Chapter Text
“He left me,” Gojo said, dazed. A statement though it was, there lay a hint of a question in it—a soft, forlorn admission of why? “He left me. In front of a KFC. To become a cult leader.”
Shoko exhaled, cigarette smoke wafting out of her slightly parted lips. “Yeah. That’s pretty sad.” The two of them were in the courtyard of Jujutsu High, enjoying their last day in the summer sun and faint breeze. Well, Shoko was enjoying it. Gojo, still reeling over being dumped, had taken to hugging his knees and rocking back and forth in the fetal position. “Didn’t he say he was ‘heading a religious organization,’ though?”
”That’s basically another term for cult,” Gojo huffed. “I don’t get it, though. He left me. I thought we… I thought we were…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. Gojo was never the type to hold down a relationship, or even enter one at all, but Geto Suguru had torn down his walls and showed him a world no one else could touch. He would never admit it, but Gojo Satoru had fallen in love.
The realization was followed by a disarming smile from him, his blue eyes shining under tinted glasses. “Well, time to find a new partner.”
”In my soon-to-be-professional opinion, I think you should wait a while before dating again. This came as kind of a blow,” Shoko said, taking another languid drag of her cigarette.
Gojo scoffed. “Come off it, Shoko. You’re going to be a doctor, not a therapist. You have no right to question me on my love life.”
”A therapist is a kind of doctor, knucklehead. I might have to take psychology classes for pre-med, anyway.” The cigarette between her fingers was worn all the way down to the butt, and she tossed it to the floor, crushing it underfoot before anything could catch fire. “Besides, I’m saying this as your friend. A rebound won’t help you, Satoru.”
He started humming, a light and airy noise that told her he wasn’t paying attention. Whatever, he’d find out for himself soon enough. Gojo Satoru learned better through firsthand consequences.
”I think I want to become a teacher,” he said suddenly, catching her off guard.
”A teacher?” A surprised laugh burst from her throat before she could contain it. “You? No way.”
”Yeah way. I’d be a great teacher. I’m fun, and cool, and my students would absolutely adore me.” Anyone who knew him just slightly less than Shoko did would assume this was pure arrogance—and maybe it was—but Shoko suspected he was feigning it in order to avoid falling apart. She wasn’t lying when she called being dumped in front of a KFC a sad situation. That would deal a massive blow to anyone’s ego, even one as inflated as Gojo’s.
“Maybe you can go to the teacher’s college. You know, the one Utahime is at.”
”Who?” Gojo stretched, his tall, lanky frame taking up way too much space on the grass. “Oh, Utahime-senpai… purple hair? Adorable reactions to being teased?”
”Yeah. That Utahime.” Shoko cursed under her breath when she realized her innocuous comment had sent gears turning in his head. “She doesn’t like you, you know. She thinks—correctly, by the way—that you’re an asshole.”
”Who, moi? I could never.” He fluttered his white eyelashes innocently. “Besides, she knows she loves it when I talk to her. We had so much fun when she was in school two years ago.”
”Satoru. Listen to me. Utahime doesn’t like you. Hell, I’d even go so far as to say she hates you. Do not apply to her college just because you want to annoy her again. It’s not worth it, Satoru. What are you doing. No. No, don’t go on the fucking website. Satoru, put the phone down. No. NO. NO—“
“NO!” Utahime screamed, bolting upright. For a second, she thought she was truly dangling over the edge of a cliff, nothing but infinite blackness below her. But it’s just the peeling cream wallpaper in her one-bedroom apartment, the faint smell of mildew alerting her to the fact that home improvements needed to be done yesterday. How could she even focus, though, when her nightmares kept her bedridden most days?
Just get through this year, and the next. Then you can get an actual job and move out of this waste of rent money.
The thought brought minimal comfort, but honestly, where she lived didn’t matter. The nightmares would follow her wherever she went, and they haunted her even during her waking hours. Her grades were slipping, she had dropped most of her extracurriculars, and she hadn’t even entertained the thought of a romantic relationship in a while. Not that there were many options in a teacher’s college.
She groaned and rubbed her eyes. It was 6AM, so a little later than she usually woke up. She probably should have counted that as some kind of blessing. Her first class was at 8, so that left her a couple of hours to shower, get dressed, and prepare some semblance of breakfast.
You can do it, Utahime. One foot in front of the other. Let’s go, let’s go.
