered to stay and help, but you refused. You couldn’t risk having him around her. The memories were too raw. He had once effortlessly charmed her, made himself at home in your life, and then, just as easily, you had lost everything. While you lingered between the future and present a familiar voice brought you back,

"Y/N."

Your head snapped up, wiping away stray tears. "Kento?" Nanami stood at the gate, his expression unreadable under the dim streetlights. "What are you doing here?" you asked, forcing a smile as you unlocked the gate.

"I was out for a walk. What about you? Why are you sitting outside this late?"

"Just getting some fresh air."

Nanami didn’t buy it. His sharp gaze flickered over your face, taking in the dark circles, the tired red eyes. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk?"

You sat together on the porch steps, a comfortable silence stretching between you before you finally exhaled. "It’s been hard—work, home, everything."

"Why don’t you hire a personal nurse?"

You let out a dry chuckle. "It’s not that I can’t. I’m saving for Ren’s college."

Nanami nodded in understanding. "I can help—cook, clean—whatever you need."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "That’s sweet, but… I’m weirdly possessive about my mom. I don’t want anyone else taking care of her."

Nanami didn’t push, sensing there was more to it than you were willing to share. Instead, he offered something you hadn’t even considered. "Let me take care of you then. I can move you to the pro bono project. It’s remote, won’t affect your pay or promotion. You’d have more time at home."

You hesitated. You hated admitting weakness. But Nanami wasn’t offering out of pity—just quiet, unwavering support.

"...Okay," you whispered. "Thank you, Kento."

"Please, it's the least I can do". Nanami smiled warmly.

His warm smile and unwavering support ave you the strength you needed in this moment. "I am so grateful to have you Kenot".

"Likewise y/n".

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo stood in the shadows, fingers tightening around the bento box in his hands. He had convinced himself this was just coincidence, just him checking in, but now, as he watched you smile at Nanami, something inside him cracked.

Jealousy burned hot in his veins. You had pushed him away, yet here you were sitting next to Nanami, leaning your head on his shoulders. Had you reached out to him first? Had you confided in Nanami instead of him? The thought made his stomach churn.

He wanted to march over, to demand answers, to remind you that he was the one who knew you best, the one who should be sitting beside you. But he hesitated. What if you looked indifferent? What if you didn’t care?

His heart twisted painfully, and before he could stop himself, he turned on his heel and walked away. The bento box and flowers he had brought now felt ridiculous, useless. He tossed them onto the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

What reason did you have to call Nanami and not him?

The alarm buzzed at 5 AM, and you groggily turned it off, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Another day, another routine. You swung your legs over the bed and stood, stretching for a moment before heading to the kitchen. The house was still dark, the only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator.

Quietly, you got to work—eggs sizzling in the pan, toast popping up, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. You moved with practiced efficiency, flipping pancakes while keeping an eye on the boiling water for tea. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, you had already prepped lunch, leaving it neatly packed on the counter.

Your mother would wake up soon, and you’d be back in your room, headset on, lost in spreadsheets and emails. Work consumed the day. Calls, reports, presentations—it was all a blur. But even when the clock hit five, there was no rest. The house needed tidying, dinner had to be made, and exhaustion settled into your bones like a weight you had grown used to carrying.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, your phone vibrated. Gojo. Again.

Gojo: Hey, dinner tonight? Just us. Gojo: I’ll even let you pick the place. That’s how desperate I am, babe. Gojo: Don’t leave me on read, c’monnnn.

You sighed, typing a quick response.

You: Not tonight. Long day.

You could practically feel his pout through the screen.

Gojo: You ALWAYS have a long day. I’m starting to think you don’t miss me at all 🥺

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The truth was, you did miss him. But you were exhausted. Some days, you barely had the energy to exist, let alone be present for someone else. And other days... other days, you just needed space.

You: I’m just really tired.

No response. That wasn’t like him. Normally, Gojo would send a string of exaggerated gifs or something ridiculous to make you laugh. But this time, nothing.

That night, as you finished washing dishes, your phone rang. His name lit up the screen. You sighed, answering. "Gojo, I told you—"

"Open the door."

Your heart stopped. You turned, staring at the entrance as if he might magically appear. "You didn't."

"I did." His voice was light, teasing, but there was something underneath it—something almost nervous. "Are you gonna let me in, or should I start reciting poetry from the hallway?"

You hesitated. You wanted to see him, but...

"Please." The word was softer than usual, and it made you exhale sharply.

Slowly, you walked to the door and pulled it open.

And there he was. Tall, impossibly bright even in the dim light, his usual cocky grin subdued. He studied you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every tired line.

"Hey," he murmured.

You swallowed. "Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, with an almost resigned sigh, Gojo reached out and pulled you into his arms. You stiffened at first—but then the exhaustion hit you all at once, and before you knew it, you were sinking into his warmth. His arms tightened around you, one hand gently cradling the back of your head as he rested his chin atop it. "You don’t have to do everything alone, you know," he whispered against your hair.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to the fabric as your shoulders sagged. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d been holding in until now.

"I know," you whispered back, though a part of you still wasn’t sure how to let go of the habit.

Gojo pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face. His thumbs brushed gently over the dark circles under your eyes, and his lips twisted into a soft frown. "You're overworking yourself again, aren’t you?"

You looked away. "I’m fine, Gojo."

Gojo nodded, “I don’t know what have I done but please let me help you. It’s my duty”.

It’s not what you have done, it’s what you’re capable of doing, You thought to yourself. “I– I am really fine”. You forced a smile.

Gojo cupped your face and gently tilted it up, “You don’t look fine. I– I saw Nanami and you a few days ago. I just wanted to stop by and then I –”.

You sighed, “It’s not what you think. He just stopped by. Much like you right now”.

“I–”, Gojo hesitated at first, “Why didn’t you want me here?”. 

You pressed your lips together. You had no answer. “Well because mom would have felt guilty about you being here and helping me. I didn’t want to trouble her”.

Gojo studied your face for a minute. Your sunken cheeks and heavy eyes stopped him from pushing further. “I see. It’s okay. Just know that I am just a call away”.

“I know”. You smiled at him but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You stood on one side of the doorway while he remained outside. Both of you, just close enough to embrace each other. Gojo,hesitant to step in your world, and you, scared of crossing the boundary to meet him in his world. Maybe that’s how it was going to be like this time, reaching for each other, aching for each other, from two different worlds. For now sitting on the front steps and discussing your day was enough.

“Satoru, are you sure about this?”Geto asked, rubbing his temple.

“Not entirely but how else would you explain everything?”. Gojo turned to look at Shoko and Geto. 

Shoko sighed. Her and Geto had flown down to Kyoto as soon as they could. Gojo was going insane over the fact that you had come back from the past. She tried to recall anything that you had told her in your brief encounter.According to Gojo she was supposed to be like a sister to you and yet you felt so foreign. The brief coffee exchange was semi-formal at best. If you had truly come back then you would have been warmer to her. But could you be pretending? Protecting yourself? A part of her felt compelled to help you. But in order to reach you she needed to be in your life and help Gojo. He raked her brain for any subtle hint that she might have missed. .“Aha!”. She screamed, making both the men turn to her. “That night when I met y/n in the bar, when I basically spilled your secret”, She pointed to Gojo with her cigarette, “Umm she was saying something about–”. Shoko groaned, “Oh god I just remembered it”.

Gojo moved in an instant and was by her side, “What did she say? Come one try! Please!”. He begged.

“She–”, Shoko trailed of replaying the moment in her head, “We were talking about her feelings for Nanami and–”, Shoko bit the inside of he cheek, “ She said she wasn’t sure if she liked Nanami or if she was trying to forget someone else!”. She blurted in one breath. “Right! She was trying to forget someone!”.

Gojo and Geto exchanged confused looks but Shoko was onto something. “Okay!”, She turned to Geto, “When was her last relationship?!”

Geto flipped through the file he had only you, “Umm in college. She dated some guy for 4 months”.

Shoko turned to Gojo, “Why would she still be trying to forget someone she dated in college and only for 4 months?!”

“You mean–”, Gojo trailed off and looked at Geto. “Are you sure she hasn’t had any other relationships since? Not even flings or crushes?”.

“I don’t know about crushes but definitely no relationships or flings”. He spoke with certainty. 

“It’s unlikely that she would have a crush so bad that she is still hung up on”. Shoko added. 

“No no no”. Gojo ran his hand through his hair. “We have to consider it a possibility. I– We can’t just simply believe that she has come back as well. We need to be absolutely sure”.

“But, why does it matter?”, Shoko asked, “Will your feelings change if you know-”.

“No”. Gojo cut her off. “I will have to be really careful if she has indeed come back like I did. ‘Cause that would mean she doesn’t see me as a new man. She sees me as the same man who hurt her”.

“What other clues do we have?”. Shoko asked, tying her hair back. She was surprised by her interest in this. She wanted to help her friend but also find out why this happened in the first place. “Satoru, you be the for side and Suguru”, She pointed at the man in the bun, “You be against. We are going to argue our way out of this. Satoru what is the first clue, shoot”.

Gojo swallowed and looked at the two of them, “She knew that her mother was going to get a stroke”.

Geto continued, “She didn’t know. She had a feeling and asked the doctor to keep her under observation. It is natural to think of the worst when it is a family member especially if something runs in the family”.

“But heart disease doesn’t run in her family. She took her mom to a cardiology hospital which was 15 minutes away from her home instead of the general hospital which was 10 minutes away”.

“People don’t think straight when they are panicking”.

“But she wasn’t panicking. She seemed extremely calm. Her mother had fainted and she didn’t shed a tear. She knew it was going to happen. When the nurse told her about the stroke she didn’t seem shocked, she seemed… determined”.

“Again, if she knew her mother was at a high risk then-”.

“Her mother was not a high risk patient. I saw her records. She was absolutely fine before the stroke. I went to her house yesterday, the table in the kitchen had moved to another place. You are telling me she moved the table for no reason, which by the way prevented her mother from hitting her head. She borrowed Maya’s car to move furniture but there was no new furniture in the house. She just happened to have a car ready? Her mother fainted at 6:30 AM. She was in the hospital by 6:50 AM. That includes the 15 minute drive. No time wasted. She just happened to be in the room at the same time?”.

Geto shrugged, “It was breakfast time?”.

Gojo turned on his heels sharply and pointed at Geto with a marker, “No. Y/n has breakfast at 8:00 AM. She was up early that day. She didn’t waste any time getting ready. She didn’t waste any time thinking what to do. She didn’t waste any time even checking if her mother needed water or anything?”.

Shoko hummed. “The timing is just too- perfect. Usually in such cases family members take at least 10 minutes to get their bearings. Even if they act immediately”.

Geto shook his head, “There is no other rebuttal. I agree that even I think she knew this was going to happen”.

Shoko clapped her hands and walked over to the board where they had been noting facts and wrote down the conclusion under this clue. Positive. “Next clue?”. She asked, looking around the room.

Gojo stared at the board, “In my office, when we had the slowing things down conversation, She said she doesn’t want to fall head first like last time. What did she mean last time?”

“Her previous relationship?”. Shoko asked and turned to Geto.

Geto shook his head, “No. In her last relationship they only officially started dating after 2 months of going out. And she wasn’t that serious according to her then friends”.

Shoko wrote positive under the clue. 

Gojo sat back, arms crossed, the weight of the evidence settling over him.“She remembers,” he murmured.

Geto exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we need to figure out why she came back.”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just stared at the board, lips pressed into a thin line. Because if you had come back in time, that meant there was something you needed to change. And deep down, he was terrified that he was the reason why.

“We need more indicators”.

Shoko threw her hands in the air, “How are we going to get more indicators?”.

Gojo didn’t know how. He stared blankly at the board. Geto quipped, “We can recreate some scenarios and see how she reacts”.

“What?”. Gojo asked.

“If she has come back from the future then it means she is a different person to what she would have been at this point in time. We recreate some scenarios that have happened in the past and didn’t go her way. If she has not come back from the future then things won’t go her way. But if she has then she will try to change things. But the situation needs to be important enough for her to care”

Shoko turned to Gojo, tapping the cap of the marker on her lips, “Can you think of anything?”.

A slow smile appeared on Gojo’s face, “A deal. A very bad deal”. Gojo turned to Geto, “In the past, Naoya Zenin approached us with a business proposal. I worked with y/n on the proposal. She was confident that it was a good deal. Really confident. We went ahead with the deal and ended up losing a lot of money. People had to be fired, including her friends”.

“That’s perfect!”. Shoko added. “She would not want her friends to get fired so she will be against the deal this time. If we present all the facts accurately then she should agree with the proposal”.

It had been your first full week back at the office since your mother’s recovery. The past few months had been exhausting—waking up before dawn, caring for her, managing the house, barely keeping up with work from home. But now that things were finally stable, you had walked into the office expecting a slow reintegration.

Instead, Gojo had called you into a meeting the moment you stepped in. You weren’t surprised.What did surprise you was seeing Geto seated across from Gojo at the long conference table, a thick files already waiting at your usual spot. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady and unreadable.

“Nice to meet you again,” he said evenly.

You nodded, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you too”.

Then there was Gojo, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head with a slow, knowing grin.“Alright,” he drawled. “Let’s get down to business. You’re just in time for something big.”

You slid into your chair, flipping open your notebook. “What is it?”

Gojo grabbed the file in front of him and pushed it toward you. “Naoya Zenin,” he said, his usual lightheartedness gone. “He’s offering us a deal.”

Your breath hitched, fingers hovering just above the file. Zenin. The name alone sent a prickle down your spine. Even if you hadn’t lived through this before, you would have been wary. But you had lived through this. The last time you had seen this file, you had been excited. You had believed in this deal and it had cost you everything. You remembered the look on your friends face as they got laid off. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to open the file, eyes skimming over the contents—projected profits, expansion plans, contractual details. On paper, it was perfect.

“We’d be securing an exclusive contract with the Zenin Group,” Geto explained smoothly. “Five years. High margins. Minimal risk.”

Minimal risk. That was what you had thought before. That was what everyone had thought.

Gojo leaned forward slightly. “This could put us in a dominant position,” he said. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Can we call in Kento?”, You asked. “I think– I want his input as well”. You smiled formally.

Gojo and Geto exchanged looks and Gojo picked up his phone to call Nanami. “Y/n wants your input on a deal. Come to my office”. He cut the call without waiting to hear anything further. “Why do you want him here?”

“Because it’s his company?”.

“Not anymore”. Gojo replied. “It’s with us now”.

For some reason you didn’t like the tone of his answer. It was unfair to have Nanami out of an important conversation. He founded Golden Ratio. You didn’t care what Gojo thought, you didn’t want to go behind Nanami’s back.

Nanami walked in a few minutes later, adjusting his tie. “Sorry to keep you waiting. What’s going on?”. He asked as he sat down next to you. 

“There is a deal that has come our way”, You spoke, sliding the file over to Nanami, “From the Zenin group. Five years, high margins, minimal risk, exclusive contract”.

Nanami hummed as he flipped through the pages, “I see, what do you think about it?”. He asked, looking at Gojo.

“I think it’s a good opportunity. One worth exploring. What do you think y/n?”. Gojo was watching you. Waiting. If this was truly your first time seeing this deal, you would be excited. You would already be thinking of ways to move forward. 

But you hesitated. “I don’t know,” you murmured, tapping your fingers lightly against the table. “Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”

Geto barely reacted, but Gojo? Gojo’s lips twitched, his fingers drumming once against the table before he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Really?” he said, tilting his head. “But the numbers are solid. You were always big on numbers.”

You swallowed, flipping a page. “Numbers don’t always tell the full story.”

Geto quirked a brow. “They do a pretty good job, though.”

You shook your head. “What about contingencies? What’s our risk assessment?”. 

“There’s no major risk,” Gojo said smoothly. “Zenin’s contract locks in long-term security, and we have an escape clause after the second year. If anything shifts, we’ll have time to pivot.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “And if it collapses within those first two years?”

“It won’t.”

“It can”. Nanami added. “How are you so sure that it won’t?”. He looked at Gojo and then at Geto.

It will. You thought to yourself. “I agree with Nanami,This looks lucrative. If all goes well then this could be a major step for the firm. But maybe we should evaluate it more. I can run a scenario analysis”.

Geto hummed to himself. You were being careful. He had made up his mind but he wanted to see how far you'll go if push comes to shove. “We conducted a scenario analysis and it’s all in the file in front of you. Have a look”. Geto was in no mood to entertain Nanami.

You opened the file and started going through the numbers and projections. They had covered everything except one scenario. One scenario in which this deal could be detrimental, will be detrimental. But can you reveal it to them? How will you explain having this information? What will you do if they question you? You bit your lip as you kept on flipping through the pages.

“What are your thoughts?”. Gojo asked.

“I–”, You took a deep breath, fuck it, “Can I see the Zenin group’s financials?”. 

“Sure”, Gojo replied and slid another file your way. 

It would have taken you days to analyse this had you not known where to look already. You flipped to the very end and read the note and smiled to yourself. “Zinoya,”, You said as you marked a note, “It seems like a shell company. Lots of funds are being transferred from Zenin group to Zinoya, Additionally Zinoya holds 10% shares in Zenin group. However I have not heard of this company before. Have you?”.

Geto smiled, “No”. You were good. Very good. “But how does that affect our deal?”.

“If it is a shell company then post this deal we would not be paying to Zenin group. We will be paying Zinoya. There is a high chance that this could get us in hot waters with regulators resulting in a multi million dollar lawsuit. People could lose their jobs”.

“Why would people lose their jobs?” Geto raised a brow, “Given what you’re saying is right”.

You gulped and bit your lip, “Because.. Golden ratio is the least profitable of all the companies under Gojo group. If we are paying out millions of dollars in lawsuits then we will have to save that cost somewhere. For Domain Dynamic, golden ratio is a minor acquisition. Naturally the best place to lay people off under the pretext of a company not making enough money. Domain will save face and money”.

“You’re smart”. Geto said, smiling at you.

“Not really. I just got lucky”. You smiled back.

Nanami observed you and then smiled to himself, “If y/n is not confident about the deal then we are not going ahead with it”.

But Gojo didn’t have anything to say. His intuition was right. Suddenly you weren’t his wide eyed girlfriend anymore, you were his fiance who had become a shell of a human. He could see the pain right through your mask. You have come back from the future. To escape him and his cruelty, to escape the pain he has caused you.

“No way!”. Shoko exclaimed as Geto gave her the rundown of the entire meeting. She looked at Gojo who was awfully quiet. “What are you brooding about?”

Gojo didn’t look at her. His eyes fixed on a distant point. “Why did she agree to go out with me?”.

Shoko scoffed, “because in her eyes you are not the same Satoru who had hurt her. You are different. You proved that you are not the same when you went against your dad and became the head of the family”.

“Sho is right”. Geto quipped lighting a cigarette. “You have a clean state. You have an advantage. You know her fears, insecurity, pain, all her buttons. Use it”.

Gojo let out a strangled groan, dragging both hands through his hair, gripping at the roots like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. “Fuck!—Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His voice cracked, raw and unsteady, as he staggered back, barely able to keep himself upright. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling like he was suffocating under the weight of his own thoughts. “She wanted to escape from me…”

Shoko and Geto exchanged a glance, their usual snark buried beneath the thick, suffocating air of the room. They didn’t speak. For once, there were no jokes, no teasing remarks—only quiet understanding as they watched the strongest man they knew unravel before them.

Gojo’s shoulders trembled as he struggled to find the words, but they stuck to the roof of his mouth like they were never meant to be spoken. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. “I was so—She chose—” His breath hitched, and when he finally forced the words out, they were nothing more than a broken whisper. “She chose to come back rather than stay with me. She chose death over being with me.”

His knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself on the edge of the table, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His usually bright, untouchable eyes were clouded, glassy with unshed tears, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him like an unbearable force. “Do I even deserve her?” His voice wavered, barely audible. “Am I even worthy?”

Shoko exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temples as if that alone could ward off the crushing weight of Gojo’s words. She had never seen him like this—not even when everything had first fallen apart. This was different. This was despair settling into his bones, poisoning his thoughts, twisting the very essence of him into something unrecognizable.