Her phone buzzed. She rushed to check it, because checking her phone was so much easier than showering.
🌸 Shoko-chan: Senpai! How are you doing today?? We haven’t talked in a while!
Shoko! Utahime grinned at the memory of the cute younger girl who had a bit of a smoking addiction. The memory soured when she thought of the guys Shoko used to hang out with, however.
🪻 Utahime: Hello, Shoko! It’s good to hear from you! Have you started pre-med yet? That’s probably why you’re awake so early, lol
🌸 Shoko-chan: You know it 😵💫
Utahime was about to type an apologetic goodbye, since she really did have to take a shower, but Shoko beat her to it with the most cryptic thing she’d seen today so far:
🌸 Shoko-chan: Listen, Utahime, I have to go, but prepare for a very unwelcome surprise today.
Huh?
Her whole life was a goddamn unwelcome surprise. Was Shoko coming to visit her today? Along with—God forbid—the insufferable Gojo Satoru or his yes-man Geto Suguru? No, Shoko would never do that to her, not with all the times she complained about him and how he ought to give her the respect she deserved. Not that she was damsel-in-distress enough to call what he did “bullying.” He walked the world as if he owned it, and, with the exception of Suguru, treated everyone around him like dirt. She clenched her fists at the mere thought of him.
He would be… around eighteen years old, now. Starting college himself. He probably paid his way into one of the major universities, propelled by self-satisfaction and a warped sense of belonging. Suguru alongside him, chuckling at every single stupid joke and lording over everyone else in the vicinity.
Yeah. No way was he the unwelcome surprise; he wouldn’t even step foot in a teacher’s college. Shoko had to be hinting at something else.
No time to dwell on it.
Utahime showered, packed a bento for the day, and took off down the steps of her apartment, her neat notes on child development and psychology tucked under her arm. After an uneventful subway ride, she arrived on the campus just thirty minutes before her first class was expected to start, and she decided to wait outside for a moment, watching people come and go. She didn’t go to orientation—freshmen didn’t interest her—but she did see a few new faces.
And so far, no unwelcome surprises.
A text from her boss (she worked part-time at a bakery) came through, asking if she could take on an extra evening shift. Utahime sighed and responded with a yes, deciding her crummy job was better than going to bed early and experiencing nightmares again. She touched the scar on her face absentmindedly, wondering how much of her nightly pain had to do with the event that led to it. It was a few years ago, but during her first week as a college student, she had been mugged just outside of a convenience store.
Put your hands up and put the purse down, the assailant had yelled.
No, she shouted, because the money in her purse was all she had. The man had rushed forward, stabbed her in the face, and left her for dead in an alleyway.
By the time the ambulance and the police found her, her entire face was covered with blood, like a cheap horror movie shot taken for shock-value. They managed to save her, but the scar remained, taunting her every time she looked in the mirror. Months of self-defense classes and therapy sessions later, and that man’s expression still haunted her. It was the first time she had ever seen true malice, violence just for the sake of it. It left a mark on her, just like the knife left a mark on her face.
7:55. One glance at her phone made her jolt back to reality. How long had she been out here?
“Utahime-senpai~”
She froze in place, slowly looking up, daring to hope that maybe she was still asleep, and this was just another nightmare.
A nightmare in the form of a tall, slim boy with spiky white hair, glowing blue eyes, tinted glasses, and a shit-eating grin that stoked the flames of primal fury in Utahime. So her first guess was right, and Shoko’s “unpleasant surprise” was Gojo Satoru. Had he come to visit her? But… without Geto Suguru? Or Shoko herself?
”What are you doing here?” she hissed.
”That’s not a very nice way to greet your kouhai, Utahime.” He flicked her forehead, just one of many condescending gestures that made up the irritation known as Gojo Satoru. “Oh, wow, what’s that on your face? Getting into fights, are we?”
”You aren’t answering my question. Are you here alone? What about Shoko? Or Geto?”
At the sound of the latter’s name, Gojo’s expression darkened. “I’m here for the same reason you are. To be a teacher. Why else would I enroll in teacher’s college?”
Utahime blinked, once, twice. Then she reached out and pinched him.
He yelped, yanking his arm away. “What the hell?! What was that for?!”
Yep, he was definitely real, and that was warm, real skin beneath her fingers. Gojo Satoru was attending her college, and he was going to bother her for the next two years, just like he did in high school.
Fuck.