“She didn’t choose death, Satoru.” Her voice was quiet, but firm, a sharp contrast to the way his own was unraveling. “She chose what she thought would save her.”

Gojo let out a bitter, breathless laugh, tilting his head back as if the ceiling had all the answers he so desperately sought. “And I wasn’t it.”

Geto exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his eyes shadowed, unreadable. “No, you weren’t,” he admitted. The truth cut, but there was no point in dressing it up. “But you are now, aren’t you? You can be, right?”

Gojo’s hands trembled against the table, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned a stark white. He hated this. The not knowing. The way his mind kept looping around the same painful thought—if she had to choose again, would she still leave? Would she still run?

Would she still think the world was kinder without him in it?

Shoko swallowed, stepping closer, hesitant. “You can’t rewrite the past, Gojo. You can’t take back the things you did, the things you said… but you can’t let them drown you either.” She nudged his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “You think she sees you as someone different? Then stop looking at yourself like you’re the same damn person who lost her in the first place.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “And if I mess it up again?”

Geto tapped his cigarette against the ashtray, his gaze heavy. “Then you lose her for good.”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing down on him like a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear. Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, his throat tight, his pulse pounding against his ribs. He had power. He had influence. He could tear the world apart if he wanted to. But none of it mattered if, at the end of it all, he still ended up alone.

“A trip?!” you echoed, blinking up at him in disbelief.

Gojo and you were halfway through one of your usual evening walks, your breaths visible in the crisp winter air. The sky had already deepened into navy, stars blinking to life above the soft hum of the city. You’d been mid-sentence about a ridiculous client email when he just… dropped it.

“Yeah,” he replied with that maddening, effortless grin, as though he were asking if you wanted dessert—not to uproot your whole week. Maybe your whole heart.

Before you could bury your cold fingers into your coat, he reached out and caught them, tucking both your hands into the deep pocket of his coat like it was second nature. His palm was warm—so warm it made your chest tighten—and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Just the two of us.”

You hesitated, staring at the ground as your boots crunched softly against the gravel path. “I can’t just take a trip, Satoru. There’s work, and home, and—”

He groaned, exaggerated and loud, throwing his head back like the very idea of responsibility physically pained him. “There will always be work and home. But we rarely get time to just be. You and me. No phones ringing. No stupid finance reports. No one interrupting every five seconds.”

You raised a brow at him. “We’re spending time together right now, aren’t we?”

He looked at you like you’d just said the sky was green.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “but this—this is crumbs. You know how much I want the whole damn cake.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “You want cake now?”

He gave you a look. “Metaphorically. But now that you mention it…”

You shook your head with a smile, trying to brush it off, but he wasn’t done.

“I’m serious. Do you even realize how little I get to see you? We spend what—three hours and five minutes together in the office? Then maybe an hour or two of walking. A late-night call if we’re lucky and not too tired. That’s five or six hours a day, max. It’s not enough.”

“Six hours a day is too little for you?” you murmured, half-teasing, half-afraid of the answer.

Gojo stopped walking then, pulling you gently to a halt beside him. His grip inside the pocket tightened—just a fraction, but you felt it. Like he thought you might disappear if he let go.

“It’s too little,” he said quietly. “Because none of it is… really ours. Not all the way. I just want time with you that doesn’t come with a clock ticking down.”

His words wrapped around you like fog—soft, persistent, hard to ignore. You looked away, focusing on the way the streetlight lit the frost on the tree branches. You wanted that too. You just didn’t know if you could handle what came with it.

He must have seen something shift in your expression, because his voice dropped lower. “Just trust me on this one. No expectations. No pressure. Just… come with me. Let’s hit pause for a few days. You deserve it.”

You sighed, long and slow, clouding the air between you both. The part of you that still kept score—the cautious, scarred part—whispered that nothing with Gojo was ever just anything. And yet…

“Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s take a trip. Where do you want to go?”

His face lit up like a kid at a fireworks show. “Norway.”

You blinked. “Norway? Why?”

He rocked on his heels, face all mischief and chill like he wasn’t dropping bombs every few seconds. “It’s quiet. It has mountains. And fjords. And I don’t know—moose?”

You gave him a skeptical look. “It’s too far.”

“It’ll be fine.” He leaned closer. “Come on. Snowy nights, no one around. Just you and me and enough blankets to build a fortress.”

You hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Norway had been on your list for years. The northern lights. The silence. The stillness. It sounded… perfect.

You nodded, slowly. “Okay. I’ll check flights—”

“Why?” he interrupted, grinning. “We’re taking my jet.”

You stopped walking again. “Your jet?”

He blinked like you were the one being weird. “Uh, yeah? It’s faster. And comfier.”

You pulled your hands free from the shared pocket, crossing your arms. “No. If we’re doing this, I’m paying for my own flight. And hotel. Everything.”

He stilled. The wind rustled past, catching a strand of white hair that had fallen across his forehead. His smile slipped—just slightly—but it was enough. He didn’t tease, didn’t argue. He just stood there, quiet.

“I get it,” he said finally. “You need that line..”

You swallowed hard, heart squeezing at the guilt creeping in. You weren’t trying to punish him. But it was the only way you knew to protect yourself. To stay you when he had the ability to pull you under with just a look.

“I’ll have Miwa send you a few flight and hotel options,” he added, his voice softer now. “No pressure.”

You watched him, uncertain. He looked unreadable, which was rare for Gojo. There was a flicker of something else behind his expression—something almost… tired. You hated that. Hated that your walls didn’t just keep him out—they hurt him, too.

After a long pause, you nodded. “Sounds good.”

He nodded back, stuffing his hands deeper into his coat as you both resumed walking, the silence this time gentler than before. There was still so much unsaid between you, so much waiting to be unpacked. But maybe—just maybe—you could start somewhere. Even if it was as far away as Norway.

The airport was loud, a constant hum of voices, announcements, and the rolling of suitcases against polished floors. You stood in line at Starbucks, staring blankly at the overhead menu, though you already knew what you wanted. The barista’s voice crackled through the speaker, calling out orders one after another, but your mind was elsewhere.

It was stupid, really, how something as simple as booking a flight could stir up so much inside you. Miwa had arranged everything—Kyoto to Tokyo, Tokyo to Oslo with a layover in Helsinki. The ticket price had almost made you laugh. It was absurdly cheap for an international flight, even more so considering the routes. You weren’t naïve; you knew Gojo had something to do with it. You had fought Miwa over flying economy, and she had relented after much back and forth.

A part of you hated this. Hated that you had to put this invisible wall between yourself and him, that you had to be so deliberate about creating space.

In another life—one that now felt like a hazy dream—you would have taken his jet without hesitation. You wouldn’t have thought about cost, about fairness, about keeping things balanced between you. You would have let him handle everything, let yourself fall into the ease of being with him. Because that’s who Gojo was—reckless and all-consuming in his love, leaving no room for hesitation. But that version of you was dead and buried.

You exhaled, shaking off the thought as you grabbed your coffee, the warmth seeping into your palms. There was no point lingering in past lives. You had a sixteen-hour flight ahead of you, and you needed all the mental preparation you could get. The boarding process was long, as expected. You shuffled forward with the line, coffee in one hand, book tucked under your arm, fingers fidgeting against the cover. Once inside the plane, you settled into your seat, pushing your bag under the seat in front of you, letting out a slow breath.

You pulled out your phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing:

Boarded the flight. I’ll text when I land in Helsinki.

You hit send and waited. No reply. You stared at the screen for a moment, irritation creeping in. It wasn’t like him to leave a message unanswered, not when it came to you. But whatever. It didn’t matter. You slipped the phone into your pocket, flipping open your book instead, trying to focus on the words in front of you.

The plane filled up, passengers shuffling to their seats, murmured conversations filling the cabin. You barely paid attention—until the voice came.

"Are you traveling alone?"

Your head snapped up at the familiarity, your pulse stuttering. There, settling into the seat beside you, was Gojo Satoru. Your brain short-circuited. "What the—What are you doing here?"

He grinned, adjusting himself in the cramped space, his knees already pressing against the seat in front of him. "I’m traveling with the love of my life."

You let out a startled laugh,cheeks heating and shaking your head. "Satoru, what—? Have you ever flown economy before?"

His grin widened. "Nope."

You blinked, waiting for him to continue, for the inevitable complaint about legroom, about the lack of in-flight service, about how he was so above this. But instead, he just shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. I just want to be with you."

You stared at him, at the sincerity in his words, at the ease with which he said them, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Something about it unsettled you. You glanced down at his legs, long and awkwardly folded, his broad shoulders taking up more than his allotted space. He looked ridiculous, cramped and uncomfortable, and yet—he didn’t complain. A strange feeling crawled up your spine, something dangerously close to admiration.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You should upgrade to business class. It’s a thirteen-hour flight to Helsinki.This is not funny. I am being serious"

Gojo simply grabbed your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "I’m good right here."

You hated the way your heart clenched at that. “Suit yourself”. You scoffed and leaned back.

The flight dragged on, stretching into hours. You fell asleep at some point, head leaning against Gojo’s shoulder, the warmth of him seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. When you stirred awake, it was to the dim glow of overhead lights and the smell of in-flight meals being passed around. 

Gojo handed you your tray without a word, his own already open in front of him. The food was mediocre at best—dry chicken, bland rice, a sad excuse for a side salad. You poked at it with your fork before glancing at him.

"You okay with this?" you asked, half-expecting him to be scowling.

He looked up, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Yeah, why?"

You stared at him incredulously. "I– It’s not your usual food."

Gojo chuckled, setting his fork down. "I’m good"

You weren’t sure if he meant it as a joke or not, but the weight of those words settled deep in your chest.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you both ate in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the plane surrounding you. Movies played on the small screen in front of you, but neither of you really paid attention. You talked about everything and nothing, filling the hours with soft conversations and stolen laughter.

At some point, Gojo shifted in his seat, wincing slightly as he tried to stretch his legs. You watched as he maneuvered awkwardly, trying to squeeze his way out to the aisle. He bumped into a few passengers, murmuring quick apologies before disappearing toward the bathroom.

When he returned, you raised a brow. "Still no complaints?"

He smirked, slipping back into his seat. "Nope. Just happy to be here."

You didn’t know what to do with that.

The flight dragged on in a haze of naps, shifting positions, and quiet moments. And then, finally—

Helsinki.

The plane touched down smoothly, the soft jolt of landing pulling you from half-sleep. You stretched, shaking off the stiffness, watching as Gojo did the same beside you. His movements were slower, wearier, a small grimace flashing across his face as he rolled his shoulders.

You could tell his body was sore. You could tell he was exhausted. But still—he didn’t complain.

You walked through the airport together, fingers laced, navigating through the terminals until you reached your next gate. The layover was brief, just enough time to grab coffee and breathe before the next leg of your journey.

Gojo leaned against the railing, sipping his drink, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. You nudged him lightly. "You tired?"

He smiled, a lazy, lopsided thing. "Maybe a little."

And yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the discomfort—he was here. With you. “Just an hour more of travelling and we’ll be in Oslo”.

Gojo nodded and carried your bag and his’ and walked to the boarding gate.

“Satoru wait!”. You called out.

Gojo turned back, “hmm? All okay?”.

You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. “Yes!....Well no! Why– why are you doing this? Why did you put yourself through all that? I told you that I would see you in Oslo right? Then why? I’m not stupid. I know what this is doing to you. I can see that you are exhausted! What are you even trying to prove?! Are you trying to punish me for-- not taking your jet?! ”.

Gojo smiled, “Life is long y/n. It won’t always be a bed of roses but I want you to know that I am with you. I will be next to you. If you had decided to walk all the way to Norway then I would have walked with you. This– this is not a punishment. Why is it so hard to accept that I just want to be with you?”.

Your shoulders dropped. No matter how hard you tried to build the wall around you, Gojo broke it down brick by brick. “Why? Why why wh-”.

Gojo cut you off by pressing his lips onto yours. And just like that, all the tiredness evaporated. All the pain is gone. All your questions answered. When he pulled back you looked into his eyes and a heavy realization dawned, he was not the same Gojo Satoru. Maybe on the outside. But on the inside he was different. Maybe your choice to stay in Kyoto shifted something in the universe and granted you your wish. Your breath hitched as you finally realized that your wish was not to be away from him. It was to escape the hurt. The pain.To be loved in a way that didn’t demand your obedience but just your presence .Maybe you were fated to be with him. Here he was, different. Loving you the way you had always wanted to be loved. Caring for you how you had always wanted to be cared for. How could you ever tell him that you had come back? How will he react? Will he believe you? Should you tell him? Should you punish him for mistakes he hasn’t even made? .The world around you disappeared. It was just you and him.

As the plane descended, you stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the early morning light filtering through the window. The view outside was breathtaking—rolling hills dusted with snow, dark green forests stretching endlessly beneath a pale blue sky. Oslo looked serene, untouched, like something out of a painting. A small smile tugged at your lips. This trip is going to be good.

Beside you, Gojo groaned, shifting in his seat as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His long legs stretched as much as they could in the cramped space, and he winced slightly, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the stiffness of the long flight.

“Morning,” you murmured, turning to him with a smile.

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms over his head before turning to you with a lazy grin. “Morning.” His voice was rough from sleep, his white lashes still heavy over tired eyes. Without a second thought, he leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, his lips warm against your temple.

You laughed softly, reaching for your bag. “I am so excited for this trip!” You practically beamed at him, the exhaustion from travel momentarily forgotten. “I researched everything. We can book a cab from the exit, and that wo—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gojo interrupted, his tone casual as he yawned and stretched.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Undoing his seatbelt with a soft click, he turned to you with a sleepy grin. “I had forgotten that we own a hotel here.” He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “The car is waiting for us.”

You blinked, staring at him blankly. “Really?”

Gojo chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Come on, Y/N. I swear I’m not lying. Why pay for a hotel when you own one? And don’t even think about offering to pay,” he added quickly, seeing the argument forming on your lips. “I know you wanted to handle the logistics, but it doesn’t make sense now. Since you’re technically an employee of the group, it’s free for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still processing the information. “Really?” you asked again, as if repeating it would make it more believable.

“Yes,” he sighed, voice softening. “Now, please, don’t fight me on this.” He turned those tired, pleading eyes on you, and damn it, you felt your resolve cracking. “Just this once.”

You exhaled slowly, glancing down at his cramped legs and the slight stiffness in his posture. He had just endured a thirteen-hour flight in economy—for you. Maybe this was his way of balancing things out.

“…Fine,” you muttered, shaking your head.

A victorious smile spread across his face as he reached for your hand, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. “Of course I am.”

As soon as the sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of The Aesir Grand, a five-star luxury hotel perched on the edge of Oslo’s stunning fjords, you barely had time to step out before a swarm of uniformed employees descended upon you. The valet rushed forward to open your door, another to take your bags, while a third hurried to roll out an immaculate red carpet—literally.

Your brows shot up. “Satoru…” you whispered, glancing at him. “Is this really necessary?”

Gojo grinned, effortlessly stepping out of the car as if he owned the place—which, technically, he did. “What? You think I’d let my girl check into a hotel like some regular tourist?” He winked before tucking your hand into his. “Besides, they’re just excited.”

The excitement was palpable. The hotel manager, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and an expensive-looking suit, stood at the entrance, holding a grand bouquet of deep red roses. His expression was warm, eager. “Mr. Gojo! Welcome back to The Aesir Grand,” he greeted, bowing slightly before turning his attention to you. “And this must be your beautiful partner. We are absolutely honored to have you both staying with us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the grand reception. “Oh—thank you,” you said, accepting the bouquet hesitantly.

“We’ve prepared the finest suite for you,” the manager continued. “If you’ll follow me.”

As you stepped into the lobby, your breath hitched. The space was pure opulence. A massive glass chandelier, dripping with golden accents, hung from the high ceiling, casting soft, warm light over the pristine marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking view of the fjord, where the sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of lavender and gold. Guests milled about, some stealing glances at Gojo, recognizing him even here.

The manager led you to the private elevator, which required a keycard to access the uppermost floor. As the doors slid shut, Gojo turned to you with a smug smile. “What do you think so far?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I think I might have underestimated just how obnoxiously rich you are.”

He laughed. “You have seen nothing yet”

The elevator dinged, and as the doors opened, you stepped into the Valhalla Suite—and your breath left you entirely.

The suite was a masterpiece. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the space, offering a panoramic view of the Oslo skyline and the fjord beyond. The living area was decorated in sleek Scandinavian design—plush velvet sofas in deep midnight blue, a crackling modern fireplace, and gold accents that added just the right touch of extravagance. A grand piano sat in one corner, bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting.

Through an open doorway, you could see the bedroom—an impossibly large king-sized bed, draped in the finest linen, with a skylight directly above it, allowing a perfect view of the stars at night. A private balcony stretched along the entire suite, complete with an infinity hot tub overlooking the water.

Your eyes widened. “Satoru, this isn’t a hotel suite. This is a damn penthouse.”

He smirked, tossing his coat onto the sofa. “Only the best for us”

You turned to him, arms crossed, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your face. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gojo shrugged, stepping closer until he was right in front of you, tilting his head down. “Maybe. But you didn’t exactly fight me on it.” His fingers brushed against your cheek, and despite yourself, you melted just a little.

You rolled your eyes. “I– I told you that I wa-”

Gojo immediately grabbed both of your hands in his’. “I know and I didn’t do this to undermine you. I just– I just want you to relax and have a good time. I could see that you had been so busy with your mom and work that you didn’t have time to take care of yourself so please please please let me do it. I am begging you y/n please”.

You pressed your lips and nodded. “Fine. I guess I owe you this after the hellish flight”.

You sighed as you unzipped your suitcase, neatly folding your clothes into the pristine white oak wardrobe of The Valhalla Suite. The scent of fresh linen and subtle hints of vanilla and cedar filled the air, the faint crackle of the modern fireplace adding to the warmth of the space. It should have been relaxing—should have been—but as you reached for your wallet, your heart suddenly dropped.

It wasn’t there.

You rummaged through your bag, then your coat pockets, then your suitcase again, fingers shaking slightly as panic started to rise. Had you dropped it at the airport? In the car? Was it gone?

"Satoru!" you called out, your voice sharp with urgency as you rushed into the living area.

Gojo was sprawled across the plush sofa, long legs stretched out, scrolling lazily through his phone. He immediately sat up at the sound of your distress, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. “What? What happened?”

“My wallet—it’s gone,” you said breathlessly, still patting your pockets as if it would magically appear.

For a split second, Gojo looked genuinely concerned. Then, to your complete and utter disbelief, he leaned back with a slow, satisfied smirk and pulled something out of his pocket.

Your wallet.

Your jaw dropped. “Satoru—”

“I stole it,” he admitted with zero shame, flipping it open and inspecting the contents like it was his new favorite toy. “For the rest of the trip, this is mine.”

You gaped at him. “Are you serious?” You lunged for it, but he effortlessly dodged, holding it above his head like a mischievous child.

He laughed, catching your wrist mid-air and pulling you down onto his lap. “Y/n,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I love that you’re independent. But just for this trip, let me take care of you. No worrying, no planning, no overthinking. Just focus on me.” His voice was gentle, but firm—laced with something deeper, something that made your stomach twist. You opened your mouth to argue, but he placed a finger against your lips. “Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Not having it.”

You exhaled, defeated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.” He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before standing up and stretching. “Now, come on. We have a massage appointment in fifteen minutes.”

The spa at The Aesir Grand was nothing short of a dream. The moment you stepped inside, the stress that had been weighing on your shoulders began to melt away. The scent of eucalyptus and lavender wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the soft notes of an instrumental melody drifting through the air. The room was dimly lit with golden flickering candlelight, and a gentle warmth radiated from the heated massage beds. It was the kind of place designed to lull even the most restless souls into tranquility.

And yet, you could still feel the tension in your chest. You had told yourself to keep your distance, to not let Gojo get too close. And yet, here you were, letting him whisk you away on a trip that was already proving to be overwhelmingly indulgent. You sighed, shaking your head slightly as you slid onto the massage bed, the plush softness conforming perfectly to your body.

Gojo, of course, was already making himself comfortable on the bed beside you, stretching his long limbs before resting his head on the cushioned headrest. He turned to you, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Excited?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

You gave him a side-eye. “It’s a massage, Satoru. Not a roller coaster ride.”

He chuckled, shifting slightly. “It’s our massage. And I intend for it to be an experience you’ll never forget.”

Before you could respond, the masseuses entered the room, offering a polite smile before beginning their work. You exhaled softly as skilled hands began kneading the tension from your shoulders, working their way down your back with precise movements.

Gojo let out a low groan beside you, melting into the touch almost immediately. “Ohhhh, this is what I needed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound ridiculous.”

“I sound like a man who is in absolute bliss,” he corrected, shifting slightly under the firm pressure of the massage. “Mmm. I think I’m going to buy a spa.”

You snorted. “You are not buying a spa.”

“Why not? Then we could get massages together every day. Just picture it, y/n—waking up to the beautiful Oslo view and, getting a five-star breakfast, then strolling down to our private spa for a massage.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not moving to Norway just so you can have daily massages.”

Gojo sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I am giving these people a massive tip.”

You shook your head, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips. He’s impossible. The room lapsed into a comfortable silence, the rhythmic pressure against your muscles making you feel weightless. Your thoughts started to drift, but no matter how much you tried to keep them at bay, they always found their way back to the man lying beside you. Satoru Gojo.

You hated how easy it was with him. How effortless it felt to just sink into his world. He had always been like this—charming, relentless, and impossibly devoted. But this… this was different. This trip wasn’t just some extravagant whim. It was intentional. Thoughtful.

You turned your head slightly, stealing a glance at him through lidded eyes. His white lashes fluttered against his cheek, his lips parted slightly as he exhaled in contentment. Even here, in the most relaxed state you’d ever seen him, there was something in his expression—something deep, something intense.

Gojo cracked one eye open, catching you in the act. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips. “Like what you see?”

You scoffed, turning your face away. “Hardly.”

He chuckled, but there was something smug in the sound. Something that told you he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

A moment passed before he spoke again, his voice quieter, more serious. “You’re thinking too much.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “I am not.”

“You are.” He sighed, his voice softer now. “You’re always thinking too much. About work, about responsibilities, about keeping your distance from me.”

You stiffened slightly. Gojo turned his head toward you, resting his cheek against the headrest. “Just let me have this, y/n. Let us have this.”

Your heart clenched. I can’t. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you let out a slow breath and closed your eyes. For now—for just this moment—you let yourself sink into his world. Gojo smiled to himself, watching the subtle shift in your expression. He had won this round. And he wasn’t done yet.

By the time you returned to the suite, the exhaustion of travel and jet lag was starting to weigh on you. But as you stepped inside, all thoughts of sleep momentarily vanished. The dining area had been transformed into a feast fit for royalty. A beautifully set table held an array of gourmet dishes—grilled salmon with lemon butter sauce, steaming bowls of creamy soup, delicate plates of cheese and fruits, and a fresh selection of cured meats. A bottle of deep red wine sat chilling in a glass bucket beside the table.

Your eyes widened. “Satoru, what the—”

Gojo smirked, pulling out a chair for you. “Lunch is served.”

You gave him an exasperated look but sat down anyway, your stomach betraying you with a growl. The food was rich and flavorful, and despite your initial protests, you found yourself savoring every bite. Gojo watched you with a satisfied smile, sipping his wine as he nudged more food onto your plate.

As the meal ended, the exhaustion returned in waves. The fireplace cast a golden glow across the room, and the wine left a pleasant warmth in your chest. You barely registered Gojo’s voice murmuring something before you found yourself pulled into his arms, your cheek resting against his chest.

“Sleepy?” he murmured, his hand lazily running through your hair.

You hummed in response, eyes already fluttering shut.

Gojo chuckled, shifting you both onto the bed, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Guess I win,” he murmured against your temple, his voice laced with amusement and something softer—something almost tender. But you were too far gone to hear it, already slipping into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a long time.

The drive to Trolltunga was nothing short of magical.Fourteen hours of sleep had brought both of you back to your element and now you were enjoying the beautiful drive to one of your bucket list hikes .The winding roads cut through valleys of emerald green, where waterfalls cascaded down rugged cliffs, their mist catching the golden sunlight. A deep blue fjord stretched into the horizon, framed by snow-capped peaks that stood tall like ancient guardians. You rolled down the window, letting the crisp mountain air whip through your hair, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

Gojo, behind the wheel, stole glances at you between turns. You had your feet propped up on the dashboard, scrolling through your playlist with a soft hum. The second you found the right song, your face lit up, and before he knew it, you were singing along, completely lost in the melody. Gojo didn’t know the song, nor did he care. He was too busy admiring you. The way your fingers tapped the rhythm on your knee, the slight crinkle of your nose when you hit a high note—everything about you was mesmerizing.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. How did I get so lucky? He had spent years surrounded by chaos, yet somehow, here you were—his calm in the storm, his favorite distraction. This is the woman he fell in love with and dimmed her fire, crushed her soul. But not anymore. He was not the same man. He was not going to make the same mistakes.

“You’re staring,” you teased, glancing at him with a knowing smirk.

Gojo chuckled, unfazed. “Can you blame me? My girlfriend is an international pop star, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and sing with me.”

“I would, but I don’t want to ruin the magic.”

You laughed, tossing a crumpled napkin at him, which he dodged effortlessly. The rest of the ride was filled with more singing, playful bickering, and Gojo sneaking in as many stolen glances as possible.

By the time you reached the trailhead, the sun had risen higher, casting golden rays across the rocky terrain. The path wound its way through forests of birch and spruce, with patches of wildflowers peeking through the mossy undergrowth. The air smelled of damp earth and fresh pine, and every breath felt like pure energy.

Gojo reached for your hand without a second thought. “You ready?”

You laced your fingers with his, giving him a squeeze. “Let’s do this.”

The hike was challenging but exhilarating. You stopped every so often to take pictures—some of the landscape, others of Gojo making ridiculous poses next to random rocks. In retaliation, he took countless candid shots of you, claiming he was capturing “the essence of your struggle.”

“You do realize this is blackmail, right?” you said, flipping through the pictures.

Gojo grinned. “Oh, absolutely. I’ll be using these as reaction memes for years. Maya would love this!”

You huffed but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. When you finally reached the summit, the sight before you stole your breath away. Trolltunga jutted out over the fjord like a stone tongue, suspended in midair with nothing but sky and water below. The fjord shimmered beneath you, an endless stretch of deep blue, flanked by cliffs that rose like giants from the depths. It was the kind of beauty that made words feel inadequate.

You stepped forward, hands on your hips, taking in the view. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Gojo murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the scenery.

He was looking at you. You, with your wind-kissed cheeks, eyes reflecting the sky, standing there as if you belonged to the wild, untamed beauty of this place. Gojo took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the small velvet box in his pocket. He could feel the weight of it pressing against him, heavier than before. This was it. This was the moment.

Before he could stop himself, he dropped to one knee. You turned at the movement, eyes widening as you took in the sight of him. “Satoru.” Your voice held amusement, but also something wary.

He looked up at you, blue eyes filled with something unreadable.

“I swear to God,” you said, crossing your arms. “I hope you’re not doing what it looks like you’re doing.”

Gojo’s lips twitched, realization sinking in. You weren’t ready. He could see it in the way your posture stiffened, the way your breath hitched just slightly. He let out a laugh, playful and easy, as if he hadn’t just been about to put his heart in your hands. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just tying my shoelaces.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Right….”

“Yeah right..” he waved off, standing up with a dramatic stretch.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a chuckle. “Don’t scare me like that, Gojo.”

He smiled, but his hand slipped back into his pocket, fingers brushing against the unopened box. The ring inside remained unseen, but its weight lingered.

Not yet.

He could wait. He would wait. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. For now, he settled for wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both looked out over the breathtaking view. And if he held you just a little tighter, you didn’t question it.

The morning air was crisp as you slipped on your jacket, excitement bubbling in your chest at the thought of exploring the quaint little town of Fjellvika on your own.The hike was fantastic, the massage was fantastic, but you wanted to create your own memories now. Just in case if everything falls through again .The hotel’s grandeur had been breathtaking, but there was something about wandering through quiet streets, discovering hidden gems, and blending in with locals that thrilled you.

Gojo, on the other hand, was far from thrilled. “You’re really going alone?” He sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching you lace up your shoes. His lips were pressed into a pout, his bright blue eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name.

“Yes, Satoru. I want to explore on my own,” you said firmly. “I promise I won’t get lost.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know,” you sighed, holding out your hand. “Wallet, please.”

With a dramatic groan, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out, placing it in your palm like he was handing over something sacred. “Fine. But only because I love you.”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, slipping the wallet into your bag before kissing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

As soon as you stepped out of the suite, the hotel manager, a tall, well-dressed man with a name tag of Henrik, hurried towards you. “Miss Y/N! Do you require anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m just heading out to explore the town,” you said with a smile.

Henrik’s brow creased with concern. “Shall I arrange for the chauffeur and car?”

You shook your head. “I rented a bike. It’ll be more fun that way.”

His concern deepened. “Miss Y/N, is there something wrong with the service? If you’re displeased—”

“No, no! Everything has been wonderful.” You paused, tilting your head. “Why are you so worried?”

Henrik hesitated before finally saying, “I would hate to disappoint Mr. Gojo’s guest.”

You sighed, smiling gently. “I promise, I’m very happy with everything.” With that, you walked past him, eager to finally explore.

The bike ride to the town center was nothing short of magical. The winding road took you through breathtaking scenery—rolling green hills speckled with wildflowers, towering pine trees swaying gently in the breeze, and glimpses of deep blue fjords shimmering under the morning sun. The air smelled of fresh pine and crisp mountain air, the peacefulness making you feel like you were in another world.

When you finally reached the town square, you parked your bike and made your way to a cozy little café with warm wooden interiors and a delightful scent of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee. Ordering a cappuccino, you reached for your wallet, but the barista shook her head firmly.

“Oh, no, Mrs. Gojo, we couldn’t possibly accept payment from you.”

Your heart clenched at the name, memories flooding back in waves—some warm, some painful. For a second, your grip on the wallet tightened.  “I’m not Mrs. Gojo,” you said, forcing a polite smile. “And I insist on paying.”

The barista looked hesitant. “But—”

“No ‘buts.’ I want to support local businesses, and that means paying for my coffee like everyone else.”

The barista hesitantly accepted the money and looked down. You could see the disappointment on her face and felt bad. “How did you–” You bit the inside of your cheek, “How did you know I was here with– Gojo Satoru?”.

“Oh everyone knows. He is like a celebrity”.

“Huh… Really?”. You scoffed as you put the change back in your wallet.

“Yes. We are all very thankful to the Gojo family”. She smiled politely.

“If I may ask– why?”. You squinted.

The barista let out a soft breath, wiping her hands on a towel as she leaned on the counter. “A few years back, this town was really struggling. Most tourists just passed through, heading to the bigger cities like Oslo. But then the Gojo family opened that hotel, and everything shifted. It put us on the map, brought in jobs, tourists... even a school for the workers’ kids. Totally changed the energy here.”

You nodded, genuinely impressed. “That’s amazing. What’s your name?”

“Signeria,” she said with a warm smile.

“I’m Y/N.” You offered your hand, and she shook it gently.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, then paused, her eyes drifting to your wallet as you reached to tuck your phone away. “That’s a beautiful wallet, by the way.”

You smiled, glancing down at the worn, delicate design. “Thanks. It’s a traditional Japanese women’s wallet. My mom gave it to me years ago—kind of my lucky charm now.”. You scrunched your nose as you wiggled the wallet next to your face.

“Oh, I love that,” she said, leaning in a little. “I’ve always wanted to visit Japan. Actually, I’ve been saving up so I can backpack around Asia for a few months. It’s kind of my dream trip.”

You felt a flicker of excitement at that. There was something refreshing about her—earnest and open, full of quiet hope. Without thinking much, you slipped a small piece of paper from your wallet and scribbled your number on it.

“When you make it to Japan—especially Kyoto—call me,” you said, handing it to her. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

Her eyes widened, and then she smiled, the kind of smile that sticks with you. “Really? That would be amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “Any good traveler deserves a local guide.”

She laughed, then gestured toward the street. “There’s a little artisan shop two blocks down—handmade stuff, really charming. Tell them Signeria sent you.”

“Will do,” you said, tucking the paper back into your wallet with a little more care than before.

Unsurprisingly the same thing happened at a quaint little souvenir shop where you bought intricately carved wooden figurines, traditional wool scarves, and hand-painted ceramic mugs. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman, beamed at you but refused to take your money.

“Mrs. Gojo, it’s an honor to have you here,” she said warmly.

“Please, just Y/N. And I insist, really. Signeria suggested so I cam here but you have to accept my payment. Please I insist”

The woman sighed as she accepted the money. “You are just as kind as they say.”

By the time the same thing happened at a bookstore, you gave up correcting them. Apparently, in Fjellvika, you were Mrs. Gojo, and there was no arguing otherwise.

While you were on your little miss independent shopping trip, Gojo was checking his watch every five minutes. Why did he plan this entire trip if he had to be alone? He shrugged off that thought. He was going to savour every second he got with you.  But the boredom got the best of him and he started going through every drawer in the suite to explore. To his surprise he found something he had seen before, a long long long time ago. A light brown diary with a red ribbon. It was your diary. He hesitated for a bit and then checked his watch. You’d still be out for another hour or so. He knew he shouldn’t invade your personal space, he knew you’d be mad. But curiosity got the best of him. 

He flipped through the pages, not knowing where to start. Right, he will start from the time you got back. January. Gojo sat at the foot of the bed reading through every line carefully. As expected you had confessed to coming back. His heart clenched at how excited you were when you had joined Golden Ratio. How happy you were to work with Nanami. And how shocked you were to see him in the office. 

Seeing him again brought back everything I had tried to escape. Why did he have to be here? Is everything in my life fated to be ruined by him? Can I not have a life without him?

Gojo swallowed thickly as he flipped the page. You hated him. Rightfully. Jealousy and hatred coursed through his veins when he read about your kiss with Nanami and how you wanted something more but Nanami drew a harsh line. “Idiot”. Gojo Murmured under his breath as he flipped the page. 5th March, the date was circled. The letters were smudged with something that he assumed were tears. 

Happy birthday, my dear Kai.

I don’t know if you can hear me, if these words will ever reach you, but I need to say them. I owe you that much. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for giving up on you. For letting you go. For making a choice I can never take back. But Mom is back in time again, and I swear, if fate grants me even the smallest chance, I will not let you slip through my fingers this time. I will fight for you. No matter what it takes, I will rewrite destiny if I must. Please, my sweet boy, forgive me.

I told myself I had no choice. That I couldn’t bring you into a world where I was drowning, where I had no home, no name, no future. A world that would have refused to recognize you, just as it refused to recognize me. What kind of mother would I have been, broken and wandering, unable to offer you even the simplest comforts of stability? I was a coward. I chose the easy way out, convincing myself it was for your sake. But the truth is, I was afraid. Afraid of what you would have meant for my already fragile existence.

And Satoru… how could I blame him when he never even knew? When I never gave him the chance to know? He barely accepted me. How could I have expected him to accept you? It’s almost laughable—how blind he was, how easy it was for him to move forward, completely unaware of the life I carried, the life I lost. Did he ever once look at me and wonder? Did he ever feel even the faintest echo of what I felt? No, of course not. He never noticed. And why would he? Losing you made me realize how empty my life was. How meaningless everything became without you. And yet here I am, still trapped in this endless cycle, still in love with the same man who took everything from me. But is he even the same anymore? Or am I just clinging to the ghost of someone who never truly existed?

I will give Satoru one last chance. Just one. If he fails me—if he shatters what little is left of my hope—then I will come find you, Kai. We will be together again, and this time, nothing will take you from me. No gods, no fate, no cruel twists of time. Just you and me, in a place where sorrow cannot touch us.

Thank you, my love, for the moments you gave me, for the whispers of your presence that kept me breathing when I wanted to stop. Thank you for listening when no one else did, for letting me believe, even for a fleeting instant, that I wasn’t completely alone. Happy birthday, my darling Kai.

I will always love you.

His chest constricted painfully, a sob clawing its way up his throat. His vision blurred as hot tears spilled down his cheeks, staining the pages. His hands trembled as he clutched the diary to his heart, his body curling in on itself as if to shield himself from the unbearable agony tearing through him. He had a son. Had. Past tense.You never told him. You bore this pain alone. You lost him alone. You suffered alone. And Gojo—idiot that he was—never even noticed.

His pain escaped in broken sobs, raw and unfiltered. He thought he had known grief before, but this? This was unbearable. He wanted to rewind time, to go back and fix everything, to be there for you the way he should have been. But it was too late. He had failed you. He had failed him.

The weight of his own ignorance crushed him. He buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. This trip was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to heal. But now, he wasn’t sure how to move forward knowing what he had lost.

Gojo gathered himself and flipped through more pages with trembling hasty fingers as tears rolled down his cheeks to his chin leaving little droplets on the same page where you had shed your heart. He wanted to know more, he had to know more.

Even though I am back, even though things are good—at least on the surface—a part of me is still trapped in the past. No matter how much I try to move forward, the shadows of what I lost cling to me like a second skin. The scars from that life are bleeding into this one, tainting every tender moment with a sharp, unbearable ache.

I have, against all logic, once again fallen in love with Satoru. I tried not to. I told myself I wouldn’t. But here I am, caring for him, yearning for him in ways I have no right to. And at the same time, it hurts. Loving him has always hurt. It’s a slow, searing kind of pain that settles deep in my bones. Some days, it’s a dull ache—manageable, ignorable. Other days, it’s unbearable, suffocating, ripping through me like an old wound torn open again and again.

I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t let him see how fractured my love for him has become. Because despite all the warmth he gives me, despite the way he looks at me like I’m his whole world, my heart refuses to believe in it. It rejects his love as if it’s something foreign, something dangerous. How can I subject him to a love that is half-hearted, tainted by fear and grief? How can I let him give me everything when I am constantly preparing for the moment he takes it all away?

Every time he promises me forever, I silently brace myself for the day he leaves. Every time he reaches for my hand, I wonder how long before he lets go. I plan for a backup for everything he does—because I’ve learned the hard way that nothing in this world is certain. Not love. Not happiness. Not even life itself.

But it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly understand the weight I carry, the scars I hide beneath careful smiles and unspoken words. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it’s better this way. This life… this love… it is cursed. So I pray. I pray that in the next life, I find him again—without the scars, without the pain. That I get to love him with all my heart, freely, wholly. That I get to receive his love without fear. That, for once, our love doesn’t have to hurt.

Gojo sat against the footboard, his body heavy with an exhaustion he had never felt before. His head tilted back, eyes unseeing as they fixated on the ceiling, but all he could truly see were the words burned into his mind. Words that had been scrawled onto fragile pages, pressed deep into ink-stained paper, carrying the weight of a pain he had never known existed. He had messed up.

He had known it before, in small ways, in fleeting thoughts that he quickly brushed aside. But now, the full force of his mistakes had come crashing down on him, swallowing him whole. He should have never forced his way back into your life. He should have left you alone, let you rebuild without his presence poisoning everything you touched. You had been healing, carving out a world for yourself where he didn’t exist, and then—just like always—he had inserted himself into it, taking and taking without ever thinking about what it cost you.

His chest ached, but the pain didn’t stay there. It spread like wildfire, creeping into his limbs, curling around his throat, tightening like an invisible hand threatening to choke him. His fingers twitched against the smooth leather of the diary cover, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wanted to throw it across the room, to fling it out the window and pretend he had never seen it, never read it—but he couldn’t. Because this was the truth. Your truth. The truth he had been too blind, too selfish, too fucking stupid to see. He had a son. Or at least, he almost did.

Gojo sucked in a sharp breath, but it didn’t fill his lungs the way it should have. It felt hollow, useless. His stomach twisted painfully as the words replayed in his mind, the ink smudged with tears. Your words rang clearly in his ears.

"Happy birthday, my dear Kai."

His heart clenched violently, his entire body tensing as if recoiling from a physical blow.

"I am sorry to have given up on you."

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over him, so overwhelming it nearly sent him to his knees. You had carried this grief alone. You had mourned alone. You had made an impossible decision—alone. And where had he been? Living his life in blissful ignorance, too self-absorbed to even consider that there might have been more to your story than what he had chosen to believe.

"I didn’t want you to be born into a world where I was unhappy, a world that wouldn’t have recognized you as the legitimate son."

His breath hitched. The words carved themselves into his ribs, each one slicing deeper, rawer.

You had been alone, fighting battles he had never even known existed. You had been carrying the weight of something far greater than him, far greater than the petty heartbreaks and stupid games he had played. You had lost something so irreplaceable, so monumental, and he hadn’t even known.

And now, what? Was he supposed to just go on like nothing had changed? Was he supposed to pretend he hadn’t read those words, hadn’t felt his entire world shatter in the span of a few pages? His hands trembled as he closed the diary, his fingers pressing against the cover as if trying to absorb some piece of you, some fragment of the pain he had caused. He wanted to take it all back. Every moment of doubt he had ever made you feel, every cruel word, every time he had pushed you away instead of pulling you close.

But it was too late. Gojo let out a breathless, broken laugh, though it felt more like a sob caught in his throat. He had spent his whole life believing himself to be untouchable. The strongest. The invincible. But right now, he felt powerless. More powerless than he had ever felt in his entire existence. Because this? This wasn’t a fight he could win. This wasn’t an enemy he could defeat. This was the past. And the past was already written.

His son was gone. A child he had never even had the chance to know. A child he had lost before he ever knew he existed. And worst of all? He hadn't even noticed. He hadn’t seen the pain in your eyes, hadn’t questioned the sadness in your voice, hadn’t cared enough to look deeper. He had failed you. And he had failed Kai.

A sharp knock on the door made him jolt. You were back. Panic surged through him instantly, his fingers tightening around the diary as if he could somehow make it disappear. His heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He barely had the presence of mind to shove the diary back into the drawer, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped it.

What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to look at you now? How was he supposed to pretend he didn’t know? The door handle turned. He barely had a second to wipe at his face, to push down the lump in his throat, to force his expression into something neutral—something that wouldn’t betray the absolute wreckage inside of him. He sucked in a sharp breath to cure the pain in his throat.

The moment you walked through the door, your voice filled the suite, breaking the suffocating silence that had been pressing down on Gojo’s chest.

"You're not gonna believe what just happened," you huffed, setting your shopping bags down with an exaggerated sigh. "I had to practically fight my way through town just to get people to take my money. Everywhere I went, they kept calling me Mrs. Gojo—the barista at the café, the souvenir shop owner, even the guy at the bookstore! It was ridiculous. I had to convince them I wasn’t actually your wife."

Gojo watched you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He barely processed your words. He saw your lips moving, heard the rise and fall of your voice, the frustration laced in your words, but his mind was still drowning in the ink of your diary, in the weight of the grief that now sat like a lead ball in his stomach.

You were here. Standing right in front of him. Breathing, laughing, alive. After everything you had been through, after everything he had unknowingly put you through, you were still here. And he didn't deserve that. God, he didn’t deserve you.

You had given so much—loved so deeply, sacrificed in ways he couldn't even begin to fathom. And what had he done? Taken. Taken and taken until there was nothing left. And yet, despite it all, here you were, standing in the middle of the suite, ranting about the town’s obsession with calling you his wife.

He should say something. React. Laugh it off like he normally would. Tease you, poke fun, call you Mrs. Gojo just to see you roll your eyes. But he couldn't. Not yet. Because the image of those tear-streaked words in your diary was still burned into the back of his eyelids.

"Happy birthday, my dear Kai."

A life you had lost. A life he had never known. A life you had been forced to give up because he had been too blind, too selfish, too caught up in his own world to see yours crumbling.

"Are you even listening to me?" you asked, frowning as you stepped closer, waving a hand in front of his face.

Gojo blinked, snapping himself out of the trance he had fallen into. His fingers twitched against his thigh before he forced himself to stretch, arms rising above his head in a lazy, exaggerated motion. He pasted on a smile—his mask, the one that had never felt heavier than it did now.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he drawled, his usual cocky tone slipping into place like armor. "I was just imagining how good Mrs. Gojo sounds. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. "Not you too!"

He chuckled, feigning amusement, though his stomach churned violently beneath the surface. He needed to focus. Needed to steer the conversation away from the turmoil raging inside of him. Because the truth was, he couldn't peer himself away from reality. Not after everything he had read. Not after knowing the pain you had carried in silence, the loneliness you had endured, the sacrifices you had made. You had every right to hate him. Every right to leave him behind, to never let him back in. And yet, somehow—miraculously—you were still here. Gojo let out a soft breath, his smirk faltering just for a fraction of a second. God, he loved you and he didn’t know how to live with the fact that he had failed you so completely.

The chalet you were staying at for the night was nothing short of a dream. A secluded A-frame cabin nestled deep in the snow-covered wilderness, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed view of the frozen lake beyond. Inside, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering golden light over plush cashmere blankets and a polished wood dining table set with imported chocolates and wine. Gojo had gone all out, ensuring that every detail was perfect, from the private chef who prepared steaming bowls of stew to the luxurious hot tub on the deck.

He wanted this trip to be unforgettable. But no matter how much effort he put in, no matter how many extravagant details he arranged, nothing could quiet the voice in his head screaming that he had already failed you.

The air was crisp, sharp against your skin, but the cold didn’t bother you much. Not when you were bundled up in the finest snow gear Gojo had arranged—a sleek, insulated white coat lined with the softest fur, thick black gloves that hugged your fingers, and waterproof boots that sunk lightly into the fresh powder. Gojo, of course, looked like he had stepped straight out of a luxury winter catalog. His deep navy jacket was tailored perfectly to his tall frame, his gloves a smooth black leather, and his white scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, tufts of his silver hair peeking out from under the custom-lined hood. He had even gotten you matching ski pants, ensuring that you were as warm and comfortable as possible.

He walked beside you now, hands tucked into his coat pockets, following the guide up a small hill where the best view of the Northern Lights awaited. The guide was talking, explaining the science behind the celestial phenomenon—something about charged particles colliding in the atmosphere, about electrons and protons creating the vivid green and violet hues that painted the sky. But Gojo wasn’t listening. He barely looked at the lights at all. His gaze was fixed on you.

Your face, turned upwards in quiet wonder, bathed in the ethereal glow of the aurora. The vibrant greens reflected in your eyes, but even beneath the beauty, even beneath the smile you wore, he saw it. The pain. The exhaustion. The weight of something unsaid lingering just beneath the surface. How had he not noticed before? How many times had you smiled at him like this, while carrying burdens he had been too blind to see?

The guide paused and grinned. "Would you like a photo?"

"Yes!" You answered enthusiastically before Gojo could respond.

He moved beside you, his arm casually draping over your shoulder as the guide lifted the camera. You turned to face the lens, smile bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. But Gojo… Gojo didn’t look at the camera. He looked at you.

And when the shutter clicked, when the image was frozen in time, it captured the truth neither of you could say out loud. That you were looking ahead—into the world, into the moment. And he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered.

The guide handed the camera back, murmuring something about how lucky you both were, before stepping aside to give you a moment of privacy. You and Gojo sat together on the snow-covered hill, silent under the endless sky. The aurora swirled above, colors shifting and dancing in the vast emptiness of the night.

Finally, Gojo spoke, voice quiet but firm. "Are you happy with me?"

The question hung in the cold air between you. You turned slightly, surprised. "Gojo—"

"Just answer me," he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You hesitated. For the briefest moment, your mask slipped. Gojo saw it—the flicker of hesitation, the shadow of doubt, the past that still haunted you. But then, you took a deep breath, forcing a small smile onto your lips. "Yes," you said. "I am."

Gojo swallowed hard. "And… do you think you would have been happier without me in your life?"

Another pause. Another hesitation. Your breath misted in the cold air as you exhaled. "There’s no point in thinking about what could have been," you said finally. " I get to decide who I want to be happy with. Happiness isn’t something we’re given—it’s something we create."

Gojo’s fingers curled into fists inside his pockets. He had spent years believing that as long as you were beside him, everything would be okay. That as long as he could make you smile, nothing else mattered. But he knew now—it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t erase what had happened. He couldn’t undo the choices that had led you here.

But he could do something else. He could promise. "I’ll keep you happy," he murmured. "And I’ll keep you safe."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Gojo."

But he wasn’t laughing. Because he knew what you really meant. That happiness was fragile. That safety was never guaranteed. That life had already taken too much from you, and you no longer believed in forever. But Gojo…Gojo had never been one to accept fate.And as he sat there, watching you stare up at the lights, he swore that no matter what it took, no matter what he had to do he would never let the world take you from him again.

The sky above shimmered in ribbons of green and pink, the aurora swirling like brushstrokes on an endless canvas. You let out a slow breath, watching it dissolve into the cold night air. The beauty of it was almost cruel—a stark contrast to the weight in your chest. Life was precious, and yet, for so long, you had treated it as if it were disposable.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His gaze was fixed on the sky, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. He had that distant look, as if he was staring into something only he could see. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself truly look at him. Once, you had loved him so deeply it swallowed you whole. You had lived for the smallest fragments of his attention, bending yourself into something softer, more palatable, just to be seen. And now—now you didn’t have to try. It was like he was an entirely different person.

It hurt, knowing he was capable of love, of devotion, of wanting something so completely. So why now? Why were you suddenly worthy of it? A memory surfaced, unbidden. I came here for you. His words rang in your ears, and your fingers curled into your coat. Did he come to Kyoto just to find me? The thought made your stomach twist.

“Satoru…” The name left your lips barely above a whisper.

Gojo turned immediately, his attention snapping to you. “Yes, love?”

You hesitated, staring at the space between you. “Why did you come to Kyoto?”

A gust of wind whistled through the quiet, rustling the trees around you. Gojo sniffled slightly, the cold nipping at his nose. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if debating whether or not to tell you the truth. Finally, he exhaled.

“I—” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering away. “I saw your resume. And I felt… drawn to it.” He shook his head, frustrated, as if words weren’t enough. “It doesn’t make sense, I know. But after I saw your name, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was just… full of you. And I didn’t even know you.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “But I knew I had to find you.”

You blinked at him. “That sounds incredibly cheesy.”

Gojo laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “Maybe. But it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “Ask Geto or Shoko. I was a mess. They thought I’d lost it. But the moment I saw you, it was like—” He let out a small sigh. “Like everything finally made sense.”

Your lips twitched. “So, what? You think we’re destined to be together?”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But that’s not why I love you.”

Something in your chest tightened. You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Then why?”

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if he had a thousand answers and didn’t know where to start. “Where do I even begin?” He chuckled under his breath. “You are breathtaking. Your eyes—I swear, I could stare into them and find the meaning of life.” His fingers curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “The way you fight for what you believe in, how fiercely you care, how brilliant and passionate you are. God, I love how stubborn you are.” He swallowed, his voice quieter now. “And how strong.”

You felt your breath hitch.

“I saw it,” he continued. “When your mom was in the hospital. When everything felt like it was slipping through your fingers. You held on.” His expression faltered for a moment, something raw surfacing beneath it. “Even after everything you’ve been through. With your father, with your family… You were still the perfect daughter. The perfect sister. The perfect friend. And it made me want to be perfect for you.”

Your stomach twisted into knots. Because every piece of you that he loved had been shaped by pain. By loss. By him. If you hadn’t suffered, if you hadn’t endured, would he still have loved you? If you had been a different version of yourself—the one from before—would he have even noticed you at all?

Gojo must have seen the shift in your expression, because his hand twitched, and before you could spiral, he leaned in, his voice quieter now. “Above all—” He exhaled, his breath warm against the cold air. “Even if you weren’t strong. Even if you weren’t independent. Even if you were selfish, or reckless, or weak. Even if you shot me right in the chest” He let out a dry laugh. “I’d still love you.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Gojo took a shaky breath. “I love you against all logic. Against reason. I just… I know that I do.I know it in my heart, I– loving you is like breathing. It’s the most obvious thing to do”

A slow smile crept onto your lips, your chest aching with something you couldn’t name. “You’re so corny.”

Gojo shrugged, “Maybe I am. Why do you love me y/n?”. His question didn’t have any undertone of tease. He asked like he genuinely wanted to know why after everything why did you choose to love him.

Your shoulder dropped. You had asked yourself the same question night after night. “I– I don’t know”, You chuckled. “You– you just came into my life like a storm and everything changed”. Your eyes fixed above on the aurora, “I– I had strong reasons to not join Domain. Yet, you came to Kyoto and it felt like fate was playing a cruel joke on me. You remember the camping trip when I snapped at you?”.

“Mmhmm”. Gojo hummed as he played with the ends of his scarf.

“I was so angry. So so so angry. I–”, You gulped harshly, “I had this image of you. You were ruthless. Arrogant. Self centered. Selfish. And I didn’t want to accept that maybe you were different. Our lives are so different and I didn’t want to leave mine to fit into yours. But you just, you went ahead and cancelled your marriage, possibly affecting your relations with your clan, and I just– I was proven wrong”.

“Why did you have that image of me?”. Gojo asked, brows pinched together and still playing with the ends of his scarf. Praying and yet dreading the confession he was prompting.

“Where do I even begin with that”, You scoffed, “It’s a long story”.

“I’m listening”.

You pressed your lips tightly, “I– it’s stupid. You won’t believe it”.

“Try me”. He replied immediately with absolute resolution. Scared that any second wasted on futile reactions would pull you away from him.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and looked the other way to gently wipe the tears from the corner of your eyes. You knew this day would come. You knew you had to be honest if you were to give him another chance. “This– this isn’t the first time I-- we are together”.

Gojo’s breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

“I– I don’t even know how to explain it but I know I have to tell you. I- Oh god! I can't even believe I am saying this", You took in a deep breath, "I- I have come back from the future". You studied his face, expecting him to burst laughing any minute. But he remained stoic so you continued, “In my… in our other life, we were together. But that relationship brought me pain. So much pain. My mom abandoned me. Shoko—yes, I knew Shoko—we were best friends. Sisters, almost. And I lost her too. You took them both from me, not with force, no… you were too clever for that. You twisted things slowly, silently. You whispered doubts into their ears, made them question me, my sanity, my intentions, until they were looking at me like I was some stranger, like I was the problem. I remember standing in the kitchen, my hands shaking, phone clenched tight in my fist as my mom said "you home is not in kyoto" Shoko stopped returning my calls.”, you took a deep breath and wiped your tears.

Gojo bit his lips and held your hand, “You don’t have to-”.

“I need to. If I want us to have an honest chance at this then I have to tell you”. You took in  a deep breath and continued, “You told me you loved me but never told your family. Said it was better that way. Said they wouldn't understand, but I knew the truth. You wanted the clan’s respect, their approval, their power—and I didn’t fit into that picture. I was a liability. An inconvenience. I asked you once if you were ashamed of me and you just smiled like it was a silly question. That smile… it haunted me. You made me feel like I was asking too much just by existing beside you. I started looking through your phone when you weren’t around. I hated myself for it, but I had to know. And what I found… perfume I didn’t wear on your collar, texts that ended in hearts, meetings that didn’t make sense. You never admitted it. Of course, you didn’t. But I knew. I knew. one day, I just... broke. I thought about how peaceful it might be to just... let go. No more pain. No more pretending I was okay. No more waking up with your ghost next to me. I made the decision. I followed through. Or at least I thought I did.

And then—just like that—I woke up. Back in my room in Kyoto. Same posters on the wall, same books stacked by the window, same curtains. My heart was still heavy, the memories still sharp, but I was alive. I had a second chance in a world where maybe, just maybe, I could choose myself this time. But that past… our past… it still lives in me.”

“Y/n I–”.

“I know Satoru". You cut him off.

Gojo's heart skipped a beat. Did you know about him?, "Wh-"

"You are not the same man. It is unreasonable of me to punish you for things you haven't done. You are different from the Satoru I once knew and that's why-- I love you. You don’t have to believe me. I know this sounds stupid and made up but this is the reason I am so protective of my mom and family”. You looked at him pleadingly, searching his face for any ounce of doubt.

Gojo brought your hands up and kissed your knuckles. “I believe you. I knew there was something tying us together”, he smiled, “I had dreams of you before I even knew you and this explains everything. We are meant to be together y/n. This time I will fix everything. If you feel, at any point, that I am the same old bastard then leave me. Your happiness matters more to me than anything in the world”.

You smiled and pulled Gojo in an embrace. You felt a thousand times lighter. This was the right thing to do.

The office was deathly silent, save for the low, mechanical hum of the air conditioning. The sterile glow of the monitor bathed the room in a sickly light, throwing long, jagged shadows against the walls. Nanami sat motionless at his desk, fingers curled tight against each other, his knuckles pale. His gaze remained locked on the message displayed before him, the words searing into his mind, carving themselves into the hollow spaces of his thoughts.

Outside, the city had long since succumbed to the quiet grip of midnight, but in this room, the air was thick—suffocating. The weight of what lay ahead pressed down on his chest like a lead slab. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. Then—three deliberate knocks. His pulse didn't quicken. He already knew who it was. For a moment, he allowed the silence to stretch, to settle like dust in an abandoned house. Then, finally— “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Utahime stepped inside first, her smirk razor-sharp, eyes glinting with something unreadable beneath the dim light. The air shifted behind her, an unspoken presence slithering into the room. Naoya Zenin followed, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing its territory.

Nanami’s grip on the desk tightened. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—something rotten beneath the surface—filled the space between them.

No one spoke at first. They didn’t need to.

Utahime settled into a chair, her movements languid, like a cat stretching before the hunt. “Kento,” she murmured, her voice laced with something that sounded like amusement.

Naoya’s gaze swept the office, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not bad. Lacks taste, but not bad.”

Nanami didn’t look at him. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Oh, come on, Keto,” Naoya scoffed, his voice oozing condescension. “If only I had acquired this company first, I’d have burned this wallpaper down the moment I walked in.”

Utahime chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “What can I say? You snooze, you lose.”

Naoya’s smirk flickered, his expression twisting into something sharper, colder. He hated being spoken down to—especially by a woman. His eyes gleamed with something ugly as he leaned forward. “Right. Your fiancé—oh, sorry, ex-fiancé—bribed the board to take this from me. All for a lowborn. How does it feel, Iori? To be discarded for someone who still lives in a shoebox apartment with her mother? hmm?” The room dropped a degree colder.

Before Utahime could open her mouth, Nanami’s palm slammed against the desk with a sharp crack. The sound cut through the air like a gunshot, vibrating through the wooden surface. “Enough.” His voice was steel, edged with something that warned against testing him. “We are not here to take each other down.” He adjusted his glasses, his expression slipping into one of perfect, practiced indifference. “We need to focus. Each of us wants something. Utahime, you want y/n gone from Gojo's life. Naoya, you want—?”

Naoya’s grin stretched wider, his fingers playing against the cold surface of the table. “I want Golden Ratio. I don't want any presence of Gojo group in Kyoto. I want to ruin Gojo Satoru.”

Nanami cleared his throat, nodding once. “Fine"

A beat of silence passed before Utahime tilted her head, watching him like a cat eyeing a caged bird. “And you, Kento?” she asked, resting her chin on her knuckles. “What do you want?”

Nanami exhaled, slow and measured. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I want Y/N.” The truth was far uglier than those three words. If everything went according to plan, the two idiots in front of him would be dead in a ditch before they ever realized they had been played. And he—he would be far away. A private island, maybe. Somewhere warm, untouched. And you would be there too. A trophy wife. A sugar baby. A prisoner. The title didn’t matter. Not yet.

